Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

“I hear Azukishima Montayu has been captured.” “It seems your divine fortune has finally run out.” “The descendants of the pirate ships will finally be eradicated with this. “I can’t help feeling it’s a bit of a shame.”

“I hear he’ll be executed at Sumiyoshi Beach.” “This will be a tale told for generations—we simply must go see it.” “Such a renowned pirate leader shall surely meet a noble end.” In the town of Settsu Province’s Osaka, it was the talk on everyone’s lips. On the day itself, Montayu was made to ride a lame horse and paraded throughout the city, but was then led along the pine-lined Sumiyoshi Street until he reached the beach. Pushed into the enclosure and adjusted into the execution position, the duty-bound official promptly stepped forward.

“Now, Montayu—do you have any last words?” He inquired in accordance with protocol.

“Yes,” said Montayu, jerking up his rugged bearded face, “I am a pirate. I wish to die at sea.”

“That cannot be,” rebuked the official. “Did you not declare before?” “Did you not declare before that I wished to die gazing upon the sea? Though I—one who should have been executed a thousand days prior at the scaffold—was granted this mercy: my name, known even overseas as Montayu, being praised, and my wish specially heard to have my head struck off at this Sumiyoshi shore. Such is His Lordship’s boundless compassion.” “What nonsense do you speak now?” “No.”

Montayu smiled faintly,

“When I said I wished to die at sea, I did not mean that I wanted to enter the ocean and drown—that was never the meaning of my words.”

“Hm, then what do you mean?”

“So that I may gaze freely upon the sea, I humbly request you remove only the enclosure facing the sea.” “So you wish to gaze freely upon the sea?”

“That is indeed so.” “Bound hand and foot as I am—even should you remove the enclosure—I cannot possibly escape.” “There are many guards.” “Even if you attempt to flee—we shall not permit it.” “…I shall grant your final wish.”

“I am most grateful for this kindness.” Thereupon, the enclosure was removed, revealing the seemingly calm Naniwa Sea and Sumiyoshi Inlet in full view.

It was the afternoon of the 20th Day of the Final Month, the sunlight warm as befits a southern land, white sands and verdant pines reflecting each other—a scene of utmost serenity. The executioner samurai carried a gleaming blade and quietly drew near from behind. “Proceeding.” After issuing this warning, the samurai observed Montayu’s demeanor.

Montayu fixed his eyes with fierce determination, glaring as if to devour the distant horizon where sea and sky met, “Now, I bid you strike cleanly.” In that instant, the long sword flashed in the sunlight—but with a dull *thud*, Montayu’s head fell to the ground. With a swish, blood gushed from the wound! In the blink of an eye, the severed head rolled around and around on the ground, then sprang into the air. At the same time, Montayu’s body—which had been lying face-down—rose up.

The head rejoined the body. “Ha ha ha ha!” Montayu snapped his large eyes wide open and looked around at the officials, “Beg your pardon!”

With a shout, he started running toward the sea, hurled himself into the air, and plunged in. A sudden spray of water shot up. He disappeared from view.

Azukishima Montayu’s ship entered the deep inlet of Fuenokoshima Island in the Seto Inland Sea on the very same evening.

The ship lay silent, devoid of voices.

A large two-masted vessel, its design a hybrid of Southern Seas vessels and Japanese ships.

When the sharp crescent moon appeared and hung upon a single mast—that is, as night gave way to dawn—Vice-Captain Kijima Juppeita emerged from the hold onto the deck with two or three subordinates.

“Ah, tonight I have such an uneasy feeling. The moon itself has turned pale and looks like a ghost.”

While muttering this, Juppeita looked up at the eastern sky. “By now his corpse must be on display,” he said. “Ah… Now I can never meet our Leader again.” “This has turned into quite the disaster,” one subordinate remarked, striking a wooden clapper. “That our great Leader could be killed so easily… Truly, it seems like a dream.” “I’d tried to stop him back then,” Juppeita continued. “…We’d heard both the Osaka castellan and town magistrate were lyin’ in wait with bows drawn to capture all our clansmen in one sweep—dangerous as hell—so I warned him against landin’ at Osaka.” He paused. “But the Leader wouldn’t listen.” “‘Lately there’s talk,’ he said, ‘about some geographical text from a Southern Seas country bein’ given to the castellan.’” Juppeita’s voice roughened with frustration. “‘I gotta steal that text and see what’s inside—this Montayu can’t rest otherwise!’ So he forced a landin’, and sure enough those magistrate lackeys tricked him, caught him, and gave him a wretched execution. See?’”

Two

At that moment, a subordinate rushed out from the hold in a flurry—but his face was nearly deathly pale, and not merely from the moonlight.

“What happened?”

Juppeita asked suspiciously.

“Something terrible has happened!” Pounding his chest with a fist, he said, “In the Leader’s cabin—the Leader is…” “What?!”

Juppeita stepped forward. "Hey, don't panic! Speak clearly!" "Yes—the Leader is here!" "Yes, the Leader is here." "He is in his usual cabin." "You idiot!" With a pirate's briny-voiced retort, Juppeita shot back: "How in blazes could our beheaded Leader be aboard this ship?!" "Kasan! You've gone mad!"

The man called Kasan, even when told so, stubbornly continued to shout that the Leader was present. “No, I am not deluded. I saw it with my own eyes.” At last, Juppeita tilted his head quizzically and muttered, “I see.” The underlings, having taken in the sight, all shuddered at once. As superstitious pirates were wont to do, they conjured images of ghosts.

Juppeita crossed his arms and sank into thought for a while, but then abruptly uncrossed them and began to walk.

“Very well, I’ll go verify it myself.”

The Leader’s cabin in the hold was decorated with exotic artifacts from various lands. An Indian ebony table. A Persian brocade floral-patterned woolen carpet. An Afghan silk window drape. A Saxon clock. A Chinese inkstone. Gold-crafted long swords and helmets handed down from the Inca Empire. Korean ginseng was put into bags and hung on several pillars.

As the front door opened, Juppeita entered. Then from the Gobelin-woven bed in the corner of the room came a hoarse voice— "Oh, Juppeita! Good timing." "Come over here and give me a hand." That this was Leader Azukishima Montayu's voice admitted no doubt.

Juppeita gasped sharply, yet he did not flee. Calling out "Leader," he charged toward the bed. When he looked, there lay Montayu on the bed. He lay sprawled out wearing Canton-made brocade tubular sleeves, a Shu red brocade camp surcoat draped over them, and tortoiseshell-patterned field hakama, with a short sword still fastened at his waist—yet what differed from the Leader’s usual appearance was the white cloth wrapped round and round his neck in layer upon layer. While pressing his neck with both hands, Montayu laboriously stood up.

“Don’t touch your neck.”

In a hoarse voice, he went to the ebony table and sat down on the chair with a thud.

“Leader.”

Juppeita stood watching Montayu’s condition and said, “When did you return, Leader? And what of your neck?” “Never mind that. Give me a hand with this. Take out the book from the hidden compartment.” Montayu spoke in his usual labored breathing. And Juppeita took out the book. It was a thick, compact book bound in black leather. “This is it—the geographical text! Ah, this is it!”

Joyfully, Montayu burst into laughter. “Ahahaha… Huhuhuhu… Ahahahaha. Heeheeheehee.”

It was an eerie laughter—sound without resonance—and as he listened, Juppeita felt a hair-raising sensation crawl over him. "He’s practically a ghost." "And why on earth has he wrapped that white cloth around his neck like that?" Muttering under his breath, Juppeita kept staring.

“Ah, that’s right. This is the geographical text… When I landed, I went straight to the magistrate’s residence. The security was quite tight, but when it comes to stealth, I excel. Stole it clean as a whistle, I did!” “But Leader,” Juppeita said as he sat in the chair, “weren’t you supposed to have been captured by the magistrate’s men?” “Yeah.”

Montayu nodded but said, “Indeed, I was captured and beheaded at Sumiyoshi Beach.” “But as you can see, I am here.” “And here I am talking to you.” “Hahaha! This will do just fine!” “But don’t you touch my neck.” “If it falls off, that’d be a problem.”

He took up the book, flipped through the pages, and stared intently at one spot—then abruptly changing his tone, Montayu said: “Listen, Juppeita! Listen well! The treasure lies to the southeast of the sea, so they say.”

"What manner of treasure might that be?" "A hidden fortune of immense wealth!"

Montayu said cheerfully.

III

“A hidden fortune of immense wealth?” “Whereabouts might that be?” Juppeita parroted back. “In a land far, far across the sea called Mexico, so they say.”

“Mexico?” “Mexico?” “I’ve not heard that name before.”

Juppeita muttered. “There is a bay there.” “Would it be a large bay?” “It’s said to be larger than Japan’s Kyushu. The bay’s name is California.” “Would that be California Bay?” “There is said to be an island there. An island called Chiburon, so they say. The treasure is hidden there. All of it is recorded in the geographical text.”

“What manner of treasure might that be?” “Gold dust, jewels, foreign gold coins.” “Would that be an uninhabited island?” “Brutal and cruel savages are said to dwell there in countless numbers.” “Leader.”

And Juppeita stood up. “Shall we not subdue the savages and seize the treasure?”

“The voyage will take two years for the round trip, I tell you.”

“Two years?” Juppeita exclaimed, his eyes widening. “Are you frightened?” Montayu laughed. “What nonsense!” Juppeita roared with laughter. “Among the subordinates of Azukishima Montayu, the great pirate of the Seto Inland Sea, there should be no cowards!” “Ah, precisely as you say! Then we shall finally set off for California!” “That goes without saying.” “Preparations will require half a year at least.”

“I am well aware.” “We must also prepare guns and cannons.” “That too I have accounted for.” “We must gather every last one of our companion ships scattered far and wide.” “I shall dispatch fast ships immediately.”

“Alright.”

Montayu clenched his fist and rapped the ebony table with a thud. The moment he did so, his head suddenly drooped. “Whoa, that was close!”

As he spoke, he clamped his neck tightly with both hands. “This neck won’t be handed over yet! Hahaha!” he laughed with terrible force. It was laughter truly unnerving to behold.

In the summer of the final year of Tenpō, ten Japanese warships—each hoisting at their bow the great banner of Hachiman Daibosatsu like the pirate ships of the Ashikaga era—headed for Mexico in South America with boldness beyond imagination, parting the waves of the Pacific.

After enduring several storms and torrential rains, being attacked by pirates at times, and tasting every hardship in full measure, they arrived at California—their gazed-upon destination—in the summer one year after departing Japan; by this time, the number of warships had dwindled to a mere five.

Here, the story took a sudden turn.

The stage now had to abruptly shift to Dome—a coast in Mexico’s Solano State where tropical plants grew thick and wild.

Chiburon Island and the Dome region faced each other almost directly across the strait known as Ko-Jigoku. The distance being a mere ri apart meant they could practically make out each other’s faces.

Dozens of tents were pitched deep within Dome’s primeval forest. It was a party of the British explorer Mr. George Hawkins that had organized an expedition aiming to locate Chiburon’s great treasure and had been secretly encamped here observing the situation for about one month now. The beauty of a tropical sunset. Illuminated by a crimson-gold and deep purple setting sun, peaks of clouds shimmering in five colors massed and rose beyond the sea, their lingering light dyeing the forest trees and tent canvases a blood-like unsettling hue.

The cries of birds, shrieks of monkeys, howls of leopards, and barks of wild dogs resounded ceaselessly and clamorously from all directions of the forest, yet they somehow seemed to seethe with anger at the expedition party's brash behavior.

And then, a Mexican peacock with a rainbow-like tail glittering in the sunset flew in from deep within the forest, alighted quietly on a low tree beside the tents, and let out a single cry.

“Oh, a peacock!” “How pretty!” No sooner had this voice been heard than a boy darted out nimbly from the tent entrance—this was Mr. Hawkins’s son John, an exceedingly adorable and handsome boy of twelve years old. “Alright, I’ll catch this critter!” Muffling his footsteps as he crept closer, he gingerly extended a hand—only for the peacock to flutter up and hop to another bush in one swift bound.

“Oh my, this critter’s a sly one!”

John muttered under his breath as he approached it once more.

And again the peacock flitted to another tree. “Darn it, darn it!”

Muttering to himself, John chased after it.

IV

Before anyone knew it, John had vanished into the shade of the trees.

The evening glow faded, the moon rose, and the primeval forest was fully enveloped in night—yet for some reason, John had not returned. Cooking smoke leaked from the tents, the firelight cast a crimson glow, and the forest presented an indescribably mystical scene—yet there was no sign of young John.

And then, from the very same tent from which John had emerged earlier,

“Where’s John? “He’s nowhere to be seen!” No sooner had this voice been heard than a tall, portly gentleman of imposing stature abruptly emerged outdoors, holding a gun in one hand.

“John! John! “John! Where are you?!”

He called out while straining his ears, but no reply came from anywhere. This gentleman was none other than Mr. George Hawkins himself, the expedition’s captain. As his unease visibly grew, he went from tent to tent asking, “Is John not here?” When news of young John’s disappearance spread throughout the expedition party, every last person was astonished. Each vying to be first, they exited their tents and gathered around their captain. Thus four search parties were swiftly formed. Swinging pine torches and illuminating lanterns, the four teams set out toward the four directions: east, west, south, and north.

Having lost his beloved child, Mr. Hawkins led his own team and flew southward along the coast, descending.

On and on they pressed through the primeval forest. Birds and beasts, roused from sleep, raised raucous cries as if unable to contain their rage, and at times lunged at the party. With a rustle rustle rustle rustle, something parted the thick overgrown weeds and crossed the party’s path—needless to say, it was a giant serpent.

After running for over an hour, the party emerged into a small clearing. And then, Mr. Hawkins stopped.

“Blast it!” He exclaimed in a low voice as he ran to a spot in the clearing, bent over, stretched out his hand, and picked something up from the ground. When he held it up to the pine torch’s light,

“Just as I feared! It’s over.”

With these words, he sorrowfully lowered his eyes. What he had picked up was a small hat—unmistakably John’s.

The bloodstains on the hat, the hastily constructed stone hearth, and the Seri Indian poisoned arrow lying beside them left no doubt about young John’s fate. The natives of Chiburon Island had stealthily landed here, built a hearth, lit a fire, and were secretly observing the expedition’s movements when young John arrived. Then they killed and ate him.

Mr. George Hawkins’ sorrowful appearance made all his subordinates cry. Even a great adventurer who wouldn’t flinch at lions or tigers appeared unable to withstand the bonds of familial love; he kept his face lowered, sobbing. At that moment, the sound of cannons could be heard from far to the north.

The entire group was startled and strained their ears. Then another report rang out.

