Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Egawa Tarōzaemon - given name Hidetatsu, pseudonym Tan'an, style Kyūen - was a hereditary magistrate of Nirayama who entered Takashima Shūhan's school and mastered the secrets of gunnery; an exceptional man excelling in Japanese, Chinese, and Western studies who took on numerous disciples, among whom were two students praised for surpassing their master.
Namely, these two were Kawaji Saneyomi and Sakuma Shōzan.
Sakuma Shōzan had Yoshida Shōin as his disciple, while Shōin’s disciples included Itō and Inoue - the so-called leaders of the Meiji Restoration.

Now, Egawa Tarōzaemon had a disciple of particular distinction.
That was Miyagawa Yukijirō—son of a gokenin from Kinkagiri—who later took the pseudonym Yukisai.
What made Yukijirō remarkable was that though he had entered the Egawa school, he neither pursued mastery of gunnery nor applied himself to Dutch studies, instead idling about until he suddenly produced a single work.
Namely, Green Forests, Black & White.

This Green Forests, Black & White stood as a biographical record of great bandits and thieves from Japan, China, and Korea—a rare tome of strange marvels distinguished by masterful prose, rigorous scholarship, novel theories aplenty, and grand vision—yet regrettably, it had been nearly lost during the Meiji Restoration.
To put it plainly: war's flames devoured it.

Yet through a chance occurrence, I obtained it in its entirety.
What tremendous luck this was!
Using that as material, I have published several stories in various magazines up to now, but this time I think I will attempt to examine Kurouemon Akagoushi by basing my analysis on "Green Forests, Black & White."

First and foremost, I must state that Kurouemon Akagoushi—the dashing hero who appears in my tale—differs greatly in every aspect from that figure who has been portrayed through fabrications in traditional plays and historical novels. The most striking point is the era in which he appeared. Contrary to fictional portrayals placing him in the Kyōhō era, he was in fact a truly formidable warrior whose valor resounded both domestically and abroad from the twilight of Toyotomi's reign through the dawn of the Tokugawa shogunate.

Furthermore, according to *Green Forests, Black & White*, Kurouemon was not a thief but rather a truly skilled ninjutsu practitioner—a covert agent who was highly valued by Toyotomi Hideyoshi.

It was said he frequently investigated the inner workings of western outer daimyō and the Kantō-based Tokugawa family by applying his expert ninjutsu skills under Hideyoshi’s orders.

Now, as for who recommended him to Hideyoshi, it was Sen no Rikyū.
Regarding that matter, there existed the following extremely fascinating story.

In Hakata, the wealthy merchant Kamiya Sōtan possessed a tea caddy called Narashiba that had been passed down through generations as a family heirloom.
The first to request it was Ōtomo Sōrin of Bungo, but Sōtan flatly refused.
Next came Akizuki Tanezane’s attempt to seize it by force, but for Sōtan—the maritime king who straddled Luzon, Siam, and Ming China, fearing neither hell nor heaven—such coercion proved utterly ineffective.
And flatly refused.
The last to desire it was none other than Toyotomi Hideyoshi.
Yet Sōtan mercilessly refused even that.

However, once a ruler worthy of his reputation had desired it, no matter how obstinate Sōtan was, he ultimately had no choice but to obey the command. In this way, the tea caddy finally came into Hideyoshi's possession.

Having obtained the Narashiba tea caddy, Hideyoshi was of course overjoyed; however, being such a celebrated artifact, he could not carelessly leave it lying about. Therefore, he entrusted it to Rikyū.

At that time, Rikyū lived as a tea master from a distinguished family permitted to use the lay priest title koji, served as Hideyoshi’s instructor, and wielded unparalleled influence with a residence granted within the castle; however, ever since taking custody of the celebrated Narashiba tea caddy, he began to be frequently plagued by strange phenomena.

One night, Rikyū wandered quietly through his garden without attendants. For it was a garden where rustic simplicity and opulence fused into one—a space he himself had shaped with his own hands, where every tree and stone mound was imbued with meticulous care.

He arrived before the pavilion; a stone lantern stood dimly lit at its side.

"Hmm..." he muttered curiously, pausing before it. No matter how he considered it, there was no reason for a stone lantern to occupy that space. He certainly hadn't placed one there himself. Its very presence contravened his aesthetic principles.

He remained standing there, head slightly tilted, gazing at the inexplicable fixture.

Then the lantern's glow began intensifying unnaturally until it illuminated the entire garden as if the sun had suddenly appeared in the sky—only to vanish completely in the next instant, leaving no trace of its existence.

