Pathway to Japanese Literature

The mountainous area near the border between Gunma Prefecture and Echigo Province was called Tone District.
In other words, it formed the upper reaches of the Tone River.
Another side extended to connect with Oze Marsh's wetlands.

In this Tone District until the Bakumatsu period, every village had maintained a swordsmanship dojo.
When we speak of "villages" here, they corresponded to what we now call administrative wards or hamlets. Thus without exception, every small mountain hamlet possessed a dojo, and every man across these villages had wielded swords.
Why these remote mountain people—now that places like Tadami River and Fujiwara have become dams destined to sink beneath water—studied swordsmanship remains unknown, though some say it was for self-defense.
Since outlaws evading checkpoints tended to favor mountain areas for their lawless activities, there had indeed been need for self-protection.
Furthermore, historical records show Ueno (Kōzuke) as a place where a clan bearing martial traditions had settled since ancient times—its soldiers marching en masse to the capital during crises or scattering back to Ueno after defeats in the capital.
One might consider that such a clan, having dispersed and hidden within these mountains, may have preserved swordsmanship traditions—this being a plausible conjecture.
The hamlet called Fujiwara—now fated to sink beneath dam waters—had been particularly renowned for its thriving swordsmanship culture, though its dialect too was said to carry peculiarities.

On the way from Numata toward Oze Marsh lay a village called Okukai (Okkai).
Situated between Mount Akagi and Mount Hotaka, this mountain village served as the central hub of these mountains.

At some point in time, a mountain man appeared like the wind and settled in Okukai. When he wielded a sword, he was overwhelmingly strong. Since all the villagers were themselves skilled with swords, they keenly understood the depth of his strength. Moreover, he was deeply learned, versed in Dutch medicine, practiced benevolent arts, and his character was as noble as a god’s. However, he would occasionally disappear. At those times, he would seclude himself in the nearby mountains to hone his swordsmanship against nature—his form was said to rival even that of Ashura, and legend tells that wild beasts would swiftly vanish upon hearing his shouts.

His name was Umemoto Hōshin.
He was from Kanazawa.
People called him Imaushiwaka.
At fifteen, he mastered the esoteric techniques of Togashi Hakusei-ryū, ran away from home, entered the mountains, and honed his swordsmanship.
Since swordsmanship is rooted in the human body, he went to Nagasaki to study Dutch medicine to master that body, then crossed over to China in pursuit of techniques, ultimately acquiring a unique swordsmanship that he named Hōshin-ryū.
He visited swordsmen across the provinces to test his skills, but as there was not a single one who could rival him, he finally resolved to settle down.
And so he chose to settle in Ueno, a mountainous region of martial valor.
The name he took upon settling in Jōshū was Fujii Umonta.
He died in Seta District in the first year of Tenpō [1830], but was said to be 168 years old.
While it is largely legendary and has been mythologized, the Tenpō era is not so distant a past.
There was a grave and there were disciples—his existence was certain.

Hōshin’s top disciples were called Mitsuyoshi.
They were Bokichi of Fukayama Village, Yokichi of Hakoda Village, and Sukekichi of Minamimuro Village.
With the addition of Utanosuke of Kashimura Village, they were called the Four Guardians.
Among them, Bokichi was exceptionally strong.

Bokichi was the second son of a doctor in Fukayama Village. When he was young, a large wild dog attacked him in the mountains.
The dog’s assault was too ferocious to escape from, and he had no weapon at hand.
A dog’s body is flexible and twists easily—grappling it barehanded meant no matter how he pinned it down, he would be bitten and gain no advantage.
Though still a child, Bokichi instantly calculated his options.
Resolving to seize the enemy’s own tactics, he lunged at the dog’s throat and bit down.
He tore through its windpipe and killed it.
When he returned drenched in blood, his family stared in shock—

“What happened?”

“Well, I bit the dog to death.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Well, let’s see.”