Suddenly, Mr. Hawkins rallied. “To the Dome!” With a single command, he dashed back the way they had come, taking the lead. When they reached the Dome campsite and looked around, there was nothing particularly out of the ordinary. The tents were still standing. The search parties had also returned. Only the squad that had headed north had yet to return.

About half an hour later, that squad also returned.

And then they said.

“Five grotesque warships quietly sailed up the bay in formation.”

“The cannon fire?”

Mr. Hawkins asked. “It was indeed fired from those grotesque warships, sir.” “Where were they aiming?”

“They fired toward the island.”

“Toward Chiburon Island?”

“Yes, precisely so.”

“Hmm.”

And then Mr. Hawkins sank into deep thought. It was only natural he couldn’t comprehend it.

That a pirate called Montayu from Japan—that Eastern nation—would lead a fleet across the great ocean and come to such a place was something no one could have ever dreamed of.

Now then, had young John truly been devoured by the natives?

Five

Near the coast of Chiburon Island stood a tribal village. The broad plaza—lushly surrounded by coconut palms, banana plants, jujube trees and others—had been their meeting place; now Chieftain Onkokko stood atop a tiered rock platform delivering his valiant oration. “...Our land is sacred! “Our soil remains undefiled! “Never once has foreign aggression breached our shores... Our nation overflows with riches. “Gold! Pearls! Shining bitumen! Small and large gold coins lie heaped like mountains! “We Seri Indians are divinity’s blessed children! “This land of ours forms our gods’ very garden! “Yet insolent invaders scheme to conquer us—us and our hallowed domain! “Pale-skinned red-haired Europeans—such their accursed name! “These vermin fester across yonder strait within mainland forests! “No cause exists for fear! “But vigilance must never waver! “Hone arrowheads! Sharpen blades! Mend shields! String bowstrings!”

How profoundly this valiant oration moved the tribespeople! In unison, they raised a jubilant cry. Then, following their custom, they began dancing a brave war dance while circling endlessly around the plaza.

A red thrush flies away. From there emerges the enemy. Loose your arrows, hurl your spears! We must protect our beloved women

For our tribe, for our island Let us die for our families!

A crimson thrush took wing. From yonder emerged the foe.

Their battle song echoed through forests and groves. It was a valiant and joyous reverberation.

The day drew to a close, and night fell. The tribespeople lit bonfires. Illuminated by flames the color of blood, the unsheathed weapons glittered brilliantly, and the tribespeople’s faces were dyed crimson as they exuded a ghastly air.

However, that night passed without incident, and soon dawn broke into morning as the sun blazed forth in splendor.

At this moment，a major crisis arose． A tribesman named Go—who had been sent out on reconnaissance to Byzantine Bay in the island’s north—came running breathlessly．

“Five large ships assembled and entered Byzantine Bay,” he reported.

“Describe these ships!”

Chieftain Onkokko, remaining seated on a camp stool with composure, first said: “It is a strange sailing ship.” “A strange ship unlike anything I’ve ever seen!”

“What kind of people were aboard?” “That is precisely what is strange. They closely resemble us.” “What about their skin color—is it white?” “No, it is copper-colored.”

“I see. And their hair?”

“That, too, is jet-black in color, just like ours.” “I see. They’re just like us.”

Onkokko closed his eyes and fell into deep thought, as if things still didn’t add up, but suddenly leaped up and shouted.

“Gather! Gather! Everyone gather here!” “The legendary Easterners have come!”

There, another grand council was convened at the usual plaza. And so Onkokko stood atop the rock and began to deliver another impassioned oration.

“Our ancestors were fine ancestors. “They left us a splendid country. “However, our ancestors also left us an ill-omened prophecy. “One day, the Easterners will board five ships and come to this country. “And they will solve the riddle. “And they will untie the cord. “If that happens, we must give all the wealth of our land to the Easterners... This is the prophecy they left us. “Now, it seems those people have indeed arrived by ship.”

Upon hearing their chieftain’s words, the tribespeople suddenly burst into an uproar. Debates flared here and there. The wide open space grew as noisy as a tidal wave from the voices of the tribespeople. “Drive out the Easterners!” “How could we ever hand over the treasure?!”

“Even if those Easterners are clever, they won’t be able to solve that riddle.”

“Even if they solve the riddle, they’ll never manage to untie that cord.” “Regardless, we must take thorough precautions.” “Let’s watch how things unfold awhile.”

The final argument carried the day. They decided to observe the situation for a while.

Soon three days had passed. The Easterners did not come. Yet the five warships made no move to depart from the bay into the open sea. It was a stalemate.

Then a crisis arose. Go, the tribesman who had been keeping watch, was captured by the Easterners.

Six Onkokko was indignant, but since his opponents were the legendary Easterners spoken of in prophecy, there was nothing he could do.

And so, several more days passed. At that moment, a messenger came from the ships. That messenger was none other than Kijima Juppeita himself, and the guide was Go. After careful deliberation, Chieftain Onkokko decided to meet with Juppeita. The role of interpreter fell to Go. “We are military personnel of Japan, the Eastern Land of Noble Men.” First, Juppeita said: “Is there any proof of that?” Onkokko was not backing down either.

“Though I have no evidence to present, there is no doubt we are Easterners,” Juppeita declared resolutely. “Be that as it may, what business brings you to our country?” Onkokko pressed further. “In order to establish friendly relations, conduct trade, and exchange mutual benefits.” “If you are indeed Easterners, first and foremost, solve the series of riddles passed down from our ancestors and untie this tightly knotted mysterious cord. Diplomatic relations and trade are matters for after that.”

“Ah, I see how it is. That shall be acceptable.” “I shall first return to the ships, report to the Leader, and then come again properly.”

Having left these words, Juppeita returned toward the bay. Go also followed along. It seemed Go had come to prefer the Easterners over his fellow tribespeople.

The next day, dozens of Easterners came to the tribal village. Azukishima Montayu and Juppeita came with their subordinates. And then, Chieftain Onkokko too came out to the usual square, leading all the tribespeople in the village. “I am Azukishima Montayu.” “I am the leader of the Easterners.” “I am called Onkokko.” “I am the Chieftain of Chiburon Island.” Thus did the commanders of both forces solemnly declare to one another. “I hear there is some manner of riddle—this humble one shall most assuredly solve it.” Montayu declared with confidence.

“Then please come this way.”

With these words, Onkokko set off. When Juppeita and his men tried to follow behind Montayu, Onkokko stopped them with a hand gesture. And so, just the two of them entered deep into the forest. However, only the interpreter Go was required to accompany them. The three pressed steadily onward. The forest interior was dim, and there was almost no path. Yet the valiant Montayu advanced without flinching.

Ahead stood a massive boulder. Several lines of characters were carved. “This is it.” As he spoke, Onkokko came to a halt and pointed at the stone inscription with his finger.

Upon this earth exists a single thing. As four legs, as two legs, and as three legs it stands. Yet the voice remains but one. When walking upon four legs, his pace proves slowest. Such was the meaning carved there.

“What is this single thing, pray tell?” “If this riddle can be solved, the great boulder shall naturally part left and right—so says the legend.” “What is this single thing, pray tell?”

Chieftain Onkokko declared triumphantly. "What's this? Such a trifling matter? Very well—I shall solve it forthwith." Montayu let out a dry, rattling laugh. "Listen well—do you understand? I'll solve it now. Fundamentally, humans have four legs in infancy. Because their hands serve as legs. When they reach adulthood, needless to say, they walk on two legs. When they become elders using canes, their legs become three. In infancy, when humans crawl about on four legs, their movement is slowest—humankind has but one voice. The enigmatic single entity is none other than humankind!"

The moment he shouted this, the characters carved into the rock vanished.

And then the rock split in two, opening to left and right to create a path. At the path's far side stood a shrine building—a small, weathered shrine building.

“With this，one riddle has been solved．Now for the second one！” Chieftain Onkokko was terrified，but he declared this and dashed toward the shrine building．

From the ridge of the shrine building hung a thick rope stretching long across the ground—a cord fashioned from slender strands of woman’s hair tied in a thousand intricate knots, one that no human effort could unravel, no matter how patiently one might spend years attempting to undo it. “Now undo this cord—take each strand of fine hair apart, unraveling them one by one.”

Onkokko bellowed. “Hmm, this one?” Montayu muttered as he gripped the rope. “Do I simply untie each strand one by one? So I just need to unravel them completely?” “Unravel them completely strand by strand. If this accords with the god’s will, a bell should ring from the shrine’s depths.” “Understood,” he declared, tucking the rope under his arm.

Seven

With that, he abruptly drew the long sword at his waist without a battle cry and swiftly struck. The braided hair cord was severed at its center, and the knotted locks instantly unraveled completely. At that very moment, from deep within the shrine building came the clattering sound of a bell ringing repeatedly.

“Oh! The bell’s ringing! The bell’s ringing!” “It appears the god has granted his approval.”

Onkokko recoiled in shock and instinctively raised both hands to the heavens, but then suddenly shouted something and pulled open the shrine building’s lattice door. And there, on the plank floor of the inner sanctum, lay a single old tribesman fast asleep. And there, by his side, was a boy. However, he was not a tribal child. White skin, blue eyes, golden hair—undoubtedly, this was a European, none other than the boy John. And John was shaking the bell’s cord with both hands. Each time, the bell clattered.

“What manner of person is this?!”

Chieftain Onkokko shouted while glaring at the boy John, then strode briskly toward the old tribesman, “Wake up, wake up, Batachikan!” With these words, he shook his shoulders. The old tribesman called Batachikan woke up and sat up abruptly, but—

“Oh! It’s the Honorable Chieftain!” “What in the world is this creature?” He pointed at the boy John.

“Ah, that child would be... a European child, it is said.” “Then isn’t he our enemy?” Onkokko grimaced, “Where exactly did they capture him from?” “Near the Dome Forest, I’m told.” “Who on earth captured him?”

“By our comrades who went scouting.” “Why would you hide our enemy’s child in this sacred shrine building?” “Because it was simply too pitiful.”

“What do you mean by ‘pity’? What’s so pitiful about that?” “The comrades who captured this child declared he would be a sacrificial offering to pray for victory in battle and intended to burn him to death before the god’s hall of worship—unable to bear the sight, I pleaded for his life. I am a priest. I, more than anyone else, understand the god’s will. The god has declared he should be saved.”

Priest Batachikan tried to pull the boy John closer as he spoke.

Chieftain Onkokko drew a long sword shaped like a crescent moon, but with his left arm he seized the boy John and pulled him toward himself. The boy John, trembling and weeping. Batachikan knelt and began muttering something—perhaps offering prayers to the god. Onkokko put all his strength into thrusting the crescent-moon sword toward the boy John’s chest. Suddenly, his hand went numb. “Stay your hand!” came a composed voice. Montayu was standing behind him. Onkokko’s arm was firmly grasped in Montayu’s hand.

“Women and children bear no guilt,” Montayu said quietly. “They are non-combatants. You would do well to spare him.” “If you demand his salvation,” Onkokko said resentfully, “I may grant it—but only with compensation.” “I shall provide recompense in his stead.” “Travel west through this deep, deep forest for three ri,” Onkokko instructed. “There you’ll find a great cavern.” “And within it lies a sword?” “Ah! So you bid me retrieve this blade?”

“Exactly,” Onkokko nodded. “It’s a simple matter.” “I shall go at once.”

Having said this, Montayu descended from the shrine building and entered into the forest. He pressed resolutely forward.

“Ah-ha! This must be it.”

Muttering to himself, he came to a halt before a massive boulder—this after three hours had passed, with the long, long southern day having finally ended and night now fallen. Before his eyes was a massive boulder—or rather, a mountain of rock—tens of jō tall and several chō wide, looming imposingly. At its base was an opening through which one could apparently enter. "The interior is undoubtedly dark," he thought. "I need to make pine torches."

Having thought this, Montayu began gathering dead branches. Soon, the pine torches were ready. He struck flint to create fire. The pine torches blazed up fiercely.

And so, Montayu entered the cavern energetically yet with ample caution. A single path ran straight ahead. He walked resolutely down the path.

Eventually, he came to a crossroads. The path split into two. Montayu paused briefly to consider, then proceeded down the left path. The path was extremely flat, and the ceiling was high. However, the width was quite narrow; if one spread their arms out to the sides, the tips of their fingers would reach the rock walls. Eight Montayu resolutely advanced.

And once again he came upon a crossroads; the path split into four. And, taking the left path in the same manner, he proceeded without hesitation. As he went on, crossroads appeared one after another, seemingly without end. And most mysteriously of all, the number of branch paths multiplied in a progression of two, four, eight, sixteen. And so when he finally stood before the tenth crossroads, he found himself utterly confounded. A thousand and twenty-four branch paths splitting off?!

"Hmm... So this is a labyrinth." For the first time, he realized.

“I cannot proceed heedlessly. I shall turn back while I still can.”

Even he began to feel uneasy and tried to retrace his steps along the path he had come. Yet at that moment, he found himself even more bewildered. Every path looked exactly the same. He could not distinguish at all which path he had come from.

“…” He stopped in silence. For the first time, fear welled up in his heart.

"Among these countless branch paths, the only one that could lead outside was likely the very path I had come through. The other paths must be a labyrinth. Hmm... This is a real problem. I’ve completely lost sight of the crucial path that leads outside. If I were to check each one individually, it would take ten or even twenty days. There’s no food. There’s no water. I’ll have to starve to death right before my own eyes. “Onkokko, you native chieftain! So you’ve deceived me after all!”

Montayu ground his teeth but could do nothing. Before long, the pine torches' flames also went out. The surroundings became true ritual darkness. And then, there was not a single sound.

Montayu had been completely buried alive beneath the earth.

Thus several hours seemed to have passed.

At that moment, from the depths of one of the branch paths, a single point of red firelight appeared. "Oh!" The cry of joy that flew unbidden from Montayu's lips was only natural. It was nothing less than salvation in this hellish place. He summoned his courage and ran toward the firelight. As he drew closer and peered ahead, there lay a moderately spacious chamber where a woman tended a fire. Though her appearance at first glance suggested an indigenous girl, something about her demeanor set her apart.

Montayu approached closer. He then began speaking through gestures. “What manner of being are you? What are you doing here?!”

Then the girl also responded with uncertain gestures,

“I am a shrine maiden. This is my dwelling place.” It was in this manner that she finally responded. “I am a man of the Eastern lands, but I have unwittingly strayed into these caverns and lost my way back. If I might be permitted to exit these caverns through your esteemed benevolence, I would consider it a most fortunate blessing.” “That would be quite impossible.”

This was the Shrine Maiden’s reply.

“Why might that be?”

“As for why—this humble one also knows not the exit.”

“Oh! You don’t know either?” “Yes, I do not know either. From the time I first gained awareness, I have dwelled within these caves.”

