Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

It was early summer in Year X of the Bunsei era.

Sugi Naminosuke left his inn and walked toward Ryogoku.

It was when he had reached Hongōdai. There stood the estate of Lord Sakakibara Shikibu-no-shō, with row houses lining the street.

Just then, "Hyaah!" "Yah!" A sharp combat shout rang out. *Hmm?* With that, Naminosuke came to a halt. (What an intense combat shout...) So he looked around his surroundings. The combat shout seemed to come from inside the fence of one of the row houses.

Fortunately, there was a knothole, so Naminosuke peered through it.

An elderly samurai around sixty years old and a middle-aged samurai of thirty-five or thirty-six had stepped down onto an open lawn cleared within the shrubbery, positioning themselves against each other with wooden swords at the ready. *This won't do.*

Naminosuke thought. (This is completely mismatched.) The elderly samurai's stance was undeniably impressive yet ultimately conventional—judging from his posture alone, his skill appeared at best license-level. Meanwhile, the middle-aged samurai's technique proved so decisively superior that even through the eyes of someone as untrained in martial arts as Naminosuke, it seemed terrifyingly advanced. Moreover, Naminosuke couldn't shake the sense that this so-called match between the two men was no mere comparison of skill—though they wielded wooden blades, it felt like a genuine duel steeped in resentment.

Full cheeks and a jawline sagging into a double chin—though his natural features as an elderly samurai suggested benevolence and magnanimity, veins of irritation now pulsed across his forehead while rage inflamed the blood vessels around his eyes. In stark contrast, the middle-aged samurai—through narrow eyes, a high thin nose, hollowed cheeks, and pallid complexion—let scorn and hatred drift across his features where anger might have been. As if consciously thinking to fully exploit the elderly samurai's anxiety, to torment him to the utmost limit of suffering, he pressed forward slowly, inexorably.

(Impressive...) The instant Naminosuke thought this, the middle-aged samurai's wooden sword swept diagonally back and to the left like water being drawn from a stream. This had clearly been a feigned opening. The elderly samurai appeared to have taken the bait. He took a step forward and brought his sword straight down. The middle-aged samurai twisted his torso, pretending to swing at the face before shifting into an unorthodox technique - that critical moment when he aimed for the elderly man's withered leg, knowing full well the strike would shatter bone...

"Oh! Father," came a woman's voice in a tense, breathless tone.

On the veranda of the mansion standing directly ahead, an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old girl stood. The next sequence unfolded thus: the barefoot girl came running up; the elderly samurai flashed his wooden sword; and the middle-aged samurai shouted "I yield!", limply lowered his readied wooden sword, then managed a bitter smile as he rubbed his right arm with his left palm. Naminosuke also couldn't help but wryly smile through the fence's knothole. (The young samurai shouldn't have been struck. He deliberately conceded victory.)

He couldn't help but think so. Naminosuke looked at the girl. Her small red lips, reminiscent of pomegranate buds, lent her a youthfully noble air.

2 “How dare you act so arrogantly with such unrefined skill!” The elderly samurai’s admonishing voice reached Naminosuke’s ears, prompting him to shift his gaze toward the man. Keeping his daughter positioned off to the side, the elderly samurai faced the middle-aged warrior and continued his rebuke. “No matter what skill one may possess—the world contains masters and grandmasters, countless others who surpass them—you must not grow arrogant.”

By the time he finished speaking, the elderly samurai's voice had grown calm and almost kindly, all trace of anger vanished from his features. "First of all, what sort of skill is it that crumbles in defeat before an old man like me? You can’t possibly boast about such a thing. You see, Sumie, that’s how it is, no?" "Oh Father, such matters... Surely this has gone far enough... Yet I must say Lord Jinjurou's martial skill appears most admirable." The girl—whose unlined kimono with its long sleeves patterned in wisteria and irises suited her so well she even appeared mature—spoke in a conciliatory tone and cast a pitying look at the middle-aged samurai.

The middle-aged samurai's expression held nothing but contempt and arrogance.

However, when the daughter said this, he abruptly erased that expression, "I am deeply humbled by your praise... No, my skills remain utterly unrefined," he said with mock humility, "as evidenced by how you just scored a clean strike against my right kote." "...I shall take greater care in the future." “Indeed, indeed—that’s the proper attitude. Take care not to grow conceited in the future, and apply yourself ever more diligently.” "No—when you confronted me like that, this old man became thoroughly pleased." "Well then—let us drink tea." “...Jinjurou, come here. Sumie, come here.”

Having seemingly reverted to his true nature as a kindly old man, the elderly samurai discarded his wooden sword and began walking toward the mansion. “Now then, Lord Jinjurou, please come this way.” "Ha," he replied, but Lord Jinjurou—this samurai—did nothing but fixate his gaze on Sumie's face, as though something seemed unresolved in his heart or he meant to speak out about some matter, making no move to start walking. “Lady Sumie. "...Lady Sumie." "Yes, what may I ask?" “Do you deign to think my Kogen Itto-ryu inferior to your father’s Shinkage-ryu?”

“No… but… how could one such as I…” “Do you mean to say you do not comprehend?”

“I’m afraid I cannot say.” “What you fail to comprehend extends beyond mere sword techniques... to a man’s... a man’s romantic affections as well...” “……” A perplexed expression appeared in Sumie’s eyes. “If I’d intended to strike Uncle down, a single blow would’ve sufficed… That I refrained and let myself be struck instead… Lady Sumie—this was for your sake.” “…………”

At that moment, from the edge of the mansion's veranda—

“Come here now—what do you think you’re doing?”

The elderly samurai called out and clapped his hands.

“I’ve cut the yōkan!” “Come along now, come along!” “Yes,” she said, turning her back on Jinjurou, and Sumie scurried off in that direction.

“That stings a bit,” he said, rubbing his right hand. That old fool—heh, heh—what’s he...? But I’ve done Sumie a favor... With this hand... Muttering these words under his breath, the young samurai Jinjurou began walking deliberately toward the mansion.

3

(That was one strange match.)

Naminosuke walked toward Ryogoku District while thinking such thoughts. (Still, she was quite a lovely girl.)