When he washed the blood from his body, there were no injuries anywhere. Since his grandfather Jiemon was one of Hōshin’s foremost disciples, he marveled at his grandson’s bold composure and resolved to train him in swordsmanship. His progress was so rapid that Jiemon himself could no longer keep up, and thus entrusted him to Hōshin.

This Bokichi differed from ordinary mischievous boys in temperament; he took pleasure in painting and literature, studying under respective teachers in these arts, and possessed a noble bearing from his youth. Moreover, while his sword’s sharpness went without saying, its speed defied the eye’s ability to follow. Master Hōshin evaluated Bokichi’s swordsmanship,

“He possesses the composure and movement to gauge a hair’s breadth distance and evade beneath drawn blades.”
“This is innate, like swallows knowing from birth how to evade through the air.”
“This is not something mere mortals can learn.”

Hōshin had declared.
However, Bokichi possessed not only natural talent but also a disposition for training several times more diligently than others.
Even after receiving full mastery certification, he did not neglect his training. Following the example of his teacher Hōshin, who had secluded himself in mountains across the provinces to acquire his swordsmanship through arduous effort, he withdrew to sacred Mount Kuroho for a full three years—a thousand days of ascetic discipline.
When he returned after completing his ascetic training, his muscles had become capable of moving every part at will in response to force, just like those of his teacher Hōshin.
In other words, nowhere in his body remained any involuntary muscles.
I hesitate to mention this, but a man’s... that particular part does not move at will.
However, he could even contract this at will.
He could contract this to a small size and block enemy attacks.
Martial techniques alone cannot achieve this.
For in the realm of restless mind and willful heart, one is inevitably betrayed by their own nature—thus, he had attained the domain of a Sword Saint.
Hōshin saw this, praised it in full, imparted all his secrets, established him as his successor, and bestowed upon him the name Kaganosuke.
Later, as he had become an adopted son of the Hoshino family, he came to be called Hoshino Kaganosuke; however, people generally continued to refer to him by his former name, Suda Bokichi.
To the villagers, that name felt more familiar.

In these mountains, there was a low-ranking samurai named Inusaka Bangorō who came every year as the proxy of a hatamoto with a domain here to collect land taxes. He was a poor low-ranking samurai but a renowned swordsman. Lately in Edo, there had been an increase in skilled ruffians among country samurai, and in places like Yoshiwara, the hatamoto found their prestige waning. He had long thought of teaching those country samurai a lesson, and now this Bangorō took notice of Bokichi. The man was, in any case, extraordinarily strong. Hōshin-ryū’s sword techniques differed fundamentally from those of other schools from their very inception. The entire body became both sword and weapon. Depending on the situation, one might thrust with the head or kick with the foot—ever-changing, adapting without limit to the moment’s demands. Consequently, their training volume far exceeded that of other schools by multiples or even tens of times. When Bangorō tested them in a match, even Bokichi’s lower-ranking disciples effortlessly overpowered him.

Bangorō, too, was a man famous for his swordsmanship in Edo.
Given this state of affairs, it was clear that if they took Bokichi to Edo, no grand dojo master could stand against him.
However, Bokichi was an exceedingly quiet man who took after his teacher and was not the sort of brash ruffian to take pleasure in dojo storming under any circumstances; thus, while there was no prospect of him beating up country samurai as Bangorō desired, once they brought him to Edo, there would be other means available.
In any case, he resolved to somehow bring him to Edo, gathered comrades, and visited Master Hōshin.

“We who have gained some renown as swordsmen in Edo are utterly in awe of Hōshin-ryū. Especially you both—the Great Master and Master Bokichi, the chief instructor—are you human, demons, or gods? Truly, there is no other way to describe it but as divine work. It is our earnest wish to invite Master Bokichi to Edo so that the hatamoto collectively may seek his teachings, but we humbly request to borrow the Young Master for a time.”

Hōshin, too, thought venturing to Edo would make for an intriguing diversion. Since masters from all provinces gathered there, he wanted to have Bokichi observe them as well.

“Very well.”
“I shall also take this opportunity to visit Edo and rest awhile.”

“Even the Great Master...”
“Oh! This is most generous.”