“With neither food nor water, how have you managed to stay alive?” “No, no. Both water and food—there is one who brings them.”

“Who might that be?”

“I do not know at all.” “You don’t know? This grows stranger by the moment.” “It must assuredly be the most exalted and venerable Jar Deity whom I serve that brings them forth.”

Montayu was quick to interrogate.

“What? A jar?” “You mean... the Jar Deity?”

Mr. George Hawkins, the British explorer, was both shocked and saddened by the loss of his beloved son John, but true to his composed British temperament, he neither panicked nor acted rashly.

He gathered his subordinates and discussed future plans.

“Our encampment has persisted for quite some time. We’ve gained a fair understanding of the natives’ patterns. Peaceful means appear to be ineffective. Therefore, let us dispatch ships to cross the strait and conquer them with combined gunfire. However, I hear that a mysterious warship has anchored in Byzantine Bay and is also targeting Chiburon Island, just as we are. First, I intend to send envoys and hold preliminary discussions with them.”

“Agreed!”

the subordinates shouted in unison.

Thereupon, twenty subordinates, led by the brave military officer Reserve Major Gordon, set out toward the bay.

The round trip would likely take three days.

...Yet those who had set out under this plan had not returned even on the fifth day. So, though he felt uneasy, deeming it meaningless to wait any longer, Mr. Hawkins finally resolved to lead his entire force in an assault on Chiburon Island and engage the natives in battle.

Nine

The moment Mr. Hawkins’ expedition landed on Chiburon Island, native scouts spotted them almost immediately and let out a sharp, piercing whistle. Then that whistle summoned another whistle, which in turn summoned yet another, each sounding in succession until the message seemed to reach the native village.

The moment he came ashore，Mr. Hawkins immediately gathered his subordinates in one place.

“Our objective isn’t to kill the natives.” “The objective is to intimidate them into surrender and discover the treasure.” “We must by all means fire the guns.” “But aim to avoid vital points.” “Deprive them of their combat capability!” “This is the most crucial.” “…Then let us advance, gentlemen!” “The natives will fire poisoned arrows.” “Advance using the grove as your shield.”

Before his words had even ended, a volley of poisoned arrows rained down.

“Into the grove!” said Mr. Hawkins.

The expedition team scattered and rushed into the grove. Covered by date palms, beech trees, and palm trees, the grove was dark. “Scatter!” shouted Mr. Hawkins, and his densely gathered men spread out to either side like wings, keeping three meters between them.

The poisoned arrows had ceased flying. No natives could be seen either. The entire army advanced solemnly.

The dense forest thinned out, and sunlight came glittering through. A hill came into view in the far distance. Natives were gathered there.

“Fire!” Mr. Hawkins issued the command. At the same moment, the match cords were cut, white smoke burst upward, and forest spirits came surging back from all directions.

Three natives collapsed to the ground. The panicked remaining natives picked up the fallen natives and swiftly disappeared from the hill.

“Left!” Mr. Hawkins commanded.

The entire army swiftly ran to the left and took care not to let the enemy discern their position.

Suddenly, at that moment, an eerie cry erupted from behind them, and simultaneously, poisoned arrows rained down. The native army, familiar with the terrain, had apparently already circled around to their rear.

“Stop! Get down!” Mr. Hawkins commanded in a resolute voice. The subordinates thudded down onto the ground. Then they peered back toward the rear. The figures of natives flickered intermittently into view. All were adorned with tattoos on their bodies—some wore bird feathers, others hung skulls—and nearly every single one carried quivers filled with poisoned arrows while gripping half-bows in their hands. “Fire at will!” Mr. Hawkins commanded the entire army, then took aim with his own rifle.

Bang, bang, bang—the rifle reports resounded from all directions at once, and with each shot, the natives collapsed one after another in rapid succession; but they were fierce Seri Indians and did not readily retreat. Taking cover in the grass, hiding behind trees, using rocks as shields, they continued firing poisoned arrows in rapid succession.

At that moment, a roar could now be heard coming from the direction of the hill. And then poisoned arrows came flying. The natives seemed to be attempting a pincer attack. The expedition force divided their ranks to confront the enemies to their front and rear. Several were struck by poisoned arrows, but fortunately, their lives were not taken. The symptomatic treatment they had researched during their long encampment proved effective at this critical moment. The combat did not escalate. Both enemies and allies remained in place, doing nothing but firing projectiles back and forth.

"This won't do," Mr. Hawkins thought as he fired his gun. "The longer this battle drags on, the more it will deplete our forces." "...I will break through one flank of the enemy and withdraw to a secure position."

He ordered his entire army to wipe out the native forces on the hill and secure control of it. The expedition team rose up and charged toward the hill in unison, raising a battle cry as they advanced. The enemy stubbornly resisted but soon fled in disarray.

The expedition force that had captured the hill were both astonished and delighted to see a clearing behind it, where countless native huts with their circular roofs gleaming in the sunlight stood encircling the open space.

“Go ahead and occupy the village as well!”

Mr. Hawkins gripped his rifle and was the first to rush down himself. Strangely, not a single poisoned arrow came flying from the village. The village was literally empty.

A few livestock and a small amount of food; it seemed the residents had fled completely, leaving these behind in the village. However, the huts were intact. If they stayed inside the huts, they could block the natives' poisoned arrows. “Set up sentries in various positions and have the entire army rest inside the huts.”

Mr. Hawkins noticed that. They deployed ten sentries in ten directions, after which the entire army entered the huts.

Strangely, the natives did not give chase. In this way, the expedition force was able to rest freely inside the huts and regain their vigor.

Ten

Eventually, the day ended and night fell.

They increased the number of sentries to twenty to prepare for an attack by the native army and decided to have the rest sleep in the huts. All the people were exhausted and immediately fell into a deep sleep, but Mr. Hawkins alone could not sleep. The only thing that came to mind was John—though there was no doubt he had been killed by the fierce and merciless natives, could he possibly still be alive somewhere? He found himself involuntarily straining his ears, listening for any hint of a crying voice that might come from somewhere.

"The night must have grown quite late by now," Mr. Hawkins thought. "If I don't get some sleep now，it will interfere with tomorrow's battle. I must sleep. I must sleep." As he steeled himself with these thoughts，he calmed his mind and closed his eyes.

“Father!” “Father!”

Then he heard the unmistakable voice of John calling out.

“Oh! John?”

He leapt up and threw open the hut’s window to look.

But outside, pale moonlight flooded the clearing—the woods, forest, and native huts loomed dimly in the darkness, but there was no sign of a boy resembling John. "It must have been my preoccupation with John that made me hear it like that," he thought. "...Why would John—already killed—come here in the middle of the night?" ……Mr. Hawkins attempted to close the window. Then came John’s unmistakable voice from the nearby palm grove: “Father! Father!”

came the voice again.

“Oh!” Mr. Hawkins exclaimed in surprise, straining his ears toward the woods, but

"That’s unmistakably John’s voice!" He must be held captive over there in those woods. ……In any case，I should go to the woods and see.

“John! “John!”

While calling out, he gripped his rifle as a precaution and rushed out of the hut into the open. He crossed the clearing, ran through the village, and immediately plunged into the woods, but

“John! It’s me! John! Where are you?!” After calling out like this and straining his ears, he found the woods utterly silent—only the faint sound of a breeze rustling through the trees reached his ears, but John’s voice was nowhere to be heard. Then was it just his imagination after all? When doubt arose in his heart, “Father! Father! Please come quickly! The natives will kill me! How dreadful, Father!” John’s voice shouting like this came from deep within the woods.

“Oh! John? I’m coming right away!” “The natives are going to kill you⁉ I’ll strike down those natives!” “Father will come right away!” “I’ll strike down those natives!”

Mr. Hawkins frantically pushed through the thicket, pushing aside the obstructing trees again and again as he began to run toward the depths.

“Father! Father! Please come quickly! The natives drew their swords! They’ve pressed them against my chest!” “God, God, please help me! Oh John, I’m coming right away! Take down that native! Kick that native down! Where are you? Where are you? John, where are you?!” He kept shouting as he ran deeper into the woods. “Father! I’ll be killed! The natives have nocked poisoned arrows! They’re tightening something around my neck!”

Such a voice grew gradually fainter, receding deeper into the depths.

“John! John! Don’t lose hope!” “Say ‘Father’ again!” “Say ‘Father’ once more!” “I’m coming right away!” “I’m coming right away!” “I’m coming right away, I tell you!” Mr. Hawkins ran like a madman, plunging through thickets and shoving aside stands of trees with reckless abandon, when suddenly someone swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing face-first to the ground with a heavy thud.

He gasped in surprise and tried to leap up. No sooner had he done so than over twenty Seri Indians burst forth from the shadows like beasts, piling onto the struggling Mr. Hawkins and pinning him down. With one against twenty being no match at all, in the blink of an eye, Mr. Hawkins was bound. “Hmm… So this was their stratagem all along?”

Mr. Hawkins，who had only just now realized it，gnashed his teeth in fury，but now that he was bound，there was nothing he could do.

The ones who were delighted were the natives; singing a victory song in their own language, they led away their captive, Mr. Hawkins. Wheat and oats and coconuts

Let us offer them to our god

The enemy captive caught in the snare Let us offer them as sacrifices to our god Flesh is flesh, bone is bone Let's tear 'em apart and eat 'em! Oh, oh, oh Kill the captives!

Eleven

Dawn broke over Chiburon Island and the expedition team rose, but their leader Mr. Hawkins was nowhere to be seen.

“He must be out for a morning walk.” “He must have gone into the woods or something.”

They thought this among themselves and didn’t worry too much, but when noon came and evening fell without any sign of Mr. Hawkins, they suddenly began to panic.

Thus, it was only late into the night that they finally realized the natives must have devised some mysterious trick to kidnap their leader Mr. Hawkins during the previous night and taken him away to their stronghold.

“Let’s split up and search.” “Ah, but this has turned into a real mess!”

Therefore, they decided to divide their entire force into three units. They decided to have one unit guard the village and have the other two units brave the night to advance toward the natives’ stronghold. The commander of the southern-bound unit was Chamberlain, a reserve captain of exceptional bravery; the commander of the northern-bound unit was Johnson, a former company employee of prudent judgment; and the leader of the village defense was Macauley, a natural-born adventurer who served as Mr. Hawkins’ right-hand man.

Each unit consisted of a hundred men each, all embarking on their respective missions with resolute determination.

“Everyone, sing!” “Everyone, dance!” “We have captured the enemy commander!”

The native chieftain Onkokko stood up on the edge of the shrine’s veranda and triumphantly proclaimed. “...First, we took the child of enemy commander Hawkins prisoner.” “So we thought.” “We wanted to use this brat John here as bait to draw out their commander... So we tied him up tight, dragged him near the village, and gave him a proper whipping—crack! crack!” “Then just as planned, the brat called out his father’s name.” “So that fool Hawkins came waltzing in alone.” “We lured him deeper into the woods where we’d set snares beforehand, and there we caught him neat as you please!” “What fools these enemies are!” “How clever we are!” “Come now, everyone sing!” “Sing loud enough to shake the trees!”

The over a thousand natives who had abandoned their familiar village without hesitation and relocated their dwellings to this shrine, upon hearing their chieftain’s words—young and old, men and women—all at once let out a thunderous war cry and began circling around the shrine. Their bodies adorned with tattoos, their hands gripping weapons, their heads and waists decorated with feathers—the ferocious cannibals moved with bizarre gestures and strange motions as they danced, sang, and circled about—presenting a sight so horrifying it defied description, but before long, an even more dreadful spectacle unfolded.

“Enough waiting—drag them out!” As Onkokko shouted, the shrine doors swung open to both sides—first emerged Mr. Hawkins, then was dragged out the boy John, both bound with leather cords. “Tie them to that stake there!” In the small open space before the shrine stood a single stake, and there the two were bound.

“Now then, let’s get started.” “Shed their blood! Shed their blood!” “Slice their flesh! Slice their flesh!”

At this signal from Onkokko, the tribespeople who had been circling the shrine gathered around the stake. Then they began circling round and round around the two captives. And then they began to sing. The massacre was finally about to begin. While circling the captives, they began cutting into their bodies with the spears and swords they held. And thus, they spent nearly an entire day tormenting them to death.

Now, a single barbarian, wielding a double-edged sword in hand, attempted to cut Mr. Hawkins' arm. And in that instant, a single war arrow flew through the trees and struck the barbarian's fist.

With a startled cry, he let the sword slip from his hand. At once, a thunderous war cry erupted from deep within the forest, and arrows flew like rain toward the shrine gleaming in the morning sun. Not a single arrow missed its mark—twenty tribespeople, dead or alive, collapsed to the ground. "The enemy has come!" "Shoot your bows! Hurl your spears!" "The enemy's in that forest over there! Stay vigilant! Stay vigilant!"

“Stop dancing and take up your weapons!” “Guard against them snatching the captives!” “There! The enemy has appeared!” “Shoot poisoned arrows! Poisoned arrows!” The tribespeople panicked, stumbling about in disarray, but being the brave Seri Indians they were, they confronted the oncoming enemy. At that moment, another thunderous war cry rose from the forest, followed by a volley of war arrows—and suddenly figures emerged. Leading them was Kijima Juppeita, followed by Colonel Gordon, then swarming forth like storm clouds came twenty soldiers under Gordon’s command and two hundred warriors led by Juppeita—two hundred and twenty-two brave fighters of the Anglo-Japanese alliance.

Twelve

Now, as to how these warriors had suddenly appeared here, launched an attack against the natives, and saved the lives of Mr. Hawkins and his son by a hair’s breadth—there lay the following course of events.

Colonel Gordon had departed from the Dome campsite under Mr. Hawkins’ orders with a two-day round-trip plan to discuss an alliance with the Japanese pirate leader Azukishima Montayu. However, due to the unfamiliar wilderness of this barbaric land taking unexpectedly more days, he finally reached their destination at Bisantin Bay exactly at noon on the fifth day.

Meanwhile, on the Japanese side, due to their leader Azukishima Montayu having gone to the native village and not returned even after five days with no word of his whereabouts, it was the moment when they were finally about to launch an assault on the native village with Kijima Juppeita as their commander.

Thus, the alliance was swiftly formed: from their entire force of five hundred, they selected two hundred men, added twenty British soldiers to them, appointed Juppeita and Gordon as their dual commanders, crossed Chiburon Island, and unexpectedly made their way here. The battle between the Anglo-Japanese allied forces and the Seri Indians now raged at its height, but brave though the tribespeople were, they were no match for the Japanese warriors and gradually began to show signs of defeat. When Chieftain Onkokko swiftly perceived his allies’ impending defeat, he steeled himself to flee—yet perhaps finding it intolerable to let Mr. Hawkins and young John be recaptured before his very eyes—he gripped his sword, rushed toward them, severed the rope binding them to the stake as soon as he reached their side, pressed his blade against the two, and attempted to drag them into the shrine.