Rikyū involuntarily sighed.

"It appears there exists a vulnerability in this Rikyū's art that could be exploited."
"To think a garden fortified through refinement would be ravaged by foxes and raccoon dogs—this truly marks an inexcusable lapse."

Yet this lapse paled before an even graver blunder that befell him.

It was June tenth at summer's peak when he lay asleep alone late at night in his usual bedchamber.

He awoke to the sound of a horse's bit.
This was a samurai’s habit.
He heard the sound of a tea whisk and abruptly awoke in the dead of night.
He sat up on the futon and listened intently to the sound. Then, unexpectedly, the sound came from the adjacent room.

He involuntarily threw off his futon.
And then he smoothly stood up.
He stole his footsteps as he approached the sliding door, opened it a crack, and peered through.

A young samurai with a compact build and hair bound in a youth's topknot showed his profile toward him, sitting upright at the room's center while skillfully preparing tea.
He was an unfamiliar samurai.

Rikyū looked at the samurai’s hands.
Then he let out an “Ah!”
It was because the samurai was calmly whisking tea with the Narashiba tea caddy entrusted by the Imperial Regent.

“Impostor!” Sen no Rikyū cried out.
Yet his voice died within his throat as utter stillness enveloped the surroundings.
He pulled open the sliding door.
But though he thought it had opened, the door remained firmly shut.
He found himself paralyzed as if bound by invisible chains—unable to move or utter a sound.

All through this, the samurai finished preparing tea with unhurried composure and drank it serenely.
After wiping the bowl clean according to ritual, he slowly placed it back in its box. Suddenly turning toward Rikyū with a dewdrop-like smile, he rose gracefully, took two or three steps forward, then dissolved into misty nothingness.

II

The following day, Rikyū requested an audience with Hideyoshi.
After recounting the two strange occurrences, he added thus:

“At first, I suspected foxes or raccoon dogs,” but the act of fearlessly preparing tea with such composure using a treasure personally selected by Your Excellency was too bold for mere beasts—undoubtedly human. I have deduced it must be a peerless ninjutsu master...”

“I see,” Hideyoshi said abruptly.
“We must comb through every blade of grass to find them, capture them, and see them punished!”

“Ah, but wait!” Upon hearing this, Rikyū quickly waved his hand. “This may be somewhat hasty, I must say.”

“What?! Hasty?! This Hideyoshi?!”

“I humbly beg your forgiveness for any overstatement. Given that such a renowned and daring individual—especially a practitioner of ninjutsu—exists, rather than condemning their impertinence and punishing them, it would be wiser to bestow favor and make them an ally…”

“Are you suggesting we make use of them somehow?”

“It is exactly as Your Excellency commands.”

“Rikyū, cease your tea ceremonies from this day forth!”

“Huh?” he exclaimed in surprise, his eyes widening.

Then Hideyoshi let out a dry chuckle,

"There’s nothing for you to be surprised about."
"I merely called him a capable man."
"If he were to abandon tea and take up the command baton, he might even rival Josui."
"Very well! As per your suggestion, we shall apprehend that rogue and employ him as a covert operative under our command."

Thus beginning the following day, numerous personnel were dispatched in all directions to search for the audacious practitioner of ninjutsu. And what was discovered through this search was none other than the protagonist of this tale—Akagoushi, who would later be known by the epithet Kajiwara Kurouemon Noriyuki.

At this time, Kurouemon was fifteen years old, born on Amakusa Island in Kyushu as the youngest son of Kōri Ryōbōsetsu.

After Lord Toyotomi's death, he resigned from service, and when the Tokugawa clan came to power, he abandoned his ambitions on land and directed his expansion toward the sea. That is, he became the chief strategist for Hakata's wealthy merchant Shimai Sōshitsu and, as captain of red-seal ships, advanced trade ventures to Joseon, Luzon, Siam, and Annam. He was a master of fukui-iai. There is one anecdote concerning this.

An elderly samurai walked quietly through the streets. Hiding his face beneath a deep woven hat and keeping his head bowed so low that not a trace of his features could be discerned, yet judging from his robust build, he was undoubtedly a man of imposing presence. The sight of him clad in a black-crested kamishimo with slender long and short swords and damask hakama trousers was truly splendid indeed. He was what one would first call an honorable retiree among hatamoto with over 1,000 koku stipends. Yet he had no attendants.