The low-ranking samurai rascals were overjoyed.
They threw their weight around everywhere, shamelessly solicited funds, collected money, and built dojos in two locations: Edo’s Kobikichō and Akasaka.
And then, they invited Hōshin and Bokichi.

★

When the two went out to Edo and saw it—a truly splendid dojo, but with such a grandiose signboard reading "Peerless Under Heaven Hōshin-ryū" displayed that even the unflappable mountain man was taken aback,

“The ‘Peerless Under Heaven’ part is excessive.”
“Take it down.”

“I cannot comply with that particular request.”
“Because it’s the swordsmanship practiced by the hatamoto of the realm, it’s peerless under heaven.”
“In Edo specifically, merely calling it Hōshin-ryū would disgrace the hatamoto’s honor, so I humbly ask you to endure this bending of the truth.”

Being the hearty mountain man he was, when told this, he didn’t dwell on it.
So this is how things are in Edo, he concluded with utmost nonchalance.

The low-ranking samurai rascals had put up this grand signboard and then exaggerated its claims with embellishments, which angered those confident in their own skills.
They would crowd in for cross-school matches in groups of five or ten nearly every day.
Bokichi, who served as their opponent, remained unaware of the circumstances. Impressed by what he took to be the Edo swordsmen’s studious enthusiasm and earnest dedication to training, he delighted in diligently beating them senseless and driving them off each day.

Long ago, Miyamoto Musashi was invited by Matsudaira, Lord of Izumo, and faced off against the foremost practitioner in his retinue.
Matsudaira Izumo himself was a practitioner of Yagyū-ryū; therefore, his household had many martial artists, and he himself well understood where swordsmanship's vulnerabilities lay.
He chose a staff wielder as Musashi's opponent.

A staff or cane is an extraordinarily advantageous weapon.
This is something whose fearsome nature cannot be fully grasped unless one actually witnesses the subtleties of its technique; however, a staff is a weapon where both ends can fell an opponent, with no distinction between front and back.
It would materialize from nowhere to strike, and if you focused on one point, the opposite end would come assailing from an unexpected direction.
Not merely striking—it thrust, swept, then leapt from unpredictable vectors and angles, making it a fearsome implement. Those who faced this felt as though their enemy brandished a hundred staffs with a hundred hands.
Miyamoto Musashi too found himself outmatched by Musō Gonnosuke's staff. While this encounter is commonly called a mutual strike, in truth it marks the single defeat Musashi ever suffered in his lifetime.

It was decided to hold the match in the garden courtyard, and as Musashi attempted to descend from the shinden, his opponent was already waiting beneath it; due to being in the lord’s presence, he sat with his head slightly bowed, eyes cast downward.
When he looked, his opponent was a staff wielder.
An eight-foot-long octagonal staff was placed before him.

Instantly, Musashi realized this was an opponent he couldn’t defeat in a fair fight.
Musō Gonnosuke’s staff had been four shaku and two sun in length—round and light—but today’s opponent wielded an eight-shaku octagonal staff.
Whether long or short would prove advantageous could not be determined without facing off in combat, but in any case, a sword stood no chance against it in a fair fight.

When he looked, his opponent was riddled with openings—it was only natural.
First, they would face each other and exchange a bow, then tighten their headbands and adjust the crotch ties of their hakama, and take up their weapons to face off—this was the established protocol of old. All the more so here before the lord, the opponent maintained an attitude of utmost propriety, modestly holding back and merely awaiting Musashi’s formal greeting.

While Musashi had not yet fully descended the stairs, he thrust out his left longsword and struck the opponent’s face.
Having thrust without exchanging formalities, as the opponent startled and tried to grab his staff, Musashi flashed his twin swords with a flurry, striking both of the enemy’s arms, then swung down his longsword from overhead and felled him.
This match naturally earned a vile reputation for being underhanded.