Yet at this very moment, an unexpected traitor emerged. It was none other than the priest Batachikan—who, having pleaded for young John’s life when the boy was first captured and nearly killed by fellow tribesmen, had since found the child unbearably endearing. From the moment John had been tied to the stake, Batachikan had resolved to save him by any means necessary. Now seizing his chance, he pushed open the shrine door where he’d been hiding, dashed out like a fleeing hare, and upon reaching Onkokko’s side, swept John into his arms and fled into the woods.

Onkokko gasped in shock,

“Traitor!” “Mutineer! Hurry, hurry! Capture Batachikan!”

He shouted at the top of his voice, but in the heat of battle, no one could heed his words. Before long, Batachikan’s figure vanished into the shade of the trees. “Fine, fine—let the brat run.” “I’ll catch them soon enough. …Now that it’s come to this, there’s no way I’m letting the father escape no matter what.” “……Come and get me!” “Come then!” Onkokko shouted as he dragged Mr. Hawkins by the arm into the shrine.

He immediately closed the door with a clatter.

Then Chieftain Onkokko smirked and touched a spot on the pillar.

With a terrifying sound, a hole suddenly opened beneath Mr. Hawkins’ feet where he stood—that is to say, the floorboards gave way—and in the blink of an eye, his body tumbled head over heels into the deep, deep depths of the earth. “Hey Hawkins! Hey, big shot! You can rest there nice and slow! It’s a bit dark though… and musty too… Ahahaha! Take your time resting there! But I’ll warn you now—don’t go waltzing around too much! Wander carelessly and you’ll end up a lost brat!”

While peering into the dark hole, Onkokko hurled insults. Then, after fitting the displaced floorboards back into place, he opened the door and went outside.

Outside, the battle was raging. Mr. Hawkins, who had fallen to the bottom of the hole, fortunately suffered no severe injuries, and the impact of the fall loosened the ropes, suddenly freeing him. “Whew, I’ve really been through the wringer.” “Oh dear, my hands and legs are scraped.” Muttering to himself, Mr. Hawkins quietly stood up and tried walking to investigate his surroundings.

"This was the right side," he thought. It seemed to be a stone wall... "This must be the left." Still a stone wall... "And this would be the front." Another stone wall... "Now what about behind me?" He reached behind him. The surface felt smooth and icy cold—not stone at all, but likely iron. "Iron walls are worse than stone ones," he mused. Then his fingers caught on something unusual. "...Ah! A golden lock!"

He tried twisting it with all his strength. The gold must have been rotten, for he twisted it off without any difficulty. The iron door creaked open, and a cold wind blew in.

There seemed to be a path ahead.

Thirteen

In the cave’s existence there was neither day nor night. All surroundings remained perpetual darkness. Within that lightless cavern—using the indigenous shrine maiden as his speaking partner while warming himself at a campfire—Azukishima Montayu spent his days. What passed for conversation consisted solely of gestures. Through these imprecise motions alone had Montayu finally gleaned information regarding the Pot Deity. “Deep within this cavern—five ri or eight ri removed—in its most distant reaches lies enshrined the Pot Deity’s sanctuary.” “There dwells, so it’s said, a fearsome crone skilled in serpent-handling who leads numerous attendants.” “The Pot Deity’s sacred embodiment manifests as a sword—so they claim.” “Not merely any blade, but a living sword.” “They say it converses, sings melodies, even walks abroad.” “That dreadful snake-charmer serves as its priestess.”

This was the shrine maiden’s tale.

Montayu already realized.

Was this living sword what Chieftain Onkokko—that brute—had told me to fetch? If he said to bring it, then I would go and get it. A living sword... how intriguing. And so, using gestures, he asked the shrine maiden. "How do I reach the Pot Deity’s shrine?" "If Your Honor follows odd, even, odd, even in this manner," she replied with lowered eyes tracing patterns in the dust between them.

“Why cannot I go?”

“They say the path is overrun with villains along the way.”

“In any case, I shall go ahead with it.” “Many people have tried time and again to take that living sword - how many times they went cannot be known.” "But not one among them has ever returned." “It is a dreadful place indeed.” “You must not go there under any circumstances.”

The shrine maiden earnestly tried to stop him.

“I am a samurai of Japan—the Eastern Land of Gentlemen.” “I am one who knows not of fear.” Montayu let out a dry laugh. “Having declared I shall go, I must see it through at least once.” “This is the samurai’s code.” “Lady Shrine Maiden—though it pains me to ask—might I trouble you for a day’s provisions and pine torches?”

“Are you truly resolved to go?” “I shall obtain the living sword and return without fail!” Having received pine torches and provisions from the shrine maiden’s hands, Montayu set off energetically. Before he had gone even ten chō, countless branching paths appeared.

"Odd, even, odd, even—this must be how to trace the path." "One is an odd number—that goes without saying." "...I'll take the first path." He pushed resolutely down the nearest branching path. Then he encountered countless branching paths again. This time, he took the second path from the nearest—the even-numbered path—and forged ahead. Odd, even, odd, even—repeating this alternation again and again, Montayu pressed forward. The way ahead lay in pitch darkness, but with a pine torch in hand, there was no fear of losing the path.

After walking for a little over half a moment, a rose-colored light began to shine, dyeing the distant darkness ahead.

“Ah, there seems to be someone here.” “No doubt one of those villains’ comrades.”

While muttering, Montayu briskly advanced in that direction. Sure enough, a large man stood blocking the narrow tunnel, boldly warming himself at a bonfire, but upon seeing Montayu, he spread his hands and let out a loud shout. He couldn’t understand what this was about. Thereupon, Montayu initiated conversation using his signature gestures. “What business do you have stopping me?” First off, he prepared to confront him. “You’re no face I know—what manner of man are you?” The large man shot back.

“I am from the Eastern Land. I am going to the Pot Deity’s shrine.” “Oh, if you want to go, go ahead. But before that—how do you intend to get through this checkpoint?”

“What do you mean by ‘checkpoint’?” “What checkpoint?” “This here is the checkpoint.” “And I myself am the checkpoint guardian.”

“Whether it’s a checkpoint or a guardian, I’ll force my way through.” “Brute force won’t work here—pass through with wit.” “Oh, splendid! “Ask me anything.” “Montayu will answer immediately!” With that, he thumped his chest.

“I’ll ask you this.” “Answer me!” The large man smirked. “What grows greater the more you use it?”

“Hmph, you fool.” “That’s it?” “Nothing but human wisdom.” “Come on—fire away with your questions!” Montayu was very pleased with himself. “It has no form yet has a voice, it runs swiftly yet has no legs.” “What is this? Go on, guess!” “How utterly inane this is getting.” “That’s wind.” “Come on—ask whatever you like!” “It grows fat yet grows thin.” “What dies again and again yet is born each time?” “Quit askin’ such brainless questions.” “That’s right—it’s the dear moon in the sky.”

Fourteen

“Now it’s your turn to ask!” The large man finally yielded. “Very well—I shall ask now! Answer me! …Large yet small; having form yet formless! “What is this? “Now answer!”

Montayu roared. The large man uttered “Hmm...” but could not respond. “Well?” Montayu sneered. “If you can’t respond, let me through the checkpoint!”

“Can’t be helped.” “Go on through.”

The large man stepped aside. He dashed through that spot.

“Large yet small, having form yet formless—I just can’t figure it out. What in the world could this be?” The large man had asked. “Truth is, I don’t know either! There’s no such thing in this world!” With an “Ahahaha!”, he laughed triumphantly as he dashed past.

“What a fool he is! I’ve tricked him splendidly.” “I sure pulled one over on him!”

While muttering contentedly to himself in this manner, he illuminated the path with pine torchlight and pressed onward.

And again, a pale light appeared far ahead. As he drew closer and peered carefully, a corpulent hunchbacked old man sat alone upon a rock. The stone wall behind had been hollowed to hold an oil lamp—its animal-fat flame cast a sickly glow across the surroundings, creating an atmosphere thick with spectral menace. Looking down, he saw a deep pit dug at the old man’s feet. In a voice frail with sorrow as if ready to fade entirely, the old man spoke some words. But Montayu could not understand them. He responded through gestures alone.

“Please allow me to wash your feet.” This was what the old man said. “Washing everyone’s feet is my duty.” “For the sake of eliminating karmic hindrances, please allow me to wash your feet.” The old man repeated his plea. “A strange one, this fellow,” Montayu thought. “This isn’t something to take lightly.” While harboring suspicions, he pondered. Spring water flowed from the rock. “Ah—so this is where they wash,” he realized. “…There’s a deep hole here.” “A hole!” “A hole!” “This reeks of treachery.”

At that moment, the old man’s treacherous scheme abruptly flashed into his mind. “Hmm… I see,” he thought. “Now I understand.” “If that’s your ploy… I’ll turn it against you.”

Swiftly, Montayu thrust one foot out before the old man. The instant he did so, the old man dropped to his knees and seized his ankle—only to attempt hurling Montayu headfirst into the hole. "Hah!" came a voice sharp as torn silk bursting from Montayu's mouth—and in that moment, the hunchbacked elder's frail form went tumbling into a bottomless pit stretching dozens upon hundreds of fathoms deep. "Curse others and dig two graves! Serves you right—take a good look!"

He peered into the hole, but from the depths of unfathomable darkness came only a cold wind blowing—the old man’s figure was nowhere to be seen. “Just as the Shrine Maiden said—these vile villains crawl everywhere,” he muttered. Tightening his resolve against complacency, Montayu pressed onward, swinging his pine torch back and forth. Odd, even, odd, even! No matter if hundreds or thousands of branching paths appeared—he showed no surprise. For so long as he proceeded by odd and even, there was no fear of losing his way.

By now, over ten hours had passed and the distance walked was twelve or thirteen *ri*—Montayu had journeyed thus.

At that moment, a vast clearing suddenly appeared. It was less a clearing and more a separate realm. There were hills and woods, houses and a stream. Was it firefly light or moonlight? A pale blue dim glow hazily illuminated this separate realm, but it was unclear what light it was.

Voices could be heard from nowhere in particular. Then a singing voice reached his ears. When the singing voice reached his ears, Azukishima Montayu gasped in shock. It was because someone was singing a Japanese song clearly in Japanese.

“Oh! There are Japanese people here!” “What on earth is this place?” It was as if he were dreaming within a dream—that was Montayu’s state of mind at that moment. The singing voice grew ever clearer and more beautiful as it drew near. It was unmistakably a Japanese song. “What on earth is this place?” Overcome with emotion, Montayu found himself muttering the words involuntarily. Precisely! Where was this place?

It was the mysterious and solemn sacred realm where Tsubogami-sama was enshrined!

What manner of being is Tsubogami-sama? There was a tale behind that.

Fifteen

Long, long ago in the land of Gaimasu in Mexico, there was a king named King Gaimasu. His prince was called Tsubo Prince, but having lost his mother early, he had been raised by his stepmother. Like many stepmothers before her, this one too hated her stepchild and sought by all means to kill Tsubo Prince.

It was when Tsubo Prince was eight years old that strange celestial phenomena and terrestrial calamities occurred one after another, and the country was struck by famine. At that time, the stepmother said to the king.

“This is divine wrath,” “The gods have been angered and sent down this famine.” “We must appease their fury by sacrificing your most precious treasure.” “What should I offer as sacrifice?” “Offer your most valued possession.” “What constitutes this ‘most valued possession’?” “You must sacrifice Prince Tsubo.”

“Indeed, there exists nothing more important to me than Prince Tsubo.” “Then it seems I must offer up the prince.”

“Unless Your Majesty offers the prince as sacrifice, the gods’ wrath shall not be appeased.”

“For the people and the nation—I shall offer Prince Tsubo as sacrifice.”

Though filled with sorrow, the king allowed himself to be swayed by his stepmother’s honeyed words and resolved to offer Prince Tsubo as sacrifice. The altar was built, the firewood was piled, and the day arrived to burn the sacrifice. When the eight-year-old Prince Tsubo, unaware of this fate, joyfully ascended the altar, flames were set to the firewood. However, the god did not accept this discourtesy and immediately manifested a miracle. A gigantic single sword suddenly emerged from the clouds—first severing the stepmother’s head, then placing Prince Tsubo upon its hilt—before vanishing to parts unknown.

The sword flew to Chiburon Island with the prince still aboard, but once there, it descended to the ground and then plunged diagonally through the void into a cave. They came to this mystical realm. The living sword secretly raised Prince Tsubo within the cave. To comfort Prince Tsubo’s loneliness, it brought humans from the human world. Those humans gradually increased in number and formed a tribe here. There, Prince Tsubo reigned as emperor of that tribe. The tribe prospered peacefully and abundantly, and though Prince Tsubo lived on for several hundred years, when his natural lifespan ended and he passed away, the people buried his remains in the forest, enshrined him as a deity, and called him Tsubogami-sama. The sacred object is the living sword.

Afterward, though the tribe experienced rises and falls with countless vicissitudes, it continued to exist without perishing up to the present day as a mysterious nation.—This was the legend still told by the island’s indigenous people.

Be that as it may，how was he to interpret hearing a Japanese song emanating from within the tribe?

"What a mysterious thing this is!"

Azukishima Montayu stood still and listened intently to the singing voice for a while. “I must find the singer.” “That is the most urgent task above all else.”

So Montayu quickened his pace and traced his way toward the source of the voice.

As he advanced, the singing voice grew gradually clearer. He could now discern the song's lyrics.

"Isn't that an ancient poem from the Manyoshu? No matter what—the singer must undoubtedly be Japanese."

Having thought this through, Azukishima Montayu felt his heart strangely leap. He finally broke into a run. When he entered the woods, he caught sight of an indigenous old woman sitting on a stone, singing absentmindedly in the faint light.

“What?! She’s not Japanese!”

Azukishima Montayu cried out.

Then, the old woman stopped singing, gazed intently at Montayu, and addressed him in fluent Japanese. “Oh! You are Japanese, aren’t you?” “Indeed, I am Japanese.” “Help me, please! Help me, please!”

The old woman kneeled on the ground and pressed her palms together in the Japanese style. "I’ll help you, I’ll help you—but what exactly am I supposed to help with?" "The sacred text was stolen from me."

“What? The sacred text?!” “What do you mean by ‘sacred text’?”

"For within it are recorded various precious wisdoms."

“And who stole it?” “It is the innkeeper.”

“Where is that inn?!”

“It lies deep within the forest.” “Then I’ll retrieve it for you.” “Please—I humbly implore you.” “Please—I humbly implore you.” “Yet this remains perplexing.” “How comes you know our tongue?”