He briefly thought such things in a corner of his mind and let out a solitary chuckle. He was still twenty-three years old, single and a masterless samurai. He came from a family of masterless samurai dating back to his parents' generation; his father, Naminosuke, had been a retainer in Takashima, Shinano Province, but due to certain circumstances became a ronin and moved to Edo with his entire family. Endowed with mercantile talent and the frugality characteristic of people from Shinano Province, he secretly engaged in moneylending and similar ventures. Before earning anyone’s lasting resentment, he amassed considerable savings, purchased estates, gained influence by mediating neighborhood affairs, and—though still technically a samurai—lived much like a townsman. Just as his reputation peaked, he died abruptly about five years prior. His wife survived him for roughly three years, long enough to fulfill her wish of marrying their eldest daughter into a respectable merchant household rather than a samurai family—specifically, a kimono fabric wholesaler—before passing away suddenly herself, leaving only their eldest son Naminosuke behind. Naturally, he inherited the family headship and has persisted to this day posing as the young protagonist of his household—though this Naminosuke was no fool, nor was he some once-in-a-generation prodigy poised to suddenly elevate the family name. He had studied Itto-ryu swordsmanship but remained far from earning a license, and while he learned Confucian scholarship under Hayashi Nobumitsu of that era, he fell well short of qualifying as a proper scholar.

Yet lately, Naminosuke had come to feel he absolutely wanted to experience something earth-shatteringly grand—something sharp and penetrating that would sear itself into his very being. It would be reasonable to interpret that his continued lukewarm existence had driven him to seek out intense stimulation.

Clad in a hakama-less kimono with wax-coated slender long and short swords at his side and a white fan snapped shut near his chest, he walked down the town street where blue curtains bearing hanging emblems flickered beneath the eaves.

After paying homage at Sensō-ji Kannon in Asakusa, tossing offering coins and wandering through its inner grounds, by the time he reached the bustling streets of Higashi-Ryōgoku, the sun had begun to dip.

Concerning the Female Performer

1

Crossing Ryogoku Bridge toward Honjo brought one to Edo’s most bustling entertainment district, where along Hosomichi Street particularly clustered dubious sideshows—an aged fox purportedly brought from Tamba, kappa exhibitions, Dutch peep shows, and such—all cunningly tailored to appeal to the tastes of low-class spectators like duty-bound samurai and wide-eyed country visitors. There were storytelling halls, aquatic acts, acrobatic top routines—all manner of such attractions had established their regular venues.

Coming to the front of the regular venue for acrobatic top performances, Naminosuke came to a brief halt.

He seemed to deliberate for a while, then paid the admission fee and went inside. Though not so vulgar as to enter such places and gape open-mouthed at acrobatic top performances, he had once fallen into his peculiar brand of love through an odd twist of fate with a woman—a former female performer here who had briefly captivated Ryogoku's populace with her beauty and artistry, known by her real name O-kumi and stage name Genjo. However, about a year ago now, the woman had suddenly disappeared. There were rumors she had eloped with some disgraced retainer’s rogue attendant, or that her corrupt foster mother had sold her off as a concubine to a foreigner in Nagasaki—but in any case, she had vanished. Naminosuke harbored an oddly intense attachment to the woman; when she first disappeared, he had even felt somewhat lonesome, but since she was gone, he’d sworn off attending such acrobatic top performances—until today, when a nostalgic longing sprouted in his heart. And so he passed through the entrance.

The box seats and earthen floor area were both quite crowded. On the stage stood two resplendent peony lanterns, behind which hung a seasonal display of the Yatsuhashi bridge scene. Before this arrangement stood a young female performer in her customary attire—a light purple noshi-patterned furisode robe over a kamishimo vest embroidered with gold and silver threads, her feet clad in fortunate sandals—deftly manipulating her ropes. "Oh! Isn't that Genjo?" In surprise, Naminosuke exclaimed inwardly. The female performer was indeed O-kumi—Genjo herself—without a doubt.

An oval face, a high forehead, a delicate jawline, almond-shaped eyes—it was unmistakably Genjo. Yet whether through trick of perception or reality, she appeared to have grown thinner and more worn compared to a year past. (So she's returned to this stage after all.) Within him welled up that old familiar longing. (I must speak with her—learn her story.) At that moment Genjo—her voice retaining its former timbre yet bearing a newfound fragility—

“The top lives—a living top spins alive,” she intoned with rhythmic cadence. “The rope lives—a living rope twists alive. ...The trial top—a homing top—yearns even when released from the rope, whirling back in return.” No sooner had she cried “Yah!” than her right furisode sleeve swirled into a vortex. In that instant, the rope unraveled midair, and a top—measuring five sun across with black lacquer gold maki-e patterns, silver spindle, and crimson whirlpool carvings—whirred as it soared upward. It appeared to hover momentarily before approaching like a living spirit drawn toward the mouse-gray rope of braided silk, hemp and hair already being deftly reeled in by Genjo.

With that, Genjo extended her right hand. The top came to rest on that palm.

She smoothly turned over her palm.

Remaining upside down and adhering to her palm, the top spun with a fierce intensity.

A thunderous burst of applause erupted from the spectators. But in that very instant—for some reason—the top plopped from her palm, and Genjo stared fixedly at a particular spot in the box seats as if in a daze.

2

Fear showed on her face.

"What's wrong?" he wondered in surprise as Naminosuke turned his gaze toward where Genjo stared. Ah! He started. There in the box seats among spectators sat Jinjurou—the middle-aged warrior who had sparred with an elderly swordsman in Lord Sakakibara Shikibu-no-shō's row house courtyard—glaring at the stage. This was no mere figment of Naminosuke's imagination—Jinjurou's eyes and Genjo's appeared locked in mutual glaring, and it seemed clear Genjo had dropped the top from her palm and fallen into blank-eyed stupor precisely because she had recognized Jinjurou's presence.

(There's something between them.) He couldn’t escape that impression. "Even Kōbō Daishi errs with his brush; even a master’s hands spill water; this Genjo Tayū who dropped her living top begs your kind indulgence for this blunder—allow me to start anew..."