However, since the swordsmanship of old was devised for actual combat and was not mere play in the so-called ceremonial match style, the mental preparedness required of the sword was in fact one of extreme urgency.
Therefore, unlike the ceremonial match-style kendo of the Tokugawa period and beyond, the practical swordsmanship of old—referred to in each school as zanshin (remaining vigilance)—was structured around a mindset where stepping even a single pace from the waiting room into the dueling grounds meant entering a battlefield: one had to be prepared to avoid being struck no matter when or how an attack came. Even after concluding a match and exchanging courtesies, they could not afford to let their guard down.
There was a stipulation requiring the mindset that until one had completely left the match grounds, they must remain prepared for assault without a single moment’s lapse.
Even the naginata wielded by women carried this stringent requirement of mental preparedness.

Hōshin-ryū maintained this mental preparedness with strictness. If an opponent showed any lapse in vigilance, they would deliver a sharp strike even before formal greetings were exchanged. To Bokichi, this was swordsmanship’s iron law—he considered nothing more inexcusably amateurish than such lapses in vigilance or failures of awareness. Thus when opponents showed any lapse, though it concerned others’ affairs, he couldn’t suppress his merciless bitterness and would deliver a sharp strike before formal greetings could begin. When enraged opponents seized their swords to attack, he would land an even more precisely measured strike with a crack this time, then withdraw with a heartrending air as though disposing of something unclean. To stand in the opponent’s position meant enduring unparalleled vexation. Yet even when flying into rage and denouncing him as cowardly—even when confronting him now with utmost vigilance—they found themselves effortlessly defeated all over again, left utterly helpless.

Hearing the rumors, swordsmen of Edo—those confident in their skills—nearly all joined the cross-school matches, yet not a single one made for a proper contest.
The difference was so vast—they were cast aside one after another like garbage.
Master Hōshin was satisfied with this outcome and, leaving Bokichi in Edo, returned to his village.

Bokichi managed the two dojos in Kobikichō and Akasaka concurrently, taking on many disciples—primarily low-ranking samurai—and prospered greatly. However, one summer evening, while returning home, he was suddenly assaulted by ruffians.
The enemies numbered fourteen or fifteen.
It was unclear who they were, but there was no doubt this stemmed from some swordsmanship grudge.
Since they were a group that had attacked knowing he was the master Bokichi, every one of them was skilled.
In the dark night, they surrounded Bokichi and closed in with a relentless advance all at once.

Bokichi instinctively gripped both swords.
Adaptability was Hōshin-ryū’s hallmark.
From the moment his body flashed into motion, that movement became something even he himself could not predict.
It was nothing more than an adaptation to the enemies’ movements.
He ran.
He slashed.
He fled.
He slashed.
Since most of the enemies had been injured and there were no pursuers left, Bokichi returned home without difficulty.
He himself had not received a single wound.

Gihachi and Tasuke, who had been guarding the place in his absence, were senior disciples he had brought from the village and served as chief instructors.

“Who could they have been, and what grudge drove them to attack me, I wonder...”

“That isn’t because you’re unaware of it, Master—people had been gossiping so much that such an outcome was practically expected.”
“They say every swordsman in Edo who lost to you wants to land at least one strike against you, Master.”

“That’s quite dangerous.”
“Edo turns out to be quite the unexpected place.”
“I thought there might be great masters worth seeking instruction from, but all I found were swordsmen as childish as infants, leaving me utterly disillusioned.”
“On top of that, if I’m resented for it, it’s beyond absurd.”
“I think I’ll return to the village.”

“Please do so. Since all the disciples in Edo are undisciplined, the two of us can manage adequately.”

“That’s right.”
“When it comes to being Edo swordsmanship instructors, you lot are sufficient.”
“Well then, I’ll leave it to you.”

Entrusting matters to Gihachi and Tasuke, Bokichi returned to the mountains. There, he established dojos at Kaizō-ji Temple in Oikake and Myōkaku-in Temple in Hirakawa Village, wed Hoshino Sakuzoemon’s daughter, and settled permanently.