In the Fourth Month of Keian 4, during midday when the sun blazed relentlessly, the bustling district of Asakusa Okuyama was so densely packed with people that one could scarcely move freely.
The samurai walked through their midst neither hurriedly nor hastily.

At that moment, three samurai came pushing through the crowd ahead. At a glance, they appeared to be gokenin or low-ranking hatamoto—men of coarse bearing.
As they jostled through the crowd, the two groups of samurai passed each other—when suddenly, at that very moment, the straw-hatted samurai placed his left hand on his hat and swiftly turned his gaze upward.
Then, as though swatting away some apparition descending upon him from the sky, he wildly waved his left hand.
And almost simultaneously, his right hand suddenly rose to his chest—something flashed—and in that instant, a battle cry rang out.

It was neither "Ei" nor "Ya."
It was a battle cry—a sharp “Kā!”

The sharpness of that battle cry was such that even the people walking through stopped in their tracks.
The "ka" sound itself is what's called a glottal plosive—a sharp noise produced by pressing the back of the tongue against the soft palate and releasing it explosively—yet curiously, practitioners of kendo almost never employ this cry.
There must be some reason for this.

However, this battle cry had been unleashed amidst the midday crowds in the bustling precincts of Asakusa’s Sensō-ji Temple.
And then, most mysteriously, the figure of that straw-hatted samurai who had been walking there moments before had vanished without a trace!
In other words, when the battle cry rang out, his figure vanished simultaneously.
And to their horror, there lay three crimson-drenched samurai, fallen dead!
All three had their skulls split by a single sword stroke.

This daytime atrocity spread instantly throughout Edo and caused a tremendous sensation.
Because that samurai was deemed suspicious, all personnel under the South and North Town Magistrates—from assistant magistrates down to constables, informants, and investigators—united their efforts in pursuing countermeasures, but they found no leads whatsoever.

They even conducted discreet inquiries among hatamoto, gokenin, and kinban samurai, but nothing fruitful came of it.
As they failed to find any leads, days continued to pass until over a month had gone by.
At that time, using exactly the same method, a single distinguished hatamoto was cut down on the Kahyō side of the Shiba Mitamaya, was he not?

And once again, the samurai had vanished without a trace, leaving only his sharp “Kā!” battle cry lingering in the ears of those passing through the streets.

How great must have been the shock for the town magistrates governing Edo’s public safety?
Needless to say, they conducted an even more rigorous search for the culprit’s whereabouts than ever before.
Yet his whereabouts remained unknown.
And thus his location ultimately remained unknown forevermore. Still, according to public rumor, this was none other than Kurouemon Akagoushi having slain his sworn enemies—his divine swiftness being the arcane art of ninjutsu, and his exquisite sword techniques constituting the secret arts of iaijutsu.

The rumor was indeed factual.
After Kurouemon’s death, it is said that this fact was recorded in his memoir.

III

The above was a rewritten passage from an anecdote in Green Forests, Black & White. By this time, Kurouemon was said to have reached seventy-one years of age. That he could still perform such extraordinary feats despite his aged body showed he must indeed have been a master of iaijutsu.

Now then, how did Kurouemon—he who possessed such swordsmanship and was a master of ninjutsu—spend his prime years, particularly his era of maritime ventures?
That is truly a tale worth hearing.
And that is precisely the subject that I myself wish to recount.

On Genna 1, August 24th—Shimai Sōshitsu, that great merchant-warrior who had received special favor from Nobunaga and Hideyoshi, who for Chancellor Hideyoshi’s sake had even disguised himself as a Korean to conduct terrain surveys for the Korean campaigns, thoroughly investigating Gyeongsang, Gyeonggi, Pyeongyang, and other regions before reporting back—succumbed to illness.
He died at the age of seventy-seven.

It was in March of the following year that Kurouemon, having received the posthumous command, installed Sōshitsu’s second son as family head and departed for Luzon in the South Seas under the order of the second-generation Sōshitsu.

At this time, Kurouemon was thirty years old, in the full vigor of his prime.
Clad in a Shoku-kōkin brocade battle surcoat with a gold-forged tachi at his side, a war fan in hand, field hakama on his legs, his hair bound in a full-head topknot, and warrior straw sandals firmly planted on the deck—there he stood at the ship’s prow!
Even now, when recalling it, isn't he gallant?

By the time they reached Yuweng Island—what are now called the Penghu Islands—it was already mid-July.

To take on fresh water, the ship had to anchor at Magong Port for several days.
Since this was an annual occurrence, they had long since reached an understanding with the island’s natives, so there was no fear of being attacked.