“There is a reason for that.” “I shall explain in due time.” “Please retrieve the sacred text.” “Do not worry. I shall retrieve it for you.”

Montayu pushed through the forest and advanced deeper and deeper into the depths.

“It’s one mystery piled upon another.” “I keep colliding with incident after incident!”

No matter how far he went, the deep forest showed no sign of thinning out.

Sixteen

When he arrived before an indigenous inn identifiable by its structure, an indigenous person emerged from the doorway, laughing. He was a muscular young man.

The young man said something to Montayu, but in the indigenous language, it failed to convey any coherent meaning. So, using those hand gestures he had now thoroughly mastered through repeated experience, Montayu addressed the young man. “Is your place an inn?” “Yes, that is correct.” “How about it? Will you not lodge me?” “Please honor us with your stay.” “What manner of food will you serve?” “We will serve you various delicacies.” “And do you have a superior room?” “We shall lodge you in the Hall of Sacred Texts.”

“The Hall of Sacred Texts?” “Ah, I see.” Montayu nodded. “Then put me up.” “Please come this way.”

Following the youth, Montayu entered the house. In the place they entered was a room, and in the room were countless natives. They were clamorously shouting while drinking liquor. They were terrifying natives with cruel and ruthless expressions. Then he passed through two or three more large rooms, but when he looked at the chamber he was eventually led to, there was nothing particularly unusual about it. The floor and ceiling were made of stone. On the floor was a massive bed. Beside the bed was a desk, upon which a book lay. It was a thick book made of parchment, its cover inscribed with Chinese characters reading *Akechi Hen*.

"Hmm," Montayu muttered as he first sat down on the bed, then picked up the book. What was written was classical Chinese. "Fan Di was the magistrate of Junyi. Two men clutched a piece of silk in the market and argued with each other. The magistrate had it cut in two, letting each man take half and depart, then sent someone afterward to secretly observe them. One man rejoiced; the other bore an angry countenance. Hereupon, he seized the one who rejoiced. 'He was indeed the thief.' 'Li Hui of Wei was Governor of Yongzhou. There was a man carrying firewood and another carrying salt. Similarly, they set down their burdens and rested in the shade of a tree. They were about to depart when they began fighting over a sheepskin. Each claimed it was something they had carried on their back. Hui declared "This is quite simple to resolve." He had the sheepskin placed on the mat and struck it with a staff. Salt residue emerged. The one who had carried the firewood then admitted his guilt.'"

It is said that Zhang Xiaoshe of Weiting was skilled at detecting thieves. He happened to walk through the marketplace. A man in immaculate formal attire encountered someone carrying grass, plucked several stalks from them, and proceeded to the lavatory. Zhang waited for him to emerge, then rebuked him from behind. The man trembled in terror. Seizing him revealed he was indeed a thief.

"Another time during the height of summer, he visited an old temple. There were three or four individuals. They lay on mats spread across the ground, snoring loudly. Beside them lay a watermelon. They had split it open but not yet eaten. Zhang pointed at one of them again, declared him a thief, and had him captured. He was indeed the thief. Someone questioned his method. Zhang declared, 'When entering the privy, one uses grass.' 'This shameless villain - that formal attire too must have been stolen.' 'Those who sleep gathered in old temples toil at night and grow weary by day.' 'Splitting a watermelon is to drive away flies.'"

“I see,” Montayu muttered.

“This appears to be a book compiling anecdotes of sages from ancient China.” “People of old were clever.” “...The sacred text the old woman spoke of—this must surely be that book.” “Once I obtain this book itself, there’ll be no need to linger here.”

Montayu stood up. Then he resolutely went to the doorway. The door was locked. It had been locked from the outside. When he looked around, there was a single window.

He dashed to the window. The window had also been locked. It had been locked from the outside. He had been taken prisoner. He had been completely confined. He involuntarily groaned, but there was nothing he could do. He sat back down on the bed and tried to calm his mind to think. At that moment, the stone ceiling began gradually lowering.

“Ah!” Montayu cried out. “By the Three Treasures!” “I’ve been trapped!” “So they plan to crush me to death.”

The stone ceiling descended ever downward with extreme quietness. The ceiling would soon complete its descent. He would be crushed to death. There was no path of escape from any direction. He would have to be killed without lifting a hand.

Seventeen

With a gloomy, dull, and eerie creak—a drawn-out creaking sound—the suspended ceiling trap descended moment by moment, gradually lowering. A heavy, heavy ceiling trap. If crushed by that, there would be no surviving. He would have to be crushed as flat as a flounder.

Even the valiant Azukishima Montayu could do nothing. "So my life ends here," he thought with regret—but there seemed to be no way to escape. The floor was thick stone pavement, and the surrounding walls were also stone. The sole doorway had a bolt lowered from the outside. Creak, creak, creak, creak—the ceiling descended to the middle. Montayu ground his teeth, but unable to remain sitting, pressed himself tightly against the stone pavement as he lay flat. Before long, the ceiling descended to two-thirds of the room’s height. Moreover, it still continued to descend. Eventually, Montayu began to feel the weight of the ceiling against his back. Finally, the ceiling descended to his back to kill him.

“I’m done for,” Montayu muttered, firmly closing his eyes in resignation. “A warrior of Great Japan—in a foreign land, no less than the barbarous wilds of South America; in a demon realm hidden within a mysterious cavern that never sees the light of day—to fall for the cunning trap of savages and be crushed to death by a suspended ceiling trap!” Regret upon regret—though it is truly vexing, is this too but the dictates of fate? Ah—it’s crushing! “I can’t breathe!”

If given one more push, it seemed Montayu’s body would be reduced to dust in an instant. And then, at that moment, right beneath the thick stone pavement where he lay, came a clack clack clack clack sound.

Even in such dangerous situations, Montayu did not lose his composure. "Hmm?" he murmured, listening intently. The clack clack clack clack grew gradually louder until—the moment a thunderous crumbling noise erupted, as if earth itself were collapsing—the stone pavement shuddered violently from side to side before plummeting downward with a thunderous crash. Ah! Before he could even process this, Montayu's body went airborne and crashed down beneath the floor.

“Ah! I’m saved!”

Montayu involuntarily cried out in delight and hastily looked around. Illuminated by the faint light streaming through the hole left by the displaced stone pavement, the surroundings were dimly lit—and there, he saw a man standing right beside him. He was neither a tribesman nor Japanese. A Westerner—the sort one often encountered around Nagasaki—was watching Montayu’s face with an expression of utter astonishment. This was none other than Mr. George Hawkins, whose forced confinement beneath the temple floor by Chieftain Onkokko had been previously recounted. After discovering an underground passage beneath that floor, he had pressed forward single-mindedly in a desperate bid for survival, only to find after nearly a full day and night that the passageway ended at this very spot. Thereupon, he suddenly looked up at the ceiling. Flat stones lay arrayed above. Having weathered long years, narrow gaps between the stones allowed faint light to seep through—so realizing this might offer escape, he had frantically dug at the earth despite being weakened by hunger, thirst, and fatigue. The stones fell as anticipated, opening a hole—but never had he imagined an exceedingly gallant man would come crashing down alongside them.

The fact that this fallen man was neither a native nor his ally, but rather an Eastern warrior, astonished him even more.

Montayu strode forward. “Though I know not who you may be, you have saved me from grave peril, and I scarce know how to express my gratitude. I am Azukishima Montayu, a warrior of Japan.” He said this courteously and bowed deeply, but there was no way the British Mr. Hawkins could comprehend it. Thus Mr. Hawkins stood perplexed and silent.

However, human emotions do not differ much, whether one be Japanese or British. And so, Mr. Hawkins augmented with hand gestures, blending Dutch and Spanish and every language at his command, “I am George Hawkins, a British explorer. From what I observe, some dreadful incident appears to have occurred—might you explain the circumstances?” Yet Azukishima Montayu had long studied Dutch under Nagasaki’s Dutch residents, leaving him no stranger to conversation. At once, the two men could share tales of their respective disasters. Upon discovering their shared plight through discussion, they found themselves compelled to grow close.

“Being crushed by a suspended ceiling trap... Just hearing about it makes my skin crawl.” “What a brutal people they are!” Mr. Hawkins sighed deeply with evident astonishment and declared, “This cannot go unanswered.” “We must by all means exact vengeance.”

“Indeed, we must take revenge.” Montayu nodded. “Shall we leap through the hole left by the fallen stone pavement onto the roof and cut down the savages? Or should we wait for them to grow anxious about the outcome and eventually come down into the underground passage, then ambush and finish them off there? Hmm, which would be better?”

Eighteen “The enemies are numerous; our allies are but two. If we emerge into the plaza, we stand no chance of victory.” “It’s best to wait for them to come into the underground passage and cut them down with ease.” This was Mr. Hawkins’ opinion. “Indeed, that would be best. “To defeat the enemy’s toil with surprise tactics—this is the ultimate secret of Japanese military strategy.” “Such things are also recorded in our British military strategies.” “The ultimate secret of military strategy is scientific.” “The term ‘scientific’ is an intriguing one.” “In other words, you mean logical reasoning, I suppose.”

“Indeed, indeed—it’s about logical reasoning, I suppose.” “Not only military strategy, but absolutely every aspect of worldly affairs must be entirely scientific.” “Science is all well and good, logical reasoning is too—but there exists something far more crucial beyond them.” Montayu declared loftily. “None other than Yamato-damashii!” “Yamato-damashii? That’s an unusual term.” “That’s the first I’ve heard of it.” “I’d like to hear an explanation of that, if I may.” Mr. Hawkins asked quizzically. “It’s quite simple—I shall explain.” “Loyalty to one’s lord and filial piety to one’s parents—these twin paths form the foundation. To forget oneself in pursuit of righteousness; to sacrifice all for passion!” “A grand emotion that transcends science and logical reasoning, existing above them all! “This is none other than Yamato-damashii!”

“Ah, I see. Now I understand completely. To interpret this in the British manner—it’s what we call chivalry, eh?” “Chivalry? Chivalry? That’s a good term. But this is the first I’ve heard of it. I’d like to ask you to explain this ‘chivalry’ to me.” “It’s quite simple—I’ll explain. In our country’s medieval period—what we call the feudal era—feudal lords were entrenched in various regions. To these daimyo served young warriors called knights, who embodied benevolence and righteousness, proudly showcasing their martial skills. In principle, these knights must venture into perilous provinces where demons, bandits, venomous serpents, and other such evils run rampant, sparing no effort to protect good citizens by eradicating those scourges. The one who has slain many demons becomes the most superior knight, and countless knights strive to become such superior knights. This is none other than chivalry!”

“I see—your explanation has made it perfectly clear. Well, that’s truly splendid. Truly, that itself is Yamato-damashii!” “Then you shall employ Yamato-damashii, and we shall confront the savages with chivalry!” “No enemy shall stand in our way.” “It’s about time the savages showed up.”

“Oh! It’s suddenly grown bright.” Despite the imminent peril before them, Azukishima Montayu and Mr. Hawkins had been engrossed in boasting about their nations’ military strategies when the dim underground passage abruptly flared bright. Startled, they turned to look and saw several pine torches protruding through a hole in the collapsed stone pavement. The savages were peering down.

“So they’re finally coming down.” “Let us withdraw further back.”

The two in the underground passage whispered to each other as they quietly withdrew deeper inside, and fortunately, two rocks protruding from the left and right walls were sufficient to conceal their bodies—so Montayu hid behind the rock on the left, Mr. Hawkins behind the one on the right—but the problem was that Mr. Hawkins held no weapon in his hand. When captured by Chieftain Onkokko, they had been completely plundered. “Sir Azukishima Montayu.” Mr. Hawkins called out.

“What might this be? Do you have some business?” “I hold no weapons.”

“No weapons, huh.” “No no, not to worry.” “I shall cut down the weapon-bearing savages first, so you may use their weapons.”

“That’s an excellent plan. I entrust it to you.”

And the two fell silent. They remained motionless, keeping a watchful eye on the movements ahead.

Then five or six figures fluttered down from the hole into the underground passage. Then again five or six figures fluttered down like bats. They were armed savages. Immediately they formed a group and began eagerly searching the ground while shouting something at the top of their lungs. They were likely searching for Montayu’s corpse. Perhaps having confirmed there was no corpse, they huddled together with perplexed expressions and conferred—then after a moment abruptly dispersed, formed a single-file column, and came running briskly in this direction.

“Mr. Hawkins, they’ve come.” “Indeed? How intriguing.”

The two men whispered to each other as they waited for the savages to draw near. The light from the pine torches held by the savages illuminated the underground passage as brightly as day, making their every movement crystal clear; yet since the two men were concealed behind rocks, they remained invisible to the savages’ eyes. Now the savages attempted to dash swiftly past the two men toward the inner depths.

This was not a battle between Japanese. These were uncouth savages.

Montayu deliberately refrained from shouting a battle cry and brought down the gleaming blade he had raised with a whiz. A dull *thud*! The savage’s head fell to the ground. Piercing through the torchlight, a thick stream of blood gushed out over four feet—a sight both horrifying and spectacular. The savage collapsed with a thud like a withered tree and lay motionless.

19 As he slashed, Montayu withdrew behind the rock—a truly swift action. However, no less impressive was Mr. Hawkins’ motion—reaching out from behind the rock to swiftly snatch the human bone spear from the fallen tribesman’s hand, then gripping it to thrust into the chest of the second tribesman. The tribesman let out a scream and collapsed. The blood gushing forth from his chest was so copious that the earth turned to mud. Then, Montayu burst forth from behind the rock once more and, without assuming a stance, slashed horizontally at the third tribesman’s shoulder. In other words, he had unleashed a diagonal slash. With a shriek, the tribesman collapsed like a toppled wine cask, blood gushing from the wound. In that instant, it was Mr. Hawkins who leaped out and thrust his spear into the fourth tribesman’s abdomen.

“Now then, another one!” With a shout, Montayu sent the fifth tribesman flying with a hip throw and lopped off his head. “That should suffice.” “Then we’ll take a breather.” The two exchanged words and dove swiftly into the hideout. Neither broke a sweat, nor did their breathing quicken.

Literally in an instant, the tribesmen—with five of their number slain—abandoned their comrades’ corpses and fled screaming. They fled back the way they came. As the tribesmen's figures vanished, their torches also went out, so the inside of the underground passage plunged into darkness.

“Ahahahaha! Weaklings!” Montayu burst into loud laughter. “Mr. Hawkins, how many have you cut down?” “Indeed, I should have killed two.”

“I’ve got one more than you,” Montayu declared. “Three I’ve cut down.” “What will the savages do now?” Hawkins inquired. “This won’t end here,” Montayu countered. “They’ll rally their numbers and return.” “That could prove troublesome,” Hawkins murmured, deep in thought. “We’ll simply cut them down as they come,” Montayu stated calmly. “But their numbers are endless.” “Once I’ve slaughtered a hundred, matters will settle themselves.” Montayu’s voice brimmed with confidence. “Like slicing through eggplants and daikon.”