★

In Sonohara Village lived a swordsman named Nakazawa Inokichi who served as village headman.
Though a prominent wealthy figure in these mountains, he had gone to Edo in his youth to study under Yamazaki Sonshirō—a Shintō Isshin-ryū swordsman operating a dojo in Asakusa Tawaramachi—where he attained full mastery certification.
Upon returning home, he squandered money building an imposing dojo and swaggered about taking disciples under the presumption of being Japan's foremost swordsman. Yet with Hōshin-ryū's complete dominance across the region, those who came to train under Inokichi amounted only to tenant farmers and debtors bound by obligation.

The reputation of Bokichi, who had taken Edo by storm and returned to his village, grew so towering that Inokichi’s presence came to be treated as little more than a candle before the sun—until at last he could endure it no longer.
Summoning his disciples,

“Lately these country bumpkins—ignorant fools—have been swaggering about most insufferably.”
“Hōshin-ryū or whatever they call it is just backwater swordsmanship for mountain apes.”
“Edo is the shogunate’s very seat.”
“The gathering place where all under heaven’s finest swordsmen converge.”
“Polished masters of skill would never deign to face mountain apes.”
“Not grasping this truth—a frog in a well spouting empty boasts and deluding country folk—what a hateful wretch he is!”
“I shall storm their dojo—make ready!”

In the New Year, he led his disciples to visit Bokichi’s dojo and proposed a cross-school match, but when they actually tried it, it was no contest at all.
Inokichi’s disciples lost the moment they stepped forward, all struck down with a single blow. When it came to a match between the masters themselves, this too was no different—he didn’t last a moment.

The unskilled do not know their place.
Believing he had been caught off guard due to having underestimated his opponent, he proposed a rematch on another day, but this too ended in a crushing defeat.

“Hmm.”
“What a tremendous disappointment!”
“That damned Bokichi.”
“I absolutely must crush that bastard, but since I alone am insufficient, I shall request aid from the Great Master of Edo.”

“That would be most advisable.”
“Let us request the Great Master to have him struck down.”

The messenger, heaping high local specialties, departed for Edo and entreated Yamazaki Sonshirō to take action.

“Bokichi of Hōshin-ryū?”

“Indeed, that’s correct.”

“That is no ordinary opponent, I tell you. Though I never faced him myself in a match, there’s not a soul in Edo who’s stood against him and lived to boast of it.”

“That is indeed true.”

“Well,” he said. “There’s no helping it. If it’s Inokichi’s request, I shall grant it and send aid—but does Sonohara Village possess firearms?”

“In these mountains where hunting is as much a trade as farming, every household has them.”

“In that case, I can rest assured.”

Yamazaki Sonshirō arrived at Inokichi’s place with more than a dozen skilled disciples.
He had selected and brought along those adept not only with swords but also bows, spears, and naginata; meanwhile, Inokichi’s faction gathered over a dozen firearms experts, bringing their combined force to thirty-odd members—with this number, they formulated a plan to eliminate Bokichi.

They visited Bokichi’s house to propose a match, but on the day found he had gone to a spa with his wife; moreover, the caretaker left behind stated he would not return anytime soon.

“Which spa?”

“That is something we do not know.”
“Master treats the mountains as his own home—he might be in the east today and the west tomorrow—and what’s more, these mountains are filled with hot springs.”

“There’s no helping it. As soon as he returns home, have him report to Inokichi’s residence. If you disobey this order, I will cut you down.”

They also conveyed an order to Kugorō, the village headman of Oikake Village, stating that Bokichi was to present himself at Inokichi’s residence in Sonohara Village immediately upon returning home. They also hired people to search everywhere for Bokichi’s whereabouts, and discovered that he was taking a cure at Kawaba Spa.

Having received word that Bokichi had begun his return journey, the group lay in wait at Koyu Pass. The firearms group lay hidden in the shadows, while sixteen disciples waited at the pass’s teahouse—and there Bokichi arrived, accompanied by his wife. Yamazaki Sonshirō stepped forward,

“You are Bokichi, I presume.”

“That is correct.”