Genjo picked up the top from the floor and resumed her performance almost immediately—uttering her lines in a trembling voice that masked embarrassment while retrieving the fallen prop. Perhaps this blunder lent her unintended charm, but the spectators showed no surge of excitement. Afterward, with no further mishaps, Genjo manipulated the top with her signature vivid mastery as she had in days of old. When the top was thrown into one lantern, like a peony unfurling petals, the lantern’s paper walls opened outward to expose a hundred-measure candle spraying water from its flame’s tip. Then from another lantern, a top whirled upward spontaneously—and the instant Genjo caught it, that second lantern too opened its walls and sprayed water. Having completed this final feat, Genjo withdrew from the stage with composed grace as the spectators applauded.

Naminosuke exited the small theater and made his way around toward the back gate.

“Long time no see, old-timer.” To the old man at the gate, Naminosuke called out in this manner.

“Yes, sir,” said the old gatekeeper. “Well now—Lord Sugi! What an unexpected pleasure.” “Looking hale and hearty—it’s been a year.” “You appear in good health as well, my lord.” “Genjo’s returned and is performing, I see.” “You’re quite informed—only since very recently.” “I’d like to see Genjo for a moment.” “Right this way,” he said, straightening the sandals. He handed over a coin and slipped into his footwear. “Miss Genjo’s room is at the very back.” “I see,” said Naminosuke as he walked on.

He passed through the musty, dimly lit backstage area piled with backdrop flats and large props, walked past the noren curtains hanging before each room in a row, and came to a stop before the very back room. He parted the long noren curtain and entered.

While leaning against the costume chest and not even bothering to remove her kamishimo, Genjo sat slumped.

“O-kumi, it’s me,” said Naminosuke.

With that, Genjo—as if utterly exhausted—opened her eyes, which had been closed, into narrow slits, but

“Lord Naminosuke... I knew you were there.”

Having said that, she closed her eyes again. Her manner could just as well be called enfeebled as cold—an utterly indifferent demeanor. Remaining standing without sitting down, as he gazed at the state of Genjo—his former lover—Naminosuke felt in his heart surprise, loneliness, and a touch of anger.

3 “You knew?” “…What did you know?” “That you were in the box seats.” She spoke with her eyes still closed. “So you saw me from the stage?” “Yes,” said Genjo, opening her eyes. “Lord Naminosuke was here—I kept watching with that awareness.” “Hmm,” Naminosuke snorted through his nose. “Is that all? Huh, O-kumi?” “……”

“It’s been a year since we last met. When Lord Naminosuke was here—was that all you did? Just watch with that thought?”

Though he knew it sounded somewhat like complaining, he couldn’t help but say it. To be sure, their past relationship had not been one of those deep, fierce, blazing passions—the kind shared between a husband and wife bound by a life-and-death vow. Nevertheless, they had liked and loved each other. There was no doubt it had been love—not a bond severed through conflict nor dissolved through mutual agreement, but a love that had persisted. Indeed, it had continued. And yet the woman had said nothing—neither a word about parting nor severing ties—vanishing without uttering anything and leaving no trace until today. Now then—after all that—they had now met. And such was her coldness.

For Naminosuke, complaints and bitter remarks were things he could not help but give voice to.

With that, he glared at her intently. “And besides—even if my feelings have cooled on my part—why won’t you at least tell me to sit down, O-kumi?” Indeed, Naminosuke was still standing. Perhaps even Genjo felt some remorse at this, “Please,” she said, sliding over a yuzen-patterned sitting cushion scattered with polka dots. He sat down but remained unsatisfied, and still Naminosuke stared intently at Genjo’s face with cold eyes. Genjo closed her eyes once more and leaned against the costume chest.

The rims of her eyes were faintly shadowed, grooves had formed on either side of her nostrils, and upon closer inspection, she appeared unexpectedly haggard—worn down as if by illness. (She must have suffered terribly.) As this thought came to him, Naminosuke's heart softened, and warm compassion for the woman began flowing through his chest. "O-kumi, where have you been all this time?" "A journey... wandering... through various lands." "You were making your living on the road?" "No... But... Yes... A journey..."

Her words were muddled and ambiguous. “Where was this journey… in what direction?” “As for where… just here and there.”

“Hmm... Did you form a troupe?” “No… alone… But sometimes… I did form a troupe.” Her words remained evasive. “Why—even so—when you went on a journey—didn’t you tell me?” “……”

Genjo did not respond. Her eyelashes trembled; the corners of her lips just spasmed.

Sunlight streamed in from the window, illuminating the gaudy patterns of the change of clothes hanging on the clothes rack.

Two or three times, men and women who appeared to be troupe members lifted the entrance curtain and peered in, but upon seeing the two who seemed to have some weighty matter between them, they left without attempting to enter. “Do you know a samurai called Jinjurou?”

Changing the subject, Naminosuke said.

And Genjo lifted her head.

4 “Jinjurou! “Jinjurou—! “—Mizushina Jinjurou! “…And you—why are you involved with that man?!” With that, Genjo leaned forward heavily from the costume chest. Fear and hatred lay bare in eyes that had suddenly snapped open. Overwhelmed by what could only be described as a terrifying attitude from his counterpart, Naminosuke found himself recoiling. “N-no—I merely—it was just by chance earlier today—passing by a match at Lord Sakakibara’s tenement—but that man was in the gallery seats—so—”

“Is that truly all there is to it?”

Genjo, appearing relieved, slumped her body and leaned back against the costume chest once more after saying this. And so she closed her eyes and fell silent, yet before long she muttered—less to Naminosuke than to herself—in a delirious whisper. “Jinjurou… Mizushina Jinjurou… What should I call him—a demon? Because of that man… this humble woman has… how much, oh how much… been tormented and tormented!” “……Deceived, exploited, intimidated—I suffered terribly on the journey. …The one who reduced me to this… is that man.” “This humble woman has been reduced to this—to this state—by...!” “…To a sick person, an idiot, a cripple!” “…Master, please save me!” “…But no matter what becomes of this humble woman, I must remember that… But please forgive me—I cannot recall it.”