It was the eve before their scheduled departure the following day when Kurouemon wandered alone along the island's shore.

At that very moment hung a full moon in the sky, while the boundless sea lay calm, its silver expanse spreading across the waters.
Upon the towering rocks clustered along the shore spilled moonlight too, glimmering faintly pale.
With a shriek that grazed the moon's edge, something darted from the rocks toward the sea—likely a wild goose roused by brilliance mistaking night for dawn.
He quietly moved his feet and climbed onto one of the rocks.
A breeze blew in from the sea, fluttering stray hairs at his temples as it wiped sweat from his body.

Then, he abruptly stopped.

For from somewhere in the nearby rock shadows came the faint sound of a boy’s sorrowful weeping.
He was not a little surprised, inclined his ear toward the direction of the sound, and after listening intently for a while, soon broke into a brisk run.
When he rounded the flat rock that stood like a folding screen, he suddenly emerged into a wide clearing.
And there, in the center of that clearing, lay a boy of fourteen or fifteen, his limbs tightly bound with ropes, sprawled upon the ground.

The exquisitely beautiful and graceful countenance of the moonlit boy first captivated Kurouemon’s heart.
What next surprised him was the garments adorning the boy.
The robes were embroidered with the royal crest of Cambodia.

In the past, Kurouemon had traveled to Cambodia once or twice and had become quite proficient in their national language.

And he spoke to the boy.

Through this exchange, he learned that the boy was none other than the Crown Prince of Cambodia; that a terrible revolution had erupted in that kingdom; that as a result, the King and Queen had been pitifully cast into prison; that Prince Kambo Koma alone had been captured by the rebels and abandoned among the rocks of this Penghu Island—in short, from the Prince’s own lips, he came to know of the calamity that had befallen the Cambodian nation with which he was involved.

How Kurouemon—that man of profound chivalry—felt his blood boil with righteous fury upon hearing the prince’s tale, how deeply he sympathized with the royal youth—such things need hardly be recorded.

“Very well!” Kurouemon first declared in a solemn voice.

“That a man of Japan like Kurouemon should unexpectedly have the honor of meeting Your Highness and hearing of your nation’s grave affairs must be some karmic bond. Though my abilities are limited, I shall lend my aid to rescue Their Majesties the King and Queen and arrange for Your Highness to safely reunite with them. As there is a large ship led by a certain person anchored at the nearby shore, I humbly request Your Highness to first relocate to it.”

Thus, Kurouemon carried the prince on his back and returned to his own ship.
Then, he secretly summoned only five of the ship's key figures and recounted the night's events.

Then Kurouemon spoke as follows.

"Above all else, we must first make haste to Luzon."
"There, we shall unload the cargo we have brought and then proceed to Cambodia."

“Understood,” replied the five men, bowing respectfully in unison.
To them, Kurouemon was a sovereign wielding boundless authority.

From the following day onward, Prince Kambo Koma was clad in Japanese garments and came to be addressed as Komatarou in the Japanese fashion.
Thus from that day forth, the ship spread every available sail to its fullest extent and began coursing ever southward.
The splendid weather persisted day after day, the sea remaining perpetually calm.
In time they reached Luzon, where a branch of the Shimai family conducted its affairs.
Having loaded fresh cargo there, the ship hastened back across the seas toward Japan.
Yet none at the branch house noticed how quantities of gunpowder and bullets, swords and spears had been secretly conveyed aboard alongside the legitimate freight.
Still less could they have conceived that midway through its voyage, the vessel would alter course southwestward and advance in a direction diametrically opposed to Japan.

However, the red-seal ship Shōsukemaru, carrying Prince Koma’s Komatarou, leader Akagoushi Kurouemon, and over fifty sailors, advanced swiftly and majestically toward the Kingdom of Cambodia.

And so, from that time onward, the Shōsukemaru obscured its traces from people's eyes and ears for some time.

IV

Thus, one month passed.

And thus, the story shifted its stage to the Kingdom of Cambodia.

To the south of Siam and north of Cochinchina lay the Kingdom of Cambodia, its capital Phnom Penh City having been built upon a sandbar at the lower reaches of the Mekong River near Tonlé Sap Lake.
In the northeastern part of the town stood an imposing edifice - none other than King Arakan's palace - which had now been occupied by the rebel general Irma.

It was a moonless midnight.

At the imposing palace’s rear gate, five rebel soldiers gripping spears stood lined up, but suddenly raised their voices in unison.