“But by then, we’ll be exhausted ourselves.” “What? If we tire, we rest—simple as that.” “My approach differs slightly.” After much deliberation, Mr. Hawkins declared. “I intend to withdraw.” “Withdraw? Where would you have us go?”

“The underground passage I came through is fortunately not a labyrinth,” said Mr. Hawkins. “It’s a single path without branching tunnels. And it leads to the shrine... So I propose we follow this path together and first make our way to the shrine.” Montayu said, “I see,” but showed no sign of agreement. “That does sound reasonable,” Mr. Hawkins continued. “However, I must disagree.” “Hmm—disagree?” Montayu’s voice carried a blade’s edge. “And why might that be?”

“I made a promise to Onkokko.” “I promised to bring the sword.” “We absolutely must retrieve the sword.” “By all means take the sword.” “But now is not the right time.” “Exactly! Now is not the right time,” Mr. Hawkins urged. “Anyway, first let’s exit underground, emerge onto land where sunlight shines, gather our men, and once more invade the underground realm through this passage. We can take the sword then, or uncover the secrets of this mystical land as souvenirs for our homeland.” “But we absolutely must get above ground first.”

As one would expect of Mr. Hawkins being British, what he said was rational. “This argument of yours is most reasonable.” Montayu nodded. “Very well, I shall obey your words. Let us leave the underground immediately.” “Oh! So you agree?” “I’ll be the guide.” No sooner had he spoken than Mr. Hawkins started running toward the depths of the underground passage.

They had traveled about a thousand meters when— At that very moment, from ahead—that is, from the direction the two were heading—a solid black mass of figures surged toward them, led by torchlight and numbering well over a hundred. The two stopped in surprise, and when they saw the size of the group, it was—utterly unexpected—the forces led by Chieftain Onkokko of the indigenous people. At that moment, a roaring war cry echoed from the direction they had just come. When they looked back, the indigenous people from earlier had mustered more men and were chasing after them from behind.

The two found themselves unexpectedly beset by enemies both before and behind. “Lord Montayu, this is no good.” Mr. Hawkins sighed.

“No, no—it’s far too soon for despair.” “In the direst case, we have the sword.” “A sharp-edged Japanese sword!” “They’re just South American savages—no reason not to cut them down and be done with it.”

The essence of a Japanese warrior—no sooner had formidable enemies appeared before and behind him than Montayu’s courage surged all the more. With his hand on the hilt of his great sword, he stood resolute, surveying both front and rear.

Twenty

Here, the story took a dramatic turn.

This is the forest above ground.

Sunlight glittered as it streamed in. The chirping of small birds, the buzzing of bees, the whisper of a gentle breeze against twigs—all were indescribably pleasant. On the ground, grass grew lush and green, and flowers in a dazzling array of red and purple bloomed like a rainbow. Compared to the underground realm where Mr. George Hawkins and Montayu were being attacked by enemies while attacking them in turn, toiling in struggle—how wonderfully pleasant and beautiful it was!

Then from one part of the forest came the pure sound of voices earnestly singing an indigenous hymn of divine praise—a hoarse, reverent old man’s voice and a cheerful, innocent boy’s voice joined in harmonious chorus.

The singing voices gradually drew nearer.

Then, a boy appeared energetically from between the trees—none other than the son of Mr. George Hawkins, the handsome youth John. “Uncle, come here! Uncle, come here!”

After he called out in fluent indigenous language like this,

“John, oh John! You’re swift as a two-year-old doe.”

The one who came out uttering these words was the indigenous priest Batachikan—he who had even betrayed Chieftain Onkokko to save John from peril. “If you go hopping around too much and step outside the forest, those terrifying folks will spot you for sure!” “Come on, come over here.” “Sit on the green grass.” “I’ll tell you an interesting story.”

The boy John calmly went to Priest Batachikan’s side and tried to sit down to listen to the story.

Batachikan and John were close friends. Above all, for Priest Batachikan, the boy John—who should have been an enemy—was inexplicably dear.

And so, ever since Batachikan had rescued the boy John from that initial peril, he had been teaching him the language of the indigenous people with single-minded devotion. The indigenous language was simple, and John in particular was clever, so he had mastered it in a short time, allowing the two of them to converse in the indigenous tongue about even quite complex matters. “John, oh John! Now listen well. “This is an important story, you know.” “And this is a tale known only to those among us who have served as priests through the generations… So the story goes—long, long ago in the distant past, there was a crow.” “That crow had only one leg, you see. Though its form was strangely ugly, they say it was an exceedingly clever bird.” “They say that one day, that crow spoke to the indigenous people like this—”

‘There is no treasure on Chiburon Island. The treasure actually lies upon the sea. Board the boat and follow me! I shall guide you there. But mark my words—it’s perilous indeed. Mermaids singing songs, swaying boulders, and a mountain of other terrors awaited. If you accept this, then come follow me. I’ll take you straight to where the treasure lies.’

“However, the indigenous people were cowardly and refused to follow along, so the crow finally lost patience and flew off somewhere—and that’s how it went.”

“So where did the crow go?” John asked. “Hmm, where could it have gone?” “I don’t know that either.” “Will the crow never come again?” “I don’t know that either.” “I wish I could meet that crow.”

“Why do you want to meet the crow?” “I want to go to the treasure island.” “If it’s the treasure island, I want to go too.”

“Crow!” “Crow!” “One-legged crow!”

The boy John ran off toward the depths of the forest while singing.

It was that very same afternoon when the boy John discovered a crow in the depths of the forest. Unfortunately, the crow was not one-legged, but it was an impressive large crow that held enough appeal to satisfy the boy’s imagination. “Crow, crow, big crow!” While singing, the boy John quietly picked up a stone and feigned nonchalance, but in an instant, he hurled it with a swish. In his mind, he threw the stone to try and break one of the two sturdy black legs.

The stone he had aimed did not miss and struck one of its legs, and—could this be called a miracle?—the leg snapped off and came falling down. “Ah!” Startled, the boy John inadvertently let out a cry, but even more startled was the large crow whose leg had been broken; flapping noisily as it left the branch, it wearily beat its wings and flew away through the forest. “Crow, crow, one-legged crow! Crow, crow, one-legged crow!”

John chased after the crow while shouting in a frenzy.

“John! John!” Batachikan’s voice called out worriedly from behind, but the boy John didn’t even reply. Before he knew it, he had emerged from the forest. And then, suddenly, he emerged at the coast. The tide was coming in toward the shore. There was a small inlet where a single dugout canoe drifted, rocked by the waves. And so the crow flew slowly, slowly over the sea.

John was a British boy. And Britain is a maritime nation. Though the boy John was a child, he was rich in knowledge of the sea. He could at least row a dugout canoe. He nimbly jumped into the dugout canoe.

He was trying to chase the crow.

Twenty-One

Lured by the one-legged crow and unaware that the boy John had run off, Priest Batachikan searched through the forest while calling out.

“John!” “John!” “John isn’t here!” “There are enemies outside the forest! Don’t you dare go outside the forest!” “John!” “John! Where are you?!”

But there was no reply from anywhere.

Batachikan gradually grew uneasy. He stood at the base of a coconut tree and pondered worriedly. The forest was quiet. There was no danger here. There was nothing but beautiful sunlight, a cool breeze, fragrant flowers and plants, and green trees. There was nothing but delicious fruits and a beautiful spring—these things. However, once you left the forest, terrifying Indigenous People would be gathered there.

“John! John!” Batachikan called out anxiously again, but no reply from John could be heard.

“Ah, I’m so worried, so worried! Where on earth has that child gone?”

His anxiety grew ever more intense. At that very moment came footsteps sounding like a large crowd approaching. Batachikan jolted in shock. They must be Onkokko’s comrades. If discovered now he’d face execution as a traitor under tribal law. He had to escape—had to escape immediately.

He hurriedly ran toward the thicket, moving stealthily to muffle his footsteps. However, before he could reach the thicket, he was discovered by the enemy. It was not Onkokko’s comrades, but the Anglo-Japanese alliance forces. Namely, they were the allied forces of Kijima Juppeita and Colonel Gordon. In an instant, Batachikan was bound and dragged before the two commanders. “You there! Who are you?”

Colonel Gordon was the first to ask. “I am a priest of the Indigenous People.” Batachikan said this in English. From John, Batachikan had learned English through a crash course, so he could manage ordinary conversation. “What’s your name?” “Yes, my name is Batachikan.”

“Where have your Indigenous comrades gone?” “I have no idea whatsoever.” “What? You don’t know? Why is that?”

“To my comrades, I am a traitor.” “What did you do to betray them?”

“Because I helped a child named John.”

Upon hearing this, the British abruptly changed their attitude.

“So it was you after all, Batachikan, who saved young John? Although it was a chaotic battle, I indeed saw from afar a single Indigenous person rescue young John from Chieftain Onkokko’s poisoned blade, tuck him under his arm, and flee. Now that I’ve heard this, I can’t treat you roughly. We must untie Batachikan’s bonds… Now then—is young John still in your custody?” “He is not here.”

“What? He’s gone? Where did you take him?” “No, I did not take him. He disappeared.”

Then Batachikan recounted everything that had happened up to that point in as much detail as possible, using sparse words and hand gestures. There was no trace of falsehood in either his demeanor or his words. Gordon and his men found themselves compelled to believe him. “We must search.” “We must search.” Needless to say, both the British and Japanese forces echoed this sentiment and resolved to dispatch search parties. Yet no matter how thoroughly they searched, John remained nowhere to be found. In despair, the men gathered once more in a single location.

Where had young John gone?

Colonel Gordon captured Batachikan and questioned him about various matters. “The truth is, we were chasing the Indigenous army all over the island when suddenly they all vanished at once.” “It’s as if they were swallowed into the earth... Could there be some sort of secret passage leading underground on this island?” “Yes, there is a secret passage.” “Oh! There is one!” “Where is it then?” “Moreover, there are three of them.”

“Ah, I see! Tell me!”

“One is in the shrine hall.”

“What? The shrine hall?” “Where in the shrine hall?”

“Yes, it is under the floor.”

“I hadn’t noticed that in the slightest.” “Another lies within a cave deep in the forest. “Yet from this point onward, reaching the underground realm proves no easy task. “For a labyrinth has been fashioned there.” “And where might the third one be?”

“Yes, it lies within the wilderness of this island’s back coast.” “Then they must have slipped in through there.” “That would indeed be the case.”

“What kind of place is this underground world?” “It is a terrifying place. A world of mystery.”

Twenty-Two

The one-legged great crow flew steadily onward across the sea.

Young John maneuvered the oar, propelling the small boat onward with vigorous strokes. The sky was clear, the sea was calm—a remarkably tranquil day.

The boat proceeded steadily onward.

He continued rowing for a long time. When he looked back, Chiburon Island floated low upon the sea. Countless seabirds were flying. The crow flew endlessly onward.

For over an hour by now, young John rowed and rowed. At that moment, two massive rocks appeared in the sea ahead. They were the legendary floating rocks. Despite being rocks, they floated on water. Colliding with each other, they threw up a dreadful spray. The spray, like snow, thickly clouded the surrounding sea and completely veiled the path ahead. And the sound of their collisions resounded like thunder.

The crow darted between the two floating rocks like a bolt of lightning.

It looked back and cried "Caw! Caw!" as if calling to young John.

Young John hesitated. It seemed too difficult to navigate between the rocks. So he stopped trying to pass through and thought to circle around one of the rocks instead. But what if he lost track of the crow in the meantime? That would truly be falling between two stools. "Courage! Courage! Courage is what matters!" Adventure! Adventure! Adventure is the only way! "Who cares? I'll charge right through!"

Young John resolved himself. He put his strength into the oar, and as the rocks collided then momentarily parted, he slipped through the narrow gap in an instant. The moment he did, two rocks roared furiously from both sides and collided like wild beasts, but merely grazed the stern—leaving both boat and occupant unharmed. When he looked up, the crow was soaring majestically through the sky ahead. Relieved, young John put even more strength into his oar and rowed onward and onward.

After about half an hour of this, a small island came into view ahead. As he drew closer and looked carefully, there were many children playing. It was an exceedingly beautiful island, with various flowers blooming as though a rainbow had been brought down from the sky. Red, white, yellow, purple, indigo, golden-yellow! There were sky-blue flowers and peach-colored ones. Among the flowers, rabbits were leaping. A cute little green forest! There, squirrels chattered. A ribbon-like stream flowed from the forest! The water shone silver. Countless children were holding hands, forming a circle, and dancing. And they were singing.

Come, come, come, Island of Dreams, Island of Paintings, Island of Fairy Tales, Come, come, come, Young John stopped rowing for a while and gazed in fascination. They all look like they're having so much fun! I wish I could join them and play too. Once again, the singing voices came drifting to him. Come, come, come, *We’ll pick flowers for you,* *Here flows milk,*

There is sweet honey too. *Bees buzzed busily, butterflies fluttered lightly,* *Island of Dreams, Island of Paintings, Island of Fairy Tales,* *“Come, come, come,”* The children danced as they sang. Their feet rose upward in unison. Their hands moved forward in unison. The circle swirled into a spiral. Small birds provided the accompaniment. “Ah, how wonderful...” Young John grew envious of those children.

"I wonder if I should go ashore and play with them."

He put his strength into the oar and tried to bring the small boat ashore onto the island. At that instant, he snapped to awareness and looked up at the sky ahead. The great crow guiding him was flying at the distant horizon’s edge, about to vanish from sight.

“Oh no!” "I'll lose sight of it!" Young John was startled, but he hurriedly swung the boat around and began rowing away from the island. From behind, the cheerful singing voices of the children could still be heard. That was the voice of temptation. However, young John no longer allowed his heart to be disturbed. He rowed onward with single-minded focus.

Having rowed for a very long time, his arms had grown quite weary. At that moment, land came into view ahead. And so the crow glided gently, ever so gently toward that land. When he finally rowed up to the shore and looked around, the crow was nowhere to be seen. “Ah, I’ve completely lost sight of it!” Despite being terribly disappointed, he also found himself thinking: “In other words, the crow might have guided me all the way to this land. The treasure from the story might be somewhere on this land.”

After securely fastening the boat to the grove on the shore with wisteria vines, Young John went ashore. And he walked further inland.

Twenty-Three Before long, he came to a river. At the riverbank lay a beggar. An aged and decrepit indigenous beggar, his limbs caked in grime and garments tattered, reeked of foul stench. He was an exceedingly filthy beggar, yet called out to Young John: “Hey, boy! Hey, boy! Wait a moment!”