Suddenly, Genjo began singing in a melodic tone, speaking as if chanting. _Chichibu District_ _Ogawa Village_ _Hemizama’s garden_ _The root of a hinoki cypress_ _Long ago there were, so they say,_ _Now changed to a thousand horses,_ _Five hundred horses' horse breeders_

…… …… …… _Fodder storehouse in the mountains_ _Bottomless_ The river's Nakaji stone cavern of... ...Now what came after that? I wonder? ...Can't remember... Can't remember... ...And where was that place again? ...Mountains and valleys and forests and groves—rock caves and basins and marshes and rivers—maybe even a waterfall... There must've been a grand estate too... ...And there should've been a terrifying old man like Shuten-dōji... Can't remember... Can't remember...

Tilting her face upward, casting her eyes into empty space, beads of sweat forming on her brow—as if tracing some memory, as if struggling to recall—Genjo spoke in a delirious murmur.

Perhaps one might call it a demented state preceding an epileptic seizure—Genjo’s face and form appeared entirely different from usual, as though she were another person. Naminosuke shuddered as if haunted. And then, suddenly lurching forward, Genjo collapsed onto the tatami.

She seemed to have completely exhausted her vitality. “O-kumi!” Naminosuke exclaimed in shock, scrambled closer, and lifted her up. “Stay strong! Steady your mind!”

At that moment, a voice called out from behind.

“Is Lady Genjo suffering from her usual condition?”

Startled, Naminosuke looked back.

When had he arrived? A thirty-five or thirty-six-year-old samurai stood there with a furrowed brow.

5 His forehead was broad, his eyebrows thick, his eyes—what they call phoenix eyes—both noble and sharp yet somehow amiable. Though his nose stood uncompromisingly high, its broad bridge prevented severity, while the deep philtrum beneath was said to prove virtuous character. His lips were neither thin nor thick. Well-proportioned but large in build. His complexion was fair, his cheeks full, and his jawline, not angular, rounded softly. His height was probably around five shaku five or six sun; though his frame was powerfully built, it remained lean without excess fat. His hair was arranged in a chonmage topknot of considerable size, the cord securing the topknot being of a deep purple hue. He wore a black formal kimono with family crests paired with a matching haori jacket, fastened by a white Hakata obi. His long daishō swords—their hilts wrapped in white silk thread—were worn without hakama trousers, a deliberate choice that perfectly expressed his carefree, open-hearted, and refined nature. This aesthetic harmonized with his white Hakata obi, while the deep purple cords of his haori—matching those securing his topknot—exuded sophistication.

A samurai of such bearing stood there.

Realizing this, Sugi Naminosuke involuntarily let out an "Ah!"; no sooner had he released Genjo—whom he'd been holding—than he slid back four or five feet, placed his hands on his knees, and assumed a formal posture.

It was because he knew who the samurai was. A retainer of Matsudaira Yamato-no-kami, lord of Kawagoe with a domain of 350,000 koku, who held an impressive stipend of 500 koku; the son of Akiyama Yōzaemon, a Shinkage-ryū kenjutsu instructor; due to his chivalrous and indomitable spirit, he had aided the gambler Akao Isogorō in territorial disputes until deliberately being disowned to become a masterless samurai; having honed his skills in Edo, he established a dojo at Negishi Goyō no Matsu where he taught Shinkage-ryū; at the prime age of thirty-five, he stood as Shinkage-ryū’s peerless master—said to rival such renowned swordsmen as Togasaki Kumatarō of Shintō Munen-ryū, Henmi Tashirō of Kogen Ittō-ryū, Asari Matashichirō of Ono-ha Ittō-ryū, and Chiba Shūsaku of Hokushin Ittō-ryū—this was the swordsman Akiyama Yōsuke Masakatsu! This samurai was indeed that very man.

Of course, Naminosuke had never spoken to Akiyama Yōsuke before nor received instruction from him; however, being such a renowned swordsman, there was not a single warrior residing in Edo who did not know Yōsuke—and in that sense, Naminosuke too had come to know of him through distant observations in various places.

Such a Yōsuke had appeared; it was only natural that he had assumed a formal posture. Seeing Naminosuke's rigid formality, Yōsuke instead smiled apologetically with a courteous nod—yet offered no further words—before approaching Genjo where she lay collapsed. Kneeling on one knee beside her, he reached out his hand and spoke while stroking her back.

“Lady Genjo, it’s Yōsuke. Has your usual seizure come upon you?” It seemed the voice had reached her—Genjo raised her face to look at Yōsuke, but— “Master!” she suddenly clung to him. “Jinjurou! Mizushina Jinjurou!” “Jinjurou? What has happened to you?” “He was in the box seats! He’s been stalking this humble woman!”

“…………”

Yōsuke’s complexion also abruptly changed.

“He—that demon—has come to Edo?!” “Master!” “It’s all right,” Yōsuke said. “I’m here—it’ll be all right.” “Yes… Master! “But I…!” “……Terrifying! Terrifying! Terrifying!” “You mustn’t torment yourself. …You mustn’t let yourself be afraid.” “…Akiyama Yōsuke is here.”

Sword Demon and Sword Saint

1 "This is no place for me to linger," Naminosuke thought—and indeed, it wasn’t long before he left that room.

He walked through the space where painted backdrops and large props were piled up, heading toward the rear gate. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, he shuddered.

He looked around his surroundings. In the dim space beside the stacked painted backdrops, Mizushina Jinjurou stood watching with eyes that pierced like blades. "Ah—" Naminosuke emitted a cry that struck even himself as foolish—no, utterly cowardly, resembling terror—and found his feet nailed to the ground. Around the man called Jinjurou hung something one might term killing intent or perhaps demonic energy—a shadowy, oppressive presence that made those approaching shrink away.

――Such was the fleeting impression that came to him. (Foolish,) he ridiculed himself, and Naminosuke began to walk.

Even so, when passing before Jinjurou and even after having passed him, he was terrified—unable to suppress the thought that he might be suddenly cut down.

That Sugi Naminosuke had been walking through Ochanomizu on his way back to his residence in Koishikawa Tomisaka-cho during the late hours—well past early night—was because, even after leaving Genjo's cottage, lingering concerns and unpleasant matters had weighed on his mind; thus he had spent time at his favored small eatery to distract himself. What could be wrong with O-kumi? There was no doubt she was ill, but what sort of strange illness could it be? She seemed to be on intimate terms with someone as exceedingly famous as Akiyama Yōsuke—how and where had that come about? Mizushina Jinjurou—that demon-like man—appeared to have some profound connection with O-kumi and Akiyama Yōsuke as well, but what exactly was their relationship?