"Who goes there?" they shouted sharply.
Then, even before their voices faded, a shadowy figure leapt nimbly forward from the darkness with a fierce "Kā!" shout.
Simultaneously, something like a flash of lightning glinted.
And then, still gripping their spears, all five soldiers were cut down one after another, thudding to the ground.

“Now then, Lord Komatarou—come forth.”

Then from the darkness emerged a shadowy figure who whispered “Lord Kurouemon.”

The two slipped smoothly into the palace just as they were.

Akagoushi Kurouemon Kyouyuki cut down several guards and, taking Prince Kambo Koma—now called Komatarou—forced open the gate and charged into Cambodia’s royal palace.

The events of that time are recorded in Green Forests, Black & White thus:

“Upon passing through the gate lay an inner courtyard—silent and deserted on all sides—with a great pond at its center.
Strange rocks and bizarre crags towered along its banks, obscuring all before them; they circled the pond only to become lost deep within the forest.
Suddenly from thick undergrowth burst forth a leaping shape.
A ferocious leopard—struck by white steel—collapsed upon the earth.
Emerging from woodland into inner gardens, circling corridors they came before a giant tower.
Three guards leveled spears in challenge.
Two fell slain while one was captured and compelled as guide.
This tower proved prison keep—descending stairways fathoms deep revealed stone-sealed chambers where King and Queen lay confined…”
Thus runs the account.

Thus did the prince and Kurouemon reach the underground prison.
There was no one there.
Only the royal scepter the king had likely carried and a single pair of shoes he had presumably worn lay discarded on the floor, seeming to tell of a tragic tale—neither the king nor queen were anywhere to be found.

"Murdered... or rescued?"

In essence, it came down to these two possibilities.

However, they had likely been assassinated.
Kurouemon and Prince Koma could do nothing but exchange blank glances and stand frozen in place.

However, they could not remain standing frozen like that forever.
For they were in enemy territory.

The two hurriedly exited the tower.

They cut down the encircling rebel soldiers who had noticed them with his signature masterful "kā shout" technique, slicing through them mercilessly in all directions, and dashed out of the castle town in a rush.
Outside the castle walls were his fifty subordinates whom he had stationed there in advance; they swiftly opened a bloody path and stealthily made their way to Kampot Port.
Thus, they boarded the ship and withdrew to Japan for the time being.

It was the early summer of Kanbun 6 when Kurouemon Akagoushi departed from Hakata to Edo.

At that time, he was eighty-six years old. He should have been a decrepit old man, but his body—tempered by the renowned oceans—remained hale and hearty, still retaining most of his teeth. Moreover, at this time, his assets rivaled those of Suetsugu Heizō, establishing him as a preeminent wealthy figure in Kyushu. Consequently, he was held in great esteem by officials and commoners alike across all social strata, though Senior Councillor Sakai Tadakiyo cherished him with particular fondness.

And so it came to pass that he was once again invited to the residence, where they delighted in listening to the thrilling adventure tales recounted from his own lips; those in attendance included such luminaries of their generation as Hotta Masatoshi, Abe Bungo-no-kami Tadaaki, and Kawamura Zuiken—a congregation of that era's most distinguished sages and prodigies.

“For a man of your fortitude, there has never been anything you found terrifying, has there?”
Suddenly, Tadakiyo took the opportunity of their conversation to ask Kurouemon this.

Then, Kurouemon narrowed his large eyes slightly—an expression that seemed to reach back into the distant past.

“Well now, as for such matters…”

With that, he modestly shook his head,

“Especially when I found myself surrounded by those fierce warriors of the Black-Masked Ship in Hong Kong—why, this Kurouemon was terrified to the depths of his heart.”

“What’s this about a ‘Black-Masked Ship’ in Hong Kong? And what manner of beings are these?”

“They were mysterious pirates.”

“Hoh, pirates? Could they be Chinese pirates?”

“However, they were not Chinese.”

“It seems this tale grows intriguing. Please recount it to me in full detail.”

“Understood.”

Kurouemon said this, then began that tale.

This occurred forty-six years ago in the early summer of Genna 7, when I was in my prime at forty years of age. As captain of the Sōshitsu-maru, we had set sail for the South Seas and anchored at Hong Kong—our scheduled port of call—when matters first arose. That night, I went ashore accompanied by a young helmsman named Tōroku.

As you are aware, Hong Kong lies within hailing distance of Kowloon on the China mainland, and though it is a small island, its inner harbor—being the deepest and calmest in the Orient—is truly an excellent port, thus ships from all nations must call there at least once.