John stopped in surprise.

“I’m sick and can’t walk. Carry me across the river!” It was an imperious, insolent manner of speaking. Young John felt irritated, but thinking the other was an elderly sick man, he couldn’t bring himself to shout back. Instead, he began to feel pity for the beggar.

“Are you sick?” “How pitiable.” “Oh, sure! I’ll carry you.” While saying this, he turned his back. With that, the beggar stood up and leaned his emaciated frame against him, but contrary to his gaunt appearance, he was surprisingly heavy. “Ugh, damn... You’re heavier than you look!” Muttering under his breath all the while, Young John crossed over to the other side of the river. Then, as he was being carried, the beggar began ranting incessantly. “Hey, you dimwitted brat! “You moron! “If you go that way, you’ll drown! “That way’s a deep pool! “Deep pool! “Hey hey brat! Where do you think you’re going?! “If you go that way, you’ll trip! “There’s a big rock there! “What an utter idiot you are! “Go straight, straight ahead! “Yes yes, straight ahead! “Huh! This brat’s veering off to the side!”

“You brat won’t listen to a thing I say! You stubborn, twisted little runt! Ain’t you just the most hateful brat ever born!” he bellowed with venomous spite.

No matter what was said to him, Young John refused to engage. "He’s such a pitiable beggar. He must have gone mad from all the hardships he’s endured"—thinking this way, he found he couldn’t stay angry. And he proceeded in silence.

When he finally finished crossing the river, Young John felt relieved. There, he lowered the beggar from his back, took off his hat, and greeted him.

“Old man, farewell. “I’ll take my leave now.”

“Wait a moment,” said the beggar. “You’re truly an admirable child. “You really endured well.” “I was truly impressed.” “You will surely succeed.” “I can even guarantee that... Now, let me give you something good as a reward.”

As he said this, the beggar snapped both hands open before John’s eyes. Two black stone orbs were resting on his palms. “Now, these,” the old man explained. “This is a most unusual weapon in the world. So long as you have these, most dangers can be avoided. When a fearsome enemy attacks and your life hangs by a thread, hurl these at them. First throw one. Then throw another. Then you’ll survive. Now farewell—go in good health.”

The beggar went on his way. Young John stood watching the beggar’s retreating figure for some time. After tucking the two strange black stones into his coat pocket, he began walking wherever his feet took him. Then, far ahead in the distance, a house appeared. By this time dusk had fallen, and Young John was both exhausted and terribly hungry. He resolved to go to that house to ask for lodging and beg for food.

The mansion’s structure was bizarre in design, but clearly long neglected—its gate tilting, roof crumbling into dreadful disrepair. It was an architectural style he had never seen before. “Excuse me! Excuse me!”

he called out for guidance. No one answered. Young John, at a loss, stood blankly at the gate, but

If they scold me, I’ll simply apologize. Who cares? I’ll go in anyway.

—There the British adventurer boy boldly entered the house. Then came a large room where a man had been sleeping, but upon seeing Young John’s figure, he heaved himself upright. And glared at John.

“Who the hell are you?!” the man suddenly bellowed in a loud voice. Strangely enough, while the man used the Indigenous language, he didn’t appear to be of Indigenous heritage.

“I’m not a suspicious person,” Young John hurriedly said. “I’m just a lost child.” “No no, you’re a thief! You’ve come to steal the Sacred Text again!” The mysterious man shouted again. “You’re one of the snake-handler’s gang?!” “I am not such a person. “I am a British boy. “I am a child named John Hawkins.” “Liar, you villain! “But I don’t deal with brats like you. “Get out of here quickly. “And tell that snake-handling old woman—‘Return the Sacred Text at once!’”

“I’ve never met any snake-handling old woman or anyone like that.”

“Ah, I’m sleepy. I’m going to sleep.” No sooner had he spoken than the man bent his elbow and rolled over to sleep. Immediately, his snores began to resound.

Twenty-Four

Young John stood dumbfounded, watching for a short while.

At that moment, a boy strode into the room. He appeared to be about John’s age. He also did not appear to be Indigenous.

“Oh, who might you be?” The boy inquired with scrutiny. Those words were in the Indigenous language. “I’m a lost child.” “Ah, I see. How unfortunate…” The boy said kindly. He seemed like a kind youth.

“You’re not one of the Indigenous People, are you?” Young John first inquired.

“Yes, we’re Japanese. …You’re not one of the Indigenous People either, are you?” “Yes, I’m British.”

“British?” “Ah, I see.” “And what is your name?” “My name is Yamato Hideo.” “My name is John Hawkins.” “Where exactly is Britain?” “It’s far, far across the sea.”

“Did you come here all by yourself from there?” “How could I have come here alone? I crossed the sea with my father and companions, you know.” “What happened to those people?” “They are at war with the Indigenous People... By the way, where is this place? Is it a continent or an island?”

“It’s the back coast of Chiburon Island.” “Oh! So it is Chiburon Island after all?” Young John was surprised but asked, “What kind of country is Japan?” “Japan is the Land of Noble Scholars in the East. “And its people are clever. “It is rich in martial spirit.”

“Is Japan close to Chiburon Island?”

“No, it’s very far.”

“When did you come to this island?”

“Exactly five years ago.” “What was your reason for coming?” “To search for a hidden vault, you see?” “So you’re here for the same reason too?” Young John rounded his eyes and asked, “And did you find the treasure?” “We were just one step away when we finally failed… That is to say, because the Sacred Text was stolen from us.” “What kind of text is this Sacred Text?” “It’s a book written in Classical Chinese, you know.” “When you say Classical Chinese, that’s Chinese writing, right?”

“Yes, that’s right—it’s Chinese writing. …The Sacred Text contains countless beneficial accounts within it. …It’s an extremely important book—truly invaluable.” “Who on earth stole it?” “The snake-handling old woman, you see.” “Where is that old woman?” “It is said she’s in the underground world.” “Is there such a world?” “Yes, it does exist.” “Why would she steal someone else’s book?” “Because it had the treasure’s location written in it.”

“Is there some connection between the hidden treasure and the old woman?”

“That old woman is the guardian.” “The hidden treasure’s, you see.” “And so, the old woman thought that if she could just steal the book, the treasure would be safe.” “So she came at night and stole it secretly?” “No, that’s not the case.” “That old woman used to come here to visit almost every day, you know.” “And then one day, she boldly snatched the Sacred Text and took off, you know.” “Chieftain Onkokko of the Indigenous People and others often came to visit as well.” “Because the old woman and Onkokko are the rulers of Chiburon Island, you see.” “In other words, Onkokko is the ruler of the surface, and the old woman is the ruler of the underground.” “And so, the two of them work together to protect the treasure, you see.”

“So your father had been on good terms with that old woman and Onkokko and the others since before, right?”

“In other words, your father was trying to use those two, you see.” “He was trying to confirm the treasure’s location through their words.” “...All barbarians are fond of singing songs.” “Especially since the snake-handling old woman loved it so much, he attached modern melodies to ancient poems from the Manyoshu and taught them to her—even taught her Japanese.” “When it comes to languages, those barbarians are proper geniuses.” “They picked it up straight away.” “And without a shred of gratitude, she stole the Sacred Text.” “Ever since then, Father’s gone completely strange—now he sees everyone as thieves and just spews abuse.”

As the two boys conversed, they began to feel a mutual fondness for each other.

And then suddenly John said. “I have a weapon!” “Let’s go defeat the snake-handling old woman!” “If we can just get to the underground world, we’ll definitely take her down!” “We can go to the underground world!”

Yamato Hideo said energetically. “There’s a path to the underground in the wilderness around here, you see.”

Twenty-Five “So there’s a path to the underground?” “Then tell me where it is!” “Then let’s both go underground!”

The boy John said.

“Ah, sure, I’ll tell you!” Yamato Hideo was delighted. Then he took the lead and guided the boy John. Exiting the mansion lay a wilderness. The two walked through the wilderness. Eventually, they came upon an empty well. Since it was an empty well, there was no water. And on one side of the well, there was a crudely made staircase. “You see, the staircase is here.” “This is the path down to the underground.” Hideo said and pointed. “Well then, let’s head down from here.”

“Then I’ll go first.”

And so, Hideo took the lead, with John following behind, and they descended down the empty well.

Before long, the two boys reached the bottom. A narrow horizontal tunnel ran through. The two boys followed it.

The path was unexpectedly flat, with neither mountains nor slopes. The only drawback was the darkness. The two boys ran on with thudding footsteps.

After running for over two hours, they heard human voices ahead. “Looks like we’ve finally reached the underground realm.” “The tribesmen are causing a commotion.”

“Let’s be careful going forward,” “Let’s move quietly.” The two boys warned each other and stealthily approached while muffling their footsteps.

As already recorded, Azukishima Montayu and Mr. Hawkins found themselves in dire straits, beset by formidable foes to their front and rear. Now, as for what happened next—having no other recourse—Montayu confronted Onkokko’s forces while Hawkins engaged the underground warriors, both waging desperate battles. Roars, shrieks, battle cries, and the clangor of weapons—the narrow underground passage became a hellish battleground in an instant. Amidst the chaos, Montayu cut down fifteen enemies and Mr. Hawkins ten, neither knowing whether they lived or died.

The indigenous warriors were overwhelmed by this development. With a thunderous clamor, they stampeded all at once and retreated the way they had come—though this was not a full rout, merely a temporary withdrawal. The two men breathed a sigh of relief, but their bodies were thoroughly exhausted. “Now, what should we do?” It was Mr. Hawkins who had spoken.

“They’ll regroup and counterattack soon enough. We’ve no choice but to fight,” Montayu declared with grim displeasure.

“Indeed, there’s no choice but to fight.” “The enemy is a multitude, our allies are two—there’s no chance of victory for us here.” Mr. Hawkins was gloomy. “It’s not necessarily so.” Montayu said deliberately and cheerfully, “There is such a thing as divine providence in this world.”

“I don’t recognize such things.” Mr. Hawkins stated coldly, “That’s pitiable superstition.” “No no, it’s absolutely not superstition. Japan has countless precedents.” “No—superstition. Unscientific. Cannot be considered rational.” “A Westerner’s interpretation.” “And the correct one.” “But that remains unproven. Ah—they come! They rally and return! No time for debate!”

“Yes, they’re here.” “Now, let the battle commence!”

There, the two men decided to confront the enemies to their front and rear as they had before. Onkokko’s forces, relying on their numbers, advanced steadily toward Montayu.

Unfazed, Montayu pressed his body flush against the rock wall, fixed his glare on the enemies for a moment, then suddenly lunged into their midst and sliced down two men in a flash. And in the very next instant, he pressed himself tightly against the rock wall once more. Then, lunging in again with equal suddenness, he cut down two more men—and by the instant they fell, his body already clung to the stone surface. Six, eight, ten—the indigenous warriors were mowed down in rapid succession, but Montayu too found himself forced to sustain one or two wounds across his body.

Once again, the indigenous warriors retreated before this ferocious whirlwind of blades. Then, abruptly, a thunderous roar shook the underground passage—and in that same instant, Onkokko’s forces, which had until then gathered thick as clouds, were utterly annihilated, their bodies thudding to the ground. Thick yellow smoke billowed up; the acrid stench of gunpowder stabbed at their nostrils—it seemed someone had hurled a bomb. Azukishima Montayu stood momentarily dumbfounded by the sheer unexpectedness of it all, his eyes wide with astonishment—but when two boys emerged through the gunpowder haze before him, his surprise redoubled.

Those boys were none other than John and Hideo.

Twenty-Six Meanwhile, Mr. George Hawkins continued his desperate struggle against the underground warriors, wielding a human bone spear. When he had pinned down five indigenous warriors and sustained several wounds in the process, such things didn’t faze him in the least. He plunged further into the enemy ranks. At that moment, the sound of a great explosion pierced their eardrums. Mr. Hawkins was startled by this, but even more so were the indigenous warriors, who let out a collective shriek and fled over eighteen meters.

And Mr. Hawkins turned to look. Amidst billowing smoke and heaps of corpses, when he realized one of the two boys emerging through the haze was his own son John, his joy and astonishment defied all description.

“John! John! John! It’s you!” Mr. Hawkins had involuntarily called out at the top of his voice. John, having been called, saw Mr. Hawkins and, “Ah, Father! Father!”

He let out a cry of joy and came flying like a ball. Mr. Hawkins spread his arms wide and crushed him in a hug.

It was a long-awaited reunion between father and son. The one he had thought dead was alive. ...For a while, the two stood embracing without saying a word. Tears were streaming down their cheeks.

Then, suddenly, John glared at the crowd of underground people, but— “Ah—those guys are savages.” “They’re our hateful enemies, aren’t they?” “Then I’ll exterminate them!” No sooner had he spoken than he pulled out the black stones—received from that mysterious beggar—from his pocket and hurled them at the savages.

Once again, a thunderous explosion resounded throughout the tunnel, but the great roar that followed was entirely unexpected. Perhaps because the rock formation in that area was weak, the rock walls on both sides and the ceiling collapsed simultaneously. The underground people were all buried beneath the rocks, but the underground passage that had been accessible until now was also buried at that same spot. Thus, they had managed to escape the danger of being assailed from both front and rear, but they could no longer return to the underground realm steeped in mystery.

However, they could reach the surface. So, with Mr. Hawkins at the lead and John, Yamato Hideo, and Azukishima Montayu forming the rear guard, they decided to proceed further along the tunnel. When they had gone over two and a half miles, the path split into two. The left path led to the shrine hall; the right path led to the empty well.

“Now, which way should we go?”—Here, the group hesitated.

At that moment, the sound of numerous footsteps could be heard coming from the left-hand tunnel. And then voices could also be heard coming.

“It seems the indigenous army has come again.” The group was not a little perplexed.

The sound of numerous footsteps gradually drew nearer and nearer all the while. Distinct human voices could now be heard clearly.

“Ah! That’s Japanese!” Montayu blurted out. “There’s English mixed in too.” Mr. Hawkins added moments later. With torch flames leading the way, figures emerged—not an indigenous force but the Anglo-Japanese alliance guided by Batachikan the tribal priest: Kijima Juppeita, Colonel Gordon, and their men. “Well now! Lord Azukishima!” “Ah! Juppeita!”

“Well, well! Captain Hawkins!” “Oh! You must be Colonel Gordon!” Immediately, such joy-filled conversations were exchanged between both parties. As a result of their careful deliberations, it was decided they would first take shelter at the residence of Yamato Hideo’s father. Taking the path to the right, the group marched onward with vigor.

When they had advanced over two and a half miles, the narrow tunnel came to a dead end. They had come to the bottom of the empty well. Thereupon, they climbed up the empty well one after another. Then, with Hideo leading the way, they strode resolutely through the wilderness. Soon, they arrived at Hideo’s residence. Hideo’s father was astonished by the unexpected large number of guests but also greatly rejoiced.