(In any case, today had been a strange day.)

Naminosuke walked through Ochanomizu's desolate terrain while thinking such thoughts, his still-flushed cheeks from drink being cooled by the night wind—now fragrant with young leaves—as he murmured to himself and traversed this eerily quiet area so thick with trees and devoid of houses that one might doubt it still lay within Edo's borders. The moon had risen late into the sky, but through the densely foliaged trees its filtered light only managed to cast scattered patches of brightness here and there, leaving the surroundings nearly engulfed in darkness.

Suddenly, something flashed ahead, and a scream followed immediately after.

Startled, Naminosuke stopped in his tracks. He intuitively sensed that someone had been cut.

(Should I slip away sideways?) The thought had fleetingly crossed his mind, but he was a samurai—no mere townsman. (Cowardly,) he rebuked himself and broke into a run. A peddler—likely a patent-medicine seller with his chest-strapped case—lay drenched in blood gushing from his right flank, while before this corpse stood a samurai and beside him a woman wiping a bloodied blade with tissue paper—this pitilessly gruesome tableau, bathed in shafts of moonlight piercing through the trees like colossal pillars of light, burned itself into Naminosuke’s vision.

Whoosh—he felt himself nearly lose consciousness.

Yes—Naminosuke was just about to lose consciousness and collapse. “I have been awaiting your arrival.”

Mizushina Jinjurou said so.

2

The samurai having a woman wipe his bloodied sword—that was Mizushina Jinjurou. "This humble one is called Mizushina Jinjurou—a masterless samurai. I bid you remember me." The sheer audacity of declaring his true name after having just killed a man struck terror into Naminosuke’s already fearful heart, shaking it to its very core. “Haah...” was all Naminosuke could manage, his voice trembling.

There was nothing more to say—even the voice that had spoken those words trembled. “...Th-that person...? ...And... th-that corpse?” Even so, that much at least Naminosuke managed to ask. “This humble one has just now cut him down.” “Ah... Indeed... For what offense?” “Because he was a subordinate who betrayed me.” “Haa...” “The true object of hatred is the betrayer. ...Those whose words and deeds do not align...” “...those whose words and deeds do not align...” “Haa...” “If I may be so bold—your honorable name?”

“S-Sugi Naminosuke...” “Lord Sugi Naminosuke… Your residence?” “Koishikawa Tomisaka-cho...” “Are you aware that this humble one had the honor of meeting you at Genjo’s cottage this afternoon?”

“Y-yes… I am aware.” “You went to Genjo’s room, did you not?” “……”

“Your relationship with Genjo—?” “There’s nothing between us to speak of.” “…Just briefly… a year ago…” “Is that so?” Jinjurou fixed Naminosuke with a suspicious gaze, his eyes glinting like the tip of a sword, cold as ice to the core— “Lord Akiyama Yōsuke visited Genjo’s room today—what is your relationship with Lord Akiyama?” “There’s nothing to it—merely that today was the first time we met there.…”

“Is that truly so? You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“No lie… It is the truth.” It felt precisely like undergoing judicial interrogation.—Naminosuke abruptly grew irritated, vexed at his own spinelessness, yet when pinned under Jinjurou’s serpent-like gaze—like a frog transfixed by a viper—both body and soul were seized by a paralyzing terror that rendered him incapable of movement. Having let the woman thoroughly wipe the gore from his blade, Jinjurou at length sheathed his sword with deliberate calm—

“This humble one means you no harm—indeed, since there appears to be no deep connection between us, all the more fortunate—but henceforth, you shall form no relations whatsoever with Genjo or Akiyama Yōsuke.” “Haah… But… That… Why…?”

“Precisely so—because this humble one dislikes it.” “…………”

What brazen audacity! What an overbearing demand!—Though he thought this, Naminosuke lacked the strength to resist and firmly declare "No."

And he remained silent. “Above all, you must form no connection with Genjo… How does this proposal sit with you? Is it acceptable?” “…………” “Very well—you’ve acquiesced, it seems. …As a precautionary measure—tell me: have you perchance heard those peculiar songs Genjo sings?” Having said this, he fixed him with a probing glare. (It’s about that song,) Naminosuke thought. 3 (Chichibu District, Ogawa Village—the cypress root in Lord Hemi’s garden)

He immediately realized it was about that song.

However, if he were to say he had heard it, there was no telling what might happen to him—having thought this, Naminosuke,

“No,” he denied flatly.

“You didn’t hear it? Good. “That is well. …Therefore, I must inform you—henceforth, you must never listen to it.” “Even if you should happen to hear it, you must never unravel its meaning.… Is that agreeable, Lord Naminosuke?” “That’s agreeable,” Naminosuke said—said because he had no choice—though in truth, having been told this, he now resolved all the more to uncover the meaning contained within that song.

Even as this exchange unfolded, he observed the woman—now finished wiping the bloodied sword—standing at Jinjurou’s side, chewing on a toothpick while listening to their conversation with detached indifference. She appeared around thirty years old, her hair arranged in a chignon secured with a comb, wearing a patterned unlined kimono with a black satin obi and lacquered wooden clogs. Around her waist lingered an indescribable sensuality—so intense it verged on toxic. Her face was too perfectly formed—so much so that its very perfection became a flaw—but her strikingly high nose shattered that harmony at this single point. A woman of striking beauty who embodied the archetypal femme fatale! That said, she was exactly that kind of woman.

The woman slapped her arm with a sharp snap. It seemed a bush mosquito had bitten her. She rolled up her left sleeve to the shoulder. What floated into view under the moonlight was a densely carved tattoo.

"Incredible..." Naminosuke felt a chill. (A fitting match for Jinjurou.)