That said, the climate was exceedingly hot, pestilence raged everywhere, and moreover the natives were savage and cruel; combined with the fact that the land was nothing but mountains, one might call it an utterly inhospitable island.
However, near the port, countless houses stood roof to roof, with sake shops, brothels, teahouses, and the like lining every street, all thriving to the utmost.

So, Tōroku and I entered a particularly fine-looking sake shop among them.

5

When we entered and looked inside, the shop was packed with sailors and helmsmen from various countries.
With Chinese, Luzon, Spanish, and Portuguese—the various languages of different nations—the surroundings boisterously brimmed with energy, making it seem as though some intriguing incident might erupt at any moment.

Tōroku and I sat before a round table in the corner of the room, observing our surroundings while drinking the local specialty pomegranate wine, when suddenly beside us—

“Ah, they’re here! The Black Masks!” I heard someone whisper-shout.

At the same moment, the room suddenly fell silent.
When I looked, from the far doorway facing outside at the room's opposite end, a grotesque pitch-black human figure—its form akin to a bat—fluttered into the room.

"Just as the rumors said—they truly did have a bizarre appearance," I mused to myself.

I had long heard reports about a large ship crewed by sailors of unknown nationality—men shrouded in jet-black garments, wearing masks of the same hue, and bearing wing-like black horo cloaks—that prowled the South Seas and China Sea, indiscriminately halting every vessel that crossed its path to board them, count their crew members, and plunder their goods. Thus when I saw that bat-like human figure enter the room at that moment, I immediately recognized them as such.

Now, the sailors of the Black-Masked Ship had entered the room in that manner, yet they committed no violence whatsoever; instead, they remained standing in a corner of the room, silently observing their surroundings. However, this very sight must have struck the shop’s patrons as eerily unsettling instead, for they began slipping away one by one until, before anyone knew it, everyone had departed. And so, only Tōroku and I were left behind.

Before long, perhaps having grown frightened himself, Tōroku began urging me to return to the ship. However, I did not return. “I’ll determine their true identities”—such was my reasoning at the time.

There I remained calmly drinking the pomegranate wine.
Then they gazed at me while whispering among themselves for a time, but abruptly drew near.
Having surrounded us, a man who seemed the eldest among them addressed me in lucid, precise Cambodian:

"It appears you gentlemen are unacquainted with us."
"Or if you stay here knowing full well who we are—then you must be warriors of exceptional valor,"

“Needless to say, I am fully aware!” I declared thus. “You gentlemen must be the sailors of the Black-Masked Ship who have been so much spoken of of late. Since I am a Japanese samurai, I fear no man!”

“Splendid words!”
“Truly a brave warrior!”
They abruptly changed their demeanor, becoming exceedingly courteous. “Since we entreat you by those noble words, would you deign to accompany us?”——“A Japanese samurai does not refuse even death—all the more when requested, I shall gladly join you.”——“That is most gracious indeed.”
“Then let us guide you…”——“Understood.”

In this fashion, I sent Tōroku—who had been attempting to restrain me—back to the ship, then followed them out of the sake house.
They led me deeper into darkness after darkness.
And then toward the shore.
When half a koku had passed, we reached the coast to find the sea before us black as ink to the horizon’s edge.
Behind rose precipitous mountains; left and right stood jagged crags; ahead stretched the boundless ocean.
The sky held neither moon nor stars—only storm-driven black clouds racing endlessly seaward—truly a place of dread.

Then, a black-masked man raised the pine torch he held in his hand high above his head and swung it toward the sea.
At once, a deep rumbling resounded from the seabed before our eyes, and what I had mistaken for a massive rock upon the sea's surface surged upward in an instant—was that not an enormous ship suddenly surfacing upon the waters?
This was the Black-Masked Ship.
To think it could freely sink beneath waves and rise again from their midst!
What manner of strange and terrifying vessel existed in this world! For the first time then, I felt true fear gripping my heart.

6

And then what did I do?
I didn't do anything at all!
Guided by the masked sailors, I boarded the mysterious ship that could freely submerge and surface.
After boarding, what did I do then?
I didn't do anything at all!
I descended the stairs and entered the midship compartment of that mysterious ship.

At that moment, a strange clattering sound—clackclackclackclackclackclack—echoed through the ship's hull where it struck. The vessel I shared with them was likely plunging to the seabed—did it not rock violently?

"The ship is underwater now," I thought, feeling a visceral chill course through me. I wordlessly swept my gaze around the compartment. Though cramped, the space had been exquisitely adorned in Cambodian fashion.