“I am Yamazaki Sonshirō of Shintō Isshin-ryū, who operates a dojo in Asakusa, Edo. I hear my disciple Nakazawa Inokichi was greatly indebted to you. I request a single decisive match.”

“Oh no, not at all. I am still unskilled. Please forgive me.”

“I am aware of your reputation in Edo. I do not take you for a mere peasant. I have come all this way out of admiration for your renown. Prepare yourself.”

The teahouse owner—he too was a disciple of Hōshin.
Since he ran a teahouse in these mountains, he was both skilled and composed—a man who humbly stepped forward,

“There’s nothing unusual about martial artists seeking a match,” he said, “but as you see, your opponent is just returning home from convalescence at the hot springs. Moreover, he’s brought his wife along. There must be affairs needing settlement. To make this a tale worth recounting through the ages, it would be far more fitting to set an appointed day and conduct this properly.”

“Bokichi won’t run away, will he?”

“Though it may be presumptuous to say so, following Great Master Hōshin’s passing, Master Bokichi here organizes thousands of Hōshin-ryū disciples.”
“If one were to flee from a formally requested match, first and foremost, Hōshin-ryū’s name would be disgraced.”
“I too am one who occupies a humble seat in Hōshin-ryū—for our school’s honor, we shall have this match proceed.”

Master Bokichi had resolved himself.
If I were to flee after being challenged to a match in this land where Master Hōshin rests, I could never face my teacher in the afterlife.
The enemy seemed desperate for victory, resorting to underhanded tactics; to face them knowing this might seem childish, but ultimately, they appeared to be opponents who would never draw their swords.
Against opponents like these, there was no choice but to settle things once and for all.
With his resolve firm,

“As the teahouse owner says, if we proceed in accordance with proper formalities by setting a date and time, I shall comply with your request for a match.”
“How about tomorrow?”

“Then let us set it for eight o’clock tomorrow evening.”
“We shall hold the match at Nakazawa Inokichi’s residence.”

“Understood.”

“That settles it splendidly.”
“As thanks for heeding the words of someone like myself, I would like to offer everyone a drink—but Master Bokichi, please take your leave ahead of us.”

Through the teahouse owner’s skillful mediation, Bokichi and his wife were able to return home safely.
The rumors spread instantly through the villages, and when word spread that Inokichi’s faction had prepared not only bows, spears, and naginata but also over a dozen firearms, Bokichi’s relatives and disciples gathered,

“The name of Hōshin-ryū is important, but there’s no need to pointlessly confront rabid dogs.”
“Here, it would be best to hide yourself for a while and wait for them to disperse.”

“I appreciate your concern, but this time I’ve made up my mind.”
“Please don’t say anything more.”

Bokichi was not one to actively seek out conflict, but once anyone reaches that state of mind where their heart is set beyond considerations of gain or loss, life or death, there’s simply no helping it.

Those who truly love the sword behold the universe within it and wish for its righteousness.
They wish for righteousness in the heart that wields the sword.
We cannot help but wish that both ourselves and others may be so.

In Jōshū, villagers in various villages used swords, but this was merely an ancient custom where sword techniques were their sole companion; there was a strict tradition of avoiding any reliance on skill to stir up trouble, with only the occasional failed gambler brandishing blades.
A strict rule was rigorously enforced where those who sought conflict were mercilessly expelled, and instances of villages opposing each other and engaging in cross-school matches had become examples of such encounters being conducted solely for the purpose of camaraderie.

In Jōshū Province, there had long existed a renowned swordsmanship school called Maniwa Nen-ryū.
This Maniwa lay two or three ri from Takasaki, where the school flourished so widely across Jōshū that it boasted ten thousand disciples, cherished by locals as a unique martial art born of their land.

When Hōshin-ryū began spreading through this same Jōshū with tremendous force, Arai Shikazō—a senior disciple of Maniwa whose home stood in Seta District at the epicenter of Hōshin-ryū's expansion—could no longer bear it.
He accordingly visited Bokichi's dojo to issue a cross-school challenge, only to be thoroughly defeated by Bokichi and return in humiliating defeat.