“For your own caution—I must inform you.” In a grave, cloying voice brimming with menace, Jinjurou declared: “Should you break your word to this humble one, you shall meet the same miserable fate as this man lying here.” “Is that agreeable, Lord Naminosuke?” As he spoke, he pointed at the ointment seller with his index finger. “…………”

Silently gulping down his saliva, Naminosuke simply nodded. “Very well, then we shall take our leave.” “...Let’s go, Otsuma.” “Alright, let’s go.” Slipping out from the sphere of moonlight, the two vanished into the darkness. With five servants—a chambermaid, a maid, an old woman, an old male servant, and a young retainer—Naminosuke lived freely in a splendid mansion with a spacious garden; one could say his social standing was not bad at all.

The next day, he slept soundly until around noon, rose and listlessly washed his face, had a combined breakfast and lunch served by the neat chambermaid O-Sato, stepped out onto the veranda with a blue reed screen behind him, and gazed absently at the flowerbed blooming with lilies and Ezo chrysanthemums while pondering how to reconcile the tumultuous events of the previous day—partly out of idleness, partly from interest, and partly due to its slight bearing on his future—brooding over this when—

“Master, there is a visitor for you,” the chambermaid announced.

“Who?” Naminosuke asked irritably. “He announced himself as Lord Akiyama Yōsuke.”

4 It was not long after that Naminosuke respectfully received him in a superior guest room—well-ventilated with views of the garden pond and artificial hill—where he had courteously ushered Akiyama Yōsuke, served tea and sweets, and expressed his gratitude through mingled joy, trepidation, and honor at being visited by such a renowned figure. “Yesterday, I was informed by Genjo of your past relationship with her,” declared Yōsuke. “And yesterday, Mizushina Jinjurou was engaged in a match with someone in the garden of some tenement—which you observed, as Genjo informed me—so this unworthy one has come to request you disclose where that tenement is located,” he continued in a forthright tone.

“I must by all means ascertain Jinjurou’s current residence.”

In this manner, Yōsuke added. "It was one of the tenement houses belonging to Lord Sakakibara Shikibu-no-shō of Hongō," Naminosuke recounted everything he had witnessed at that time.

“How many households did the tenement comprise?” “Ah—I must confess I neglected to verify that particular detail. However, should it please you, I shall personally provide guidance.” “You honor me deeply. Then without ceremony—when dusk falls—I shall presume to request your company for an evening stroll...” “Your wish is my command. “...Speaking of which...” Naminosuke changed tack and described how he had met Mizushina Jinjurou in Ochanomizu’s desolate grounds the previous night and endured what amounted to a threat.

Yōsuke, who had been listening intently, gradually furrowed his brows— “His malevolence shows no sign of abating... What truly inspires dread is his unorthodox blade...” he murmured, as if to himself. “Master, what do you mean by ‘unorthodox blade’?” Naminosuke inquired probingly. Yōsuke remained silent for a while, his sharp eyes fixed on the refreshing scene where pond koi occasionally leapt up to breach the surface—each time sending up mist-like spray—and where hydrangeas blooming along the bank, perhaps dampened by that spray, glistened vividly in the sunlight;

“It appears he combines Yagyū-ryū’s ‘Kuruma no Kaeshi’ (Wheel Return) with Kogen Itto-ryū’s ‘Shimote no Kiri’ (Lowerhand Cut)—a swordsmanship technique unique to him.”

Having said this, he stared squarely at Naminosuke.

Averting his eyes as if dazzled, "But given Master's skill... Jinjurou's swordsmanship..." "It's not so simple... One year ago, at Lord Hikuchi Jūrōzaemon's dōjō in Kazama, Kōzuke Province—I happened to meet him there. At his earnest request, I crossed swords with him, but..." "What was the result?" "A mutual strike." "…………" "A masterful sweep to the leg......" "The leg?" "Indeed. "It was swept."

“…………”

“This unworthy one struck the head, but...”

Naminosuke fell silent. Were one to select ten contemporary sword masters as Japan’s representative figures, given that a man of Akiyama Yōsuke Masakatsu’s caliber—who should rightfully be counted among them—ended in a mutual strike, then that man Mizushina Jinjurou’s skill must be regarded as being of equal rank. (Is he really that skilled...?)

It could not help but seem like a lie.

5

He brought out the prepared refreshments. “Though this is my first visit, such hospitality leaves this unworthy one deeply humbled.” While declaring this without reserve, his attitude of leisurely refilling cups remained bright and open-hearted—ignoring distinctions between seniors and juniors, truly candid and stylish—yet without diminishing the dignity befitting a scion from a lineage of major householders who once held five hundred koku stipends, making Naminosuke unable to help finding him endearing. “What is the name of Jinjurou’s unorthodox blade?”

Naminosuke asked in that manner. “He referred to it as ‘Reverse Wheel,’” Yōsuke answered. “Of course, being an unorthodox blade of heretical methods, it lacks a legitimate name—but it appears he arbitrarily assigned one himself. ...First, you hold the sword in middle stance like this.” As he spoke, Yōsuke took up a white fan and firmly assumed his stance. Though but prey less than a shaku in length—this fan gripped by a master—to Naminosuke that fan appeared more fearsome than any drawn blade, Yōsuke’s body seeming to have completely vanished behind it.

“Then—like this—grr—you quietly draw the sword diagonally leftward.” As he spoke, Yōsuke demonstrated by drawing back the fan.

“As if water were drawing back. “……Needless to say, it’s an opening meant to invite attack.” “Though fully aware it’s an inviting gap, a hundred out of a hundred will take the bait—stepping forward or striking out.” “...then you swiftly seize the initiative... Using Yagyū’s Kuruma no Kaeshi—you counter like this in one motion.”

He deftly flipped the fan downward in a return motion.

“The moment he startles his opponent into faltering, without a moment’s delay comes the Lowerhand Cut—the Kogen Itto-ryu’s Shimote no Kiri…” Having said this, Yōsuke drew his fan in close to his left knee, assumed a hassō stance, then immediately flipped it upward in a scooping cut. “This is how he comes at you—indeed, precisely like this.” “…If it goes low—your legs; if it rises—your torso; one level higher—your jaw… You’ll inevitably be struck. Inevitably be cut.” “Yet if one comprehends it thusly, it would seem there should be countless ways to counter that technique—but”

“There is none—this is the technique. ...If broken down analytically, it would resemble what I just demonstrated—yet it permits no deconstruction, transcends all commentary. One might say it executes Jo-Ha-Kyū in a single breath or performs Ten-Chi-Jin sansai simultaneously—swift as the wind and sudden as thunder, peerless and unrivaled; a truly divine quick-draw technique so masterful that even an enemy would feel compelled to praise it—moreover executed with sufficient tenacity and delivered like flint sparks—leaving nearly no means to defend against it.”