The senior masked sailor suddenly raised a hand in gesture. This must have served as some prearranged signal, for his crewmates immediately filed out to an adjacent chamber. When their footsteps faded, only the elder sailor and I remained in that submerged room.

“Now then, first please take your seat there.”
The senior sailor offered a chair while saying this, so I silently took my seat.

Then, that masked sailor sharply fixed both eyes upon the twin swords at my hip, but—

“If I may be so bold—those twin swords of yours must be exquisitely crafted blades, no?” he inquired unexpectedly.

“Both are works of Hikoshirō Sadamune—renowned blades among Japanese swords.”

“Would you perhaps deign to wield those renowned blades?”——“This is indeed an unusual request... Yet if there exists sufficient reason for it, I would not refuse such an appeal.”
“……First—who exactly is this opponent?”——“A villain who has seized nations and oppressed the people.”——“Hmm, such an evildoer—I’ve no objection to cutting him down… But where does this tyrannical foe currently reside?”——“Confined in the ship’s hold.”——“What—in this very ship’s belly?”
“Well now, this is beyond all expectation.”
“Then need this one’s hand not be borrowed—through all your hands combined, you could surely defeat him…”——“No—no! Though a villain, when it comes to the sword, he is a peerless master.”
“Moreover, even with many attacking at once, he cannot be defeated”—“And why might that be?”—“Because he alone holds a grave secret that our noble lord and lady—whom we serve—would stake their lives to learn. Using this as leverage, he demands: ‘Select ten warriors and send them one by one to my chamber.”
“Then make them face me.”
“If someone manages to wound me even slightly, I’ll accept my fate and spare their life.”
“Before sparing your life, I’ll even reveal the secret.”
“But if I cut down every last one of those ten warriors, resign yourself to your failure and let me escape from this ship!”
“And having complied with that proposal, we have thus far selected nine warriors and sent them to his chamber—but upon entering, each was instantly cut down with a single stroke, with none surviving…”

“I see,” I nodded. “So you have chosen me as the tenth and final warrior—understood.”
“Understood. I shall comply.”
“Shall I wield this Hikoshirō blade exactly as commanded?”—I accepted with deep resolve.
“Then you are finally in agreement?”

“I’ll show you by stopping that Villain’s breath with a single stroke!”

“Ah, but if his breath were stopped, it would rather complicate matters…”

“In that case, I shall inflict a grave wound—one not quite fatal.”

Then I followed him down the narrow, steep staircase to the ship’s hold.
At the bottom of the stairs stood a latched, sturdy door—and it was precisely within this that our target lay confined.

After the senior masked sailor who had guided me this far departed with the lamp, in the absolute darkness where not a single light remained, neither door nor latch could be seen.
In that darkness, I took deep breaths for a while to calm my spirit, then deliberately fumbled with my hands to remove the latch—and in that very moment, I lunged forward and rushed straight into the chamber.
Just as expected, a sword strike from exactly the left side of the doorway grazed my back—its keen edge brushing past my cheek—but by that moment, having seized the initiative, I was already inside the chamber.
And I thought.
Probably, the nine warriors before me had missed this crucial instant and vainly lost their lives to that sharp single strike.

I stood at the center of the chamber with my breath sealed.
This was one of ninjutsu's esoteric secrets—the technique called Fūsoku that transformed a living body into a lifeless state.
At least in that manner, by sealing one’s breath and standing motionless for but an instant, one could transform a human into wood or stone—or even into a rat, serpent, or spider.—The sealed breath would inevitably escape!
The timing of its release was crucial.
I gradually moved my feet toward the door.
It was an all too evident fact that no opponent was present there.
In the instant someone made a sudden slash—nimbly shifting their body to obscure their position—this constituted the conventional method; whereas exploiting the gap in that very convention to instead charge toward the opponent represented the unorthodox path of ninjutsu.
Indeed, he was not at the doorway.
Thereupon I employed the next technique—namely, the secret art known as Kogakurengyō, a wood evasion technique that adapted one’s form to that of a tree and assimilated with it.
I employed that technique.
In simple terms, I created a posture matching the wood grain and adopted the mindset of a tree.—That was essentially what it entailed.

VII

Indeed, up until this very moment, I had not drawn my sword—so it was.
A sword possesses its own vital essence—colloquially called "sword aura"—though it might just as well be termed "killing intent".

Now this sword aura could prove an extremely effective weapon for intimidating opponents in certain situations, yet conversely, in others, it would become one’s own undoing.
That is to say, because one holds a drawn blade, the sword aura surges forth, making it impossible to conceal oneself—thus one falls victim to a surprise attack.