When this became known to Maniwa’s master, Higuchi Yoshiharu, Yoshiharu was deeply apologetic.

“From what I hear, Bokichi of Fukayama Village excels not only in swordsmanship but carries himself with the noble bearing of a teacher to all—a remarkable man deeply cherished by the villagers.”
“That is precisely why Hōshin-ryū prospers.”
“You must not take your own inadequacies and turn them into envy of others!”

He had strictly admonished Shikazō and visited Bokichi himself to deeply apologize for his disciple’s misconduct. In swordsmanship, even the master of Maniwa Nen-ryū—a school of exceptional prestige in this land—devoted himself to the blade with such humility. This was the essence of Jōshū’s peasant swordsmanship. The blade had to remain utterly sharp, and the spirit had to remain utterly unclouded—such was its essence.

In this land where swordsmen’s hearts were customarily bound in such humility, the lawless acts of Inokichi and Yamazaki Sonshirō—and the malignant blades and corrupt spirits so utterly incompatible with the sword Bokichi himself served—were more than he could stomach. Thus Bokichi firmly resolved: he would not permit such wicked steel to run rampant and defile this sacred ground of the sword. Having confided this resolve to his wife and father-in-law,

“The enemy are villains who tarnish the name of swordsmen; they intend to kill me even if they must resort to bows and firearms.”
“I am prepared to die.”
“I’ll be satisfied just making those villains panic and letting them taste true swordsmanship that fears neither bow nor firearm.”
“I would rather not be a mere mortal grasping recklessly for grand ambitions.”
“While grand ambitions like wishing to imbue the sword with divinity are commendable, devoting one’s heart and soul to a humble death—this too, I believe, is an essential way for a person to live.”
“I do not seek death willingly, but I believe Master Hōshin in the afterlife would rejoice at this modest truth: that I have met my end contentedly in a humble place of death.”

His resolve was as immovable as bedrock.
Since there was no prospect of overturning Bokichi’s resolve, they had no choice but to move the opposing party.
So they entreated Sonzaemon, the village head of Sonohara Village, to mediate and persuade Inokichi, but Inokichi—thoroughly twisted at heart—refused to listen.
Sonzaemon too grew exasperated,

“If someone like you comes from my village, I couldn’t bear to show my face to the world.”
“If letting a wretch like that strut about means that, then I’d rather die quickly—so cut off my head!”

“Exchanging my neck for such a grimy one—the accounts wouldn’t balance, would they? However, since you went to all this trouble, I’ll kindly slice off your rear for you.”

“What an insolent wretch!”

“Ah ha ha!”

“This is a contest between swords; I must ask you all to refrain from unnecessary interference.”

There was no prospect of mediation.

★

Tenpō 2, March 11, 8:00 PM.

Bokichi set out for Inokichi’s residence in Sonohara Village accompanied by two attendants.
Before the garden stood a bamboo fence arranged to prepare a match area—but in truth, this was their strategy: beyond that bamboo barrier, atop roofs and among tree branches, bows, arrows, and firearms lay hidden, poised to ambush Bokichi.

Yamazaki first invited Bokichi into the sitting room.
Behind those sliding door panels, a dozen or more men armed with spears and halberds lay concealed, poised to drive Bokichi into the garden at the signal.

Yamazaki offered Bokichi a ceremonial cup and had him drink two in succession, then—

“Now, allow me to present a token of gratitude.”

He stood up, drew his sword, and thrust it at Bokichi’s nose.
Bokichi, who had of course never lowered his guard, had already leapt back and stood poised,

“I humbly accept your offering. Now—what’s next on the menu?”

He calmly surveyed his surroundings.
At Yamazaki’s signal, the *fusuma* were flung open all at once, and over a dozen men armed with spears and halberds appeared, pressing toward Bokichi—but Bokichi restrained them,

“There is no need for panic.”
“There shall be neither fleeing nor hiding.”
“However, this feast is meant to be partaken by Bokichi alone.”
“It would be wasteful for attendants to taste these dishes.”
“Allow me to send these two men back, then I shall savor this meal at my leisure.”