“Haa...” Naminosuke let out a sigh. “What a dreadful technique.”

“What a dreadful technique, what a dreadful unorthodox blade!” “……Since then, this humble one has labored tirelessly, devising and refining methods to dismantle that unorthodox blade, yet…” “Have you not yet devised [a method]?” “The memory of his blade work from that time still flashes before my eyes; it does not retreat, it does not vanish.” “Haa...” Once more, Naminosuke could not help but sigh. Even so, last night at Ochanomizu when I was threatened by Jinjurou, it was good that I didn’t resist—had I made any strange attempt to resist, I would surely have been cut down with a single heavy Reverse Wheel strike.

To Naminosuke, that was how it seemed. The two continued to drink together.

Before they knew it, evening had fallen, and around the tips of the young bamboo leaves in the garden, fireflies glowed faintly.

6

Having spent an unexpectedly long time drinking, it was well into the night when the two finally emerged from the residence.

“If we go out too early and loiter around that mansion—should Jinjurou notice us—it would result in an unfavorable situation. A later time would be preferable,” Yōsuke declared, appearing paradoxically pleased by this necessity.

He wondered what connection had led Master to become so close with someone like O-kumi of Genjo both when at home and after going out. He pondered what meaning lay behind that mysterious song O-kumi had sung. Naminosuke had many questions he wanted to ask Yōsuke—why Mizushina Jinjurou targeted Master and O-kumi—but two factors restrained him: one being how Jinjurou’s threat last night against broaching such matters had seared itself into his being, and the other being how Yōsuke himself seemed to dislike having those subjects raised, so in the end Naminosuke missed his chance to inquire.

In this manner, they arrived near Lord Sakakibara’s estate grounds in Hongō.

The mansion district fell into late-night stillness early, with scarcely a soul passing through. The gates of every house stood firmly barred, and under tonight's bright moonlit sky, the roof tiles glistened as though drenched in water. "Master, this is the mansion," Naminosuke stated as he stood before one of the row houses. Whether belonging to a two hundred koku or three hundred koku stipend holder, it was evident from its structure that this was a row house of a rather splendid fief holder.

The wooden fence stood tall, and atop it, planted podocarps and magnolias spread their leaves abundantly, their foliage glimmering faintly like tarnished silver in the moonlight.

“Let’s go around to the front gate.”

With these words Yōsuke took the lead, but as they had proceeded several paces, a soul-rending shriek erupted from within the estate—suddenly the side gate burst open and a shadowy figure leapt into the roadway. A samurai with a drawn blade in one hand held a woman cradled sideways in his free arm, while another samurai, also wielding a drawn blade, came chasing after him barefoot. "You! ...Halt! ...utter fiend!"

It was the shout of the young samurai who had given chase. “Brother! ...Brother!” The girl being held let out a scream. “It’s Jinjurou!” In that instant, Yōsuke shouted and wheeled around. The samurai holding the girl was unmistakably Mizushina Jinjurou.

Jinjurou seemed to hesitate, coming to an abrupt halt for an instant. From behind, a young samurai was giving chase; ahead, two samurai stood in his path. He seemed to hesitate over which way to flee.

The young samurai who had caught up there shouted, “Father’s enemy—drop dead, villain!” as he charged in. “Slash—!” came Jinjurou’s retort as he thrust forward the girl’s body! “Ah!” The attacker barely managed to halt his gleaming blade three inches midair. “Using a human shield—you coward!” “Brother! Brother! Cut down Jinjurou along with me—avenge Father!” Jinjurou, once more forcefully grabbing the screaming Sumie, turned threateningly toward the two samurai, brandished his gleaming blade, and roared.

“Stand back! Cease your interference! Should you persist, I shall cut you down!”

Before Jinjurou could dash through, Yōsuke stood with both hands spread wide.

7 “Has darkness clouded your eyes, Mizushina Jinjurou?! Can you not see this humble one? ’Tis Akiyama Yōsuke!” “What? Akiyama?” he faltered. “Aye, Akiyama! U——m! Namu sanzō!” “Though ignorant of particulars,” he declared, “your accumulated evils prove you the obstruction! I shall not let you pass—prepare to be subdued!......”

At that moment, the young samurai behind him shouted. "We siblings belong to this household—vassals of the Sakakibara family. This unworthy one is called Shigisawa Shuidō, and my sister here is named Sumie." "That man—through some slight connection—recently became a lodger whom we had been sheltering in our household. Over some trivial matter mere moments ago, he murdered our father Shōemon and, as you witness here, abducted my sister while attempting to flee." "We humbly beseech you—esteemed Master Akiyama—to lend your sword in our aid."

“Understood,” said Yôsuke. “Even without that circumstance—between Mizushina Jinjurou and myself—there exists longstanding enmity.” “A man who must be struck down—all the more so being your honorable siblings’ enemy—makes it impossible for me to overlook.” “...Your request for assistance I accept without reservation.... You must deliver the first strike.” “I shall restrain and surrender him.” “...Lord Naminosuke—you will join us.”

“Understood,” Naminosuke replied. Though inherently timid, with Yōsuke at his side—and indeed even without that support when confronting such circumstances—the chivalrous blood of a samurai surged within him, courage flaring up fiercely as he instantly drew his blade. Not only was Jinjurou beset by foes before and behind, but one among them stood as Akiyama Yōsuke Masakatsu—a man who could be called a sword saint. Even Mizushina Jinjurou—this sword demon—appeared to grasp his dire straits; standing rigid yet cowed, he lowered Sumie to the ground, planted one foot hard upon her shoulder, and raised his sword high above his head,

“Ah, Lord Akiyama—it’s been an age since I last discerned your noble intent.” “Indeed, as your lordship observes—this humble one and you stand not as comrades but rivals—nay, competitors. One path remains: slay or be slain. This meeting must be fate’s design for our mortal exchange. I accept this contest—no flight nor concealment.” “Shuidō—Shuidō—Shigisawa Shuidō—I’ve no quarrel with you either. True enough—this blade cut down your father Shōemon through samurai pride; no doubt I’m your parent’s enemy. Debate good and evil—I hold half the argument here.” “But I scorn half-measured logic!” “I shall embrace full villainy!” “Bwahahaha! This humble one is evil incarnate!” “As evil demands—no duty binds me!” “Where longing strikes—unjustly seize and flee!” “Thus I took Sumie!” “Evil renders sentiment void! At death’s brink—no lovers remain! Hostage! Shield! Living sacrifice! Behold virtue trampled!” “Strike now Akiyama! Strike Shuidō! Move but an inch—this blade descends upon Sumie!”