In that manner, with my body pressed tightly against the door’s surface, I quietly peered into the darkness.

Sure enough, because he was gripping a drawn blade, his position became clear to me.
From the doorway where I stood, in the corner of the room diagonally across, a sword aura faintly glowed white.

“Good.
“Victory is mine!”
I involuntarily muttered this in my mind.

And thus did that duel truly conclude in my victory.
—With a sharp exhalation, I released my held breath.
He lunged at the opening—I parried and pressed inward.
In the interval between heartbeats, I twisted the hilt and with a "Kā!" cry severed him at the torso—thus it was done.

The dull impact of a body striking planks.
A stifled groan of agony.
Then silence reigned.

“Damn it!” I involuntarily shouted aloud at that moment—a breach of my promise to merely wound him gravely rather than kill, but it had seemed in that instant that I’d cut him down dead.

When the door swung open and pine torches flared to life, revealing dozens of masked sailors entering the chamber around two figures radiating divine majesty, I clearly recognized—bathed in the torchlight—a large man collapsed on the floor drenched in blood: my duel opponent.

“That one called General Irma—though this be retribution for his evil deeds—what manner of death is this?!”
“...Oh, splendid Japanese warrior!”
“Splendidly have you rendered your aid.”
“We, King Arakan of Cambodia, express our profound gratitude!”

“Ah!” I involuntarily stared at this figure of divine majesty, then asked: “Then your lordship is His Majesty King Arakan of Cambodia?”—“Indeed,” he nodded, “And this woman here is Our consort—that is, the Queen!”

“Your Majesties!
“Ah, so that was indeed the case?
“Though unaware of your station and thus having committed this unintended discourtesy, I most humbly beg your forgiveness.
“Now that I properly address Your Majesty, there remains one crucial matter to inquire about—[…] Approximately five years past, His Highness Prince Kambo Koma, the crown prince, fell victim to villainous hands and went missing, did he not?”

“Oh, exactly as you say—he has indeed gone missing.”
“…And having tracked down his whereabouts solely to ascertain Koma’s safety, we captured the rebel general Irma—yet rather than swiftly meting out punishment, we instead heeded his proposal and added you to the ten warriors, shamelessly exposed them before his detestable poisoned blade—all because we wished to hear from his own lips the prince’s fate… But now that hope too has been extinguished—Irma lies dead like this!”
“The mouth that could have spoken has been sealed shut!”

“Ah, but if that be the case, Your Majesties need not harbor any concern whatsoever.”

I had involuntarily cried out thus—so it was.
Before Their Majesties—astonished yet attentive—I then related in meticulous detail the events of five years prior, when I had effected the rescue of Prince Kambo Koma—so it was.

Having narrated up to this point, Kurouemon closed his eyes with deep emotion.
And then he remained silent for a while.
The entire assembly fell completely silent; not a single person made even a cough.

―Soon, Tadakiyo spoke thus and inquired.―

“...Hmm, I see. So you’re saying that five years prior, you rescued His Highness Prince Kambo Koma, crown prince of Cambodia?”
“That sounds an intriguing tale.”
“Tell me that in detail.”

“As Your Lordship commands.”

Thereupon, Kurouemon once again recounted the details of that incident.

That story should have already been written in broad strokes by this author in place of Kurouemon……

At any rate, in this manner, Kurouemon succeeded in rescuing Their Majesties the King and Queen along with the prince. When the parent-child reunion took place, how great was everyone’s jubilation?
There’s no need to explain.

Before long, the dynasty was restored.
And thus, trade between Japan and Cambodia also came to be conducted.

“However, how were His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen able to escape from prison while eluding the rebels’ notice?”

—Tadakiyo inquired gravely…

“It is said that loyal retainers watched for their chance and smuggled them out.”
“...The group of masked sailors were none other than those retainers.”

“That strange submersible ship—what became of it?”

“I had it sunk.”

“Why did you sink it?”
“Since weapons are instruments of harm...”

“Indeed, that is so,” Sakai Tadakiyo murmured while nodding.

“May this world where such instruments of harm lie dormant endure forever.”

“Long live His Majesty’s reign!”

Kurouemon Akagoushi, even in old age, remained sharp; with eyes gleaming, he boldly shouted thus—and within his voice and bearing, a martial spirit surpassing that of men in their prime still burned vividly, leaving the assembly of renowned sages and prodigies utterly pale.