Having sent his two attendants outside the residence, he descended into the garden and stood waiting for his opponent without even drawing his sword.

Yamazaki, protected by spearmen and halberdiers, descended into the garden,

“Bokichi.”
“Are you prepared?”
“By the bond of master and disciple, I shall avenge Inokichi’s bitter regrets.”
“The blade of Shintō Isshin-ryū—do you dare receive it?”
“There—feast on it to your heart’s content.”

Yamazaki raised his longsword and, seeing Bokichi had not yet drawn his blade, seized this opening to launch a sudden attack.
In that instant, Bokichi’s sword flashed from its scabbard.

Had Bokichi drawn first and awaited his opponent’s move, the baptism of bows and firearms might have preceded all else.
This was Bokichi’s calculated gambit—entrusting fate to heaven while deliberately keeping his sword sheathed.
Yet divine technique proved fearsome.
Bokichi’s blade—drawn and slashing in retaliation—was faster than Yamazaki’s descending strike.
The edge bit into Yamazaki’s shoulder.
Yamazaki wiped blood from the wound and staggered.
But the distance had been slightly too great; only the sword’s tip made contact, sparing him a mortal wound.

Spears and halberds rushed at him all at once, but what Bokichi remained wary of was not them—it was the bows and firearms.
He had a rough idea that those lying in wait beyond the bamboo fence and above his head must undoubtedly be the bows and firearms.
To evade that attack, getting beyond the bamboo fence was paramount; thus, even before drawing his sword, his mind was concentrated on strategies to cross it.
Bokichi pretended to flee, ducked through his assailants, ran behind the enemies, and leapt over the bamboo fence.
It was truly a splendid leap, but when luck wasn’t on his side, there was nothing to be done. The other side of the bamboo fence he vaulted over was a deep rice paddy.
He sank completely into it, losing all freedom of movement.
Thereupon came gunfire from the rooftop.
Struck by a bullet in the thigh and rendered even more immobile, he was then finished off by the ashigaru group’s bamboo spears, stabbed repeatedly until dead.
If he hadn’t sunk into the deep rice paddy, he could have escaped beyond the firearms’ range, given them a thorough scare, and perhaps even secured victory.
A regrettable failure it was.
At that time, Bokichi was forty-two.

Yamazaki and his men threw Bokichi’s corpse into the Katashina River and feasted with innocent faces, but since they had already pulled strings with the domain officials, there was nothing to worry about.
Bokichi’s father-in-law filed a lawsuit, but it was lost in the domain court.
Thereupon, they appealed to the Edo magistrate’s office, and the retrial’s outcome found all members of Yamazaki’s gang guilty; however, since Yamazaki had already died in prison from his shoulder wound, he escaped execution, while Inokichi and the majority of others were sentenced to death, bringing the matter to a close.

This incident caused a great stir in Edo, but what became the renewed topic of discussion was the sheer power of Bokichi’s swordsmanship. Those who became allies of the deceased Bokichi and spared no effort in pursuing the Edo retrial were none other than the low-ranking samurai scoundrels—yet their astonishment at “That demon god was human after all” outweighed their mourning of his unnatural death.

It is said their astonishment outweighed all else.

“After all, you see, he was the kind of man who could shrink his balls and tuck ’em into his gut before calmly stepping into a duel.”

“The moment he laid hands on the bamboo fence, he’d made a damn fine leap—five or six *ken* clear to the outside. But ending up in a deep paddy? That’s fate’s cruel joke for you.”

“But, y’know.”

“Being too damn strong robs a man of his charm.”

“Bokichi getting himself slaughtered really capped it off with a flourish.”

“He made flowers bloom on stone indeed.”

“Well, this too makes for a fine tale of recent times indeed.”

Bangorō and the others drank a farewell toast while saying such things; then, longing for Bokichi’s sword and mourning his death, they requested a local master to fashion it into a spirited popular song and sang it.
And this, it is said, became wildly popular throughout all of Edo at the time.