Everyone was hungry. Hideo’s father provided as much food as could be found in the household.

Then, the entire group gathered in one room and decided to discuss their future plans.

The first to stand up and speak was Yamato Hideo’s father.

“I am Yamato Sessai, a Japanese herbalist scholar.”

Hearing this, Montayu made a surprised face, but “What? Lord Yamato Sessai? “Well, well! So that was indeed the case? “I had heard rumors you were a first-rate scholar versed in Japanese, Chinese, and Western studies—particularly in herbalism research. “Yet over a dozen years ago, it was widely rumored you had gone missing near Shanghai in China. To find you in such robust health here in this land—truly a most curious matter, is it not?”

“Ah, but there is a reason for that.” Sessai smiled subtly but said, “First, please do me the courtesy of listening. This is a curious tale. And this is a tale that shall prove most beneficial to you all. In truth, I acquired a rare book in Shanghai.”

Twenty-Seven

Yamato Sessai continued his address: —

“Indeed, in Shanghai, I acquired a rare book.” “It is a work that records the knowledge of sages, wise men, and villains from Confucius’s time to the modern day—should one possess but this single volume, they could comprehend all events in the world as clearly as if observing them in the palm of one’s hand.” “And so, I have come to call this book the ‘Sacred Text.’” “Now, through hints in that Sacred Text, I vaguely came to realize over a dozen years ago that somewhere on this island lies a great treasure vault awaiting excavation. Since that time, I have migrated here, interacted with the indigenous people, and lived until this day.” “Recently, having lost the Sacred Text, I temporarily abandoned my research. However, now that you have all arrived in such force, I intend to rouse my courage once more and strive to see this endeavor through to its conclusion.”

Here, he cleared his throat once, but—

“Now then, in accordance with that, I shall give a general account of the results I have achieved through my research on this island over these past dozen-odd years.” “…First and foremost, there exists a gem repository on this island.”

Here, he cleared his throat once more.

“Secondly, there exists a gold repository on this island.” “Moreover, every tree found on this island is a rare specimen.” “In essence, this very island constitutes a grand treasure vault.” “However, since time immemorial the indigenous inhabitants have been notoriously fierce warriors—so much so that even numerous renowned adventurers ultimately failed to penetrate this land, leaving it abandoned until present times.” “Now then, beyond these natural riches lies an artificial trove of immeasurable worth concealed here.” “To elaborate—generations of tribal chieftains commanded their forces across seas to plunder foreign nations, amassing coins and curios that now lie hidden here in staggering quantities.” “Regarding its location—my research conclusively places it within the subterranean realm.” “More precisely, according to this island’s legends, it rests entombed within the Temple of the Living Sword.” “Were I to offer my scholarly assessment—these Living Sword legends amount to mere fictions.” “They represent deliberate fabrications meant to sanctify the underground domain and deter intruders.” “The establishment of twin secret passages—one designed as a labyrinth—served as further deterrents against invasion.”

“Therefore, if we wish to obtain that treasure, we must by all means venture into the underground world and discover this so-called Temple of the Living Sword. However, it is truly regrettable that one of the two passages has been completely destroyed. Therefore, this path cannot be used. However, it is absolutely impossible to go from the other labyrinth either. From what I have heard, Lord Montayu—guided by the shrine maiden dwelling in the labyrinth—proceeded by alternating odd and even passages in this manner, ultimately reaching the underground world. But how could we possibly return to that shrine maiden’s dwelling now? Indeed, from the shrine maiden’s abode itself, one could proceed using such an order. However, from the entrance to reach her chamber, one cannot proceed using such an order. If one could advance through such a sequence, then that would not be a labyrinth at all. If it merits being called a labyrinth, one could never traverse it with so simple a pattern.”

“Therefore, in conclusion—at present—we absolutely cannot proceed to the underground world.”

“Then what should we do? For the time being, should we not relinquish the treasure of the subterranean realm and devote ourselves to developing this very island, which is endowed with limitless natural bounty? In that gradual interim, we could either repair the damaged underground passage or excavate new ones—there are countless methods at our disposal. Once we go underground after that, I believe we will succeed.” Sessai’s long tale had finally come to an end here. Since there were no other means, both Montayu and Mr. Hawkins followed that proposal and decided to develop the island.

First, houses were built.

They all lived pleasantly. The island’s natural bounty proved even richer than anticipated. Through regular labor and equipment that was extremely advanced for the civilization of this era, they excavated vigorously. During this time, several minor skirmishes occurred with the island’s Indigenous People, but they stood no chance against them. Before long, Chiburon Island completely fell into their hands. The island’s polity was republican. Montayu was elected as president for the first term. Elections were held every year, and Mr. Hawkins became president for the second term. Yamato Sessai was an elderly man and also a scholar, so he became the senior advisor. The ceremonial aspects were presided over by the indigenous priest Batachikan.

John, the boy, and Yamato Hideo were cherished as the republic’s darlings by their companions, and needless to say, these two were the closest of friends.

Twenty-Eight

Peaceful days passed by.

It was a day when the sweltering summer sun glistened upon the grass and trees of the peaceful island. John, the boy, and Hideo sat perched on a coastal rock, engrossed in cheerful conversation. "...And I find it strange," John, the boy, said. "Nah, there's nothing strange about it at all," Hideo laughed in objection. "In short, that's just a mirage."

“A mirage?” “That can’t be right.” “I definitely saw it, you know.” “But you didn’t land there, did you?” “Ah, I didn’t land. I was in a bit of a hurry to press onward.” “Then you can’t definitively assert there was an island, can you?” “But I definitely saw it, you know.”

“The human eye is surprisingly unreliable, you know.”

“And I heard singing, you know. A bunch of kids formed a circle and sang in unison—‘Come, come, come to the island of dreams, the painted island, the fairy-tale island, come, come, come’—and I heard it clearly. But could that also be a mirage?” “No, that’s just your ears playing tricks. Otherwise, it’s a trick of the ears. It must’ve been the sound of the waves or the wind that you heard like that.”

“But I heard it over and over, you know.”

“The human ear is surprisingly unreliable, you know.” Hideo did not waver from his own theory.

After a while, John spoke again. “Do you believe in legends?”

“That depends on the nature of the legend.” “Then what about the legend of the crow?”

“The legend of the crow? I haven’t heard of that one.” “There’s a legend that a one-legged giant crow guides people to the hidden treasure island, you know.”

“So, who told you that?” “The indigenous priest Batachikan, you know.”

“No, I don’t believe it. …After all, you don’t either, right? A one-legged crow doesn’t exist in any country.”

“But that’s why it’s interesting! I saw it with my own eyes. That crow guided me from the front of the island all the way to the back—even to your house, you know.” “I see,” Hideo said doggedly, “if you really saw it, and if I can see that crow myself like you did, then I’ll believe the legend.” Before these words had finished, a crow flew out from the woods toward the two of them and alighted quietly on a rock right in front of them, folding its wings.

“It’s a one-legged crow! “It’s a one-legged crow!”

John jumped up and shouted. When they looked, indeed, the crow had only one leg. "Ah, it really is one-legged!" Hideo also jumped up in surprise.

With that, the crow majestically fluttered up from the rock, drew one large circle, and then flew off almost languidly toward the sea. “John, I believe it!” “The legend you told me about!” “Come on, let’s chase after that crow!”

So Hideo and the boy John boarded the moored boat and rowed far out to sea.

The windless summer sea was blue and flat, smoothly clear and so transparent that even the shadows of fish could be seen through it. As if luring the two, the crow occasionally glanced back their way and leisurely beat its wings. And so it cried out raggedly from time to time. The crow and the boat competed in the sky and on the sea for a long time. They competed for over two hours.

At that moment, the aforementioned floating rocks came into view directly in the boat’s path.

“Hideo! Hideo! Floating rocks!” The boy John warned.

“Ah, those really are floating rocks.” Hideo stopped rowing.

The two floating rocks roared as they collided with all their might, as though hating each other. The scattering foam created a mist, upon whose surface a rainbow rose, one end of which hung suspended from the cliff of the land. That land was situated on the southern side of Chiburon Island. The cliff was covered with rocks, with verdant towering trees growing thickly here and there, presenting a steep appearance that made climbing up or down seem impossible, yet it somehow bore an artificial quality.

Beneath this artificial cliff, on the deep, deep sea, the floating rocks were colliding with each other. The one-legged crow that had flown this far suddenly let out ragged cries again and again, then swooped down low. Oh! Without a moment to think, when it had completely descended to the base of the cliff, it vanished in an instant.

Twenty-Nine “Oh no! The crow’s gone!” John cried out in surprise.

“Now wait a moment—I have an idea.”

The boy Hideo crossed his arms and stared intently in thought,

“Hey, John—here’s what I think. That crow couldn’t have vanished without a reason.” “There must be a reason for it disappearing—a reason that justifies its disappearance.” “No, there simply has to be a reason, you know.” “Ah, exactly—there must be a reason.” “So, here’s what I think—there must be some secret around the base of that cliff, you know.” “Ah, I see—that might be it.” “There’s probably a cave there.” “Ah, I see—that might be it.”

“Moreover, it’s no ordinary cave.” “I can’t tell that much.”

“No, I can say this with certainty. It’s definitely no ordinary cave. It’s an extremely valuable cave!” “How can you be so sure about that?” “Because there’s a reason I can say so.” “I don’t understand any of it.” “What do you make of the floating rocks, hmm?” The boy Hideo said seriously.

“Do you think it’s nature’s work? Or man’s?” “That’s obviously nature’s doing.” “Yet those are man-made.” “How did you figure that out?” The boy John asked with a puzzled look. “Look there—don’t you see the chain?”

As he said this, the boy Hideo pointed at the blue water squeezed between two rocks.

Indeed, now that he mentioned it, a chain was visible. Having completely rusted red and with seaweed clinging to it, at first glance it could be mistaken for a rock, but it was unmistakably a thick chain. “Oh! It’s a thick chain!” The boy John exclaimed in awe. “Since it’s connected by chains, this floating rock must be artificial.” Hideo continued his explanation. “Creating such massive floating rocks through human effort couldn’t have been done for mere jokes or curiosity.” “There must have been an essential purpose behind it.”

“That explanation settles right here,” John tapped his chest. “Let me think—they must’ve made those artificial floating rocks to guard against something.” “Aha! That clicks into place!”

“In other words, it’s because the cave matters.” “Because the cave holds value.” “And to keep burglars from invading that cave—that’s why they made those floating rocks.” “Yes yes, that must be it!” The boy John clapped his hands. “Then let’s go see it straightaway.”

“Very well.”

With that, Hideo vigorously put his strength into the oar. It was quite dangerous. Nevertheless, the two boys—accustomed to adventure—finally managed to bring their small boat to the base of the cliff.

Exactly as they had imagined, there was a cave entrance there. The two boys, completely reinvigorated, guided their boat through the opening. Before them appeared a narrow waterway. The channel stretched far into the distance.

The two boys steadily pressed their boat forward. As their boat advanced, the waterway gradually widened, and before long they emerged into a bay.

The circumference of the bay was perhaps five chō, and in what appeared to be its center, a small island emerged. “Hey, a tiny island has appeared!” “Oh my, there’s a crow over there!”

A one-legged great crow was resting on a tree branch at the island's summit, its wings folded. The two boys exited the boat and stepped down onto the island's shore.

The island was beautiful and charming, its circumference likely no more than a hundred meters.

“This must be the legendary Treasure Island.” “That’s right, it must be!” “Let’s hurry and spot the treasure!” “Alright, let’s spot it—it’s a race!”

Thereupon, the two boys ran about. The boy Hideo dashed up toward the summit like a rabbit. And there, what he spotted was a massive iron chest. A golden light shot dazzlingly from a corroded hole into his eyes.

“I found it!”

And he let his cry of joy resound throughout the bay. Indeed, he had spotted it. That was none other than the "Treasure Vault of Chiburon Island" spoken of in legend.

Thereupon, the two boys boarded their boat and hurried to make for the open sea.

“Oh, there's a staircase over there!” While saying this, the boy John pointed at the inner wall of the cave that encircled the bay. A staircase had been built diagonally on the upper part of the cave’s inner wall. The upper layer was shrouded in darkness and could hardly be seen. The two curious boys could not possibly pass this up. After pulling their boat ashore, the two boys climbed the stairs together.

Thirty At last, the two boys reached the top and emerged onto a plain that was both mysterious and mystical. A pale light filled everything. There were hills and woods, houses and voices.

This was indeed the underground world. Before their eyes was a dense forest, and a single shrine stood there. It was a shrine enshrining the Living Sword. Suddenly, torch flames came rushing toward them. The indigenous people had spotted the two of them. “That’s bad news! Run! Run!”

The two boys hurriedly turned back. They descended the stairs, emerged onto the bay shore, and escaped into their small boat.

“Heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-ho!” The two boys frantically plied their oars.

When they heard the two boys’ report, the whole group leapt up in joyful surprise.

Suddenly, a navy was organized, and an expedition to subjugate Treasure Island was launched. Even so, it took twenty days to subjugate the underground people and fully occupy Treasure Island. Within the treasure vault they had finally secured lay gold coins and valuable instruments amounting to over 500 million yen in today's currency, just as Yamato Sessai had insightfully predicted.

In this way, the Anglo-Japanese joint colony prospered increasingly. Various facilities were implemented, and the land became truly livable. Politics were also conducted harmoniously.

Then one day, Montayu came out with such a strange thing to say. "I'll be takin' my leave soon, I tell ya." "Taking your leave?" "What do you mean?" Kijima Juppeita inquired quizzically. However, Montayu did not answer that, "Don't touch the neck now, don't touch the neck."

“Wh-what?! Why on earth would I touch your neck?!” “By the way,” Montayu spoke again. “The thing they call human will is truly stronger than life itself, wouldn’t you say?” “Ah... I suppose that may be the case.” Juppeita answered with a puzzled look.

“Lately my neck’s been hurtin’ somethin’ fierce.” “That does sound troublesome.” “Nah, ain’t troubled one bit. We done what we set out to do.” “You mean our original goal?” “Findin’ Chiburon Island’s treasure vault!” “Then it’s been properly accomplished indeed!” “So my neck started actin’ up.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Originally, I’m a man who had his head cut off at Sumiyoshi Beach.” “……” “The will is mighty! Stronger than life itself!”

He let out a boisterous laugh with amusement. Not long after that, his head cleanly came off. However, not a single drop of blood came out. The severed area was smooth. That face too looked remarkably cheerful. All comrades across the island finally forgot to grieve. Thus, Montayu died, but his spirit remained.

“The will is mighty, stronger than life itself.” It was through these words that it remained.