Fully revealing his villainous nature, Jinjurou shouted to both sides—swinging his sword raised high under the glaring moonlight up and down in mock slashes—then laughed with dark mirth. They gnashed their teeth, but with Sumie’s life at stake, neither Yōsuke nor Shuidō could bring themselves to strike, stamping their feet in anguished hesitation.

8 But at that moment, Sumie screamed.

“Do not hesitate! Please kill this humble one and cut down Jinjurou!” “...First, like this!” she cried, thrusting out her delicate hands.

“Wah!” Jinjurou suddenly shouts, leaps back, shoulders his sword, and unwittingly staggers to one side. Aiming for that opening, “Split in two!” Shuidō’s blade comes slicing in with a shout. Clang!

Their blades clashed once with a metallic ring.

Jinjurou parried it.

Seeing this opening, Yōsuke abruptly leaped in unarmed. Sword gleam! A single diagonal slash streamed through.

Jinjurou's sideways slash. But how could Yōsuke have been cut? He had already leaped aside! At that opening, Shuidō sliced in a second time!

Once more came a metallic clang—the tip of Jinjurou’s parried blade shot toward Shuidō’s thigh! “Agh!” Shuidō collapsed to the ground. “Brother!” Sumie cried, gripping her hairpin in reverse to stab Jinjurou’s instep and seize the initiative, then crawled across the ground toward Shuidō. “Now you’ll know true hatred!” roared Jinjurou with unbridled savagery as he brought his sword down in a vicious overhead strike against Sumie’s back! At the very instant he swung down, slicing through the air, the stone hurled by Naminosuke struck Jinjurou’s forehead.

"Tch!" He swatted it away with one hand—and in that opening came a forceful impact to his body! Jinjurou—struck by Yōsuke’s masterful tackle—tumbled head over heels and went flying two ken away like a ball! That said, his body was well-trained; with swallow-like lightness he sprang up, dashed past Shuidō—still crawling nearby—like an arrow, fleeing like a startled hare!

“Wait!” Yōsuke shouted as he gave chase, but “Lord Naminosuke! You stay here and tend to Lord Shuidō and Lady Sumie!”

“Understood.” With a terse “I leave it to you,” Yōsuke gave chase like Idaten—but Jinjurou, who knew these streets intimately, had already disappeared into some back alley or side lane, his figure nowhere to be seen.

But around this time, startled by the commotion, the windows and gates of the tenements opened, and people peered out,

“What happened?” “Is it a fire?”

“Bandits?”

...and so on," they cursed in a clamor of voices.

There, Yōsuke shouted at the top of his voice. “Scoundrel! He has brought calamity upon the Shigisawa house and now hides in this neighborhood! I implore you—find him! Hunt him down!” “Go!” “Search!” they shouted, and came running out with swords drawn.

“Over there!”

“No, this way!”

They rushed into the surrounding alleyways and lanes, searching here and there. The commotion spread instantly from mansion to mansion. Household samurai, night patrols, young retainers, and comrades—all carrying their quarry—surrounded this entire block and began driving Jinjurou into a corner.

9 Voices rose over there; voices rose here as well. Driven by paranoia, they mistook allies for enemies—shouting out or chasing after them with cries of “There he is!”—and when these turned out to be familiar colleagues, a roar of laughter went up. Before they knew it, misinformation had spread that the enemy wasn’t one man but a whole group—they anxiously exchanged reports about five men lurking in that alley over there, three with drawn swords pressed against Lord Kanbei’s tenement wall, and other such claims.

At times, figures could be seen running through intersections, while others were spotted climbing pine trees in mansion gardens to observe the situation.

And then a single figure was seen—avoiding the moonlight as it moved from shadow to shadow along house fences, escaping this block while shuffling toward Shitaya.

It was none other than Mizushina Jinjurou. With his topknot torn and hair disheveled across his forehead—uncombed and unkempt—he walked barefoot, concealing beneath his sleeve the bloodied sword that had cut down Shōemon.

The moment he turned left at the intersection, “There he is—” “Get him!” Flash of steel! Footsteps!

Five samurai came rushing in. “…………” Silently, he swished— "Gyaaaah!" “Gah!” Collapsed.

Two samurai collapsed—whether dead or alive unknown—and three samurai scattered in flight. And now, from this spot too, Jinjurou had vanished. Under the frost-laden moonlight, two injured men lay writhing upon the ground, twisting and contorting.

Around this time, Jinjurou was walking through the narrow black alley wedged between the residences of Nakayama Ukonji and Itami Sajūrō.

Even he seemed fatigued now, occasionally staggering or coming to a halt. He emerged at a T-shaped intersection.

After surveying his surroundings—left, right, front, and back—he walked to the right.

Then, a man who appeared to be a night patrolman emerged stealthily from the dark shadows of stacked stones with heron-like steps, carrying a six-foot staff, and began pursuing Jinjurou. Likely intending to sweep his legs, he slowly positioned the six-foot staff horizontally, crouched low, then—whoosh!—lashed out in a single stroke. In that instant, another figure—this one from the shadows of stacked lumber—leapt out like a demon. “Gah!” Whirling through the air, the six-foot staff was knocked spinning upward; legs kicking vainly, the night patrolman collapsed like a felled tree trunk.

Jinjurou was startled for the first time, instantly leapt forward about two ken (roughly 3.6 meters), then nimbly spun around to look. A man lay fallen on the ground, and beside him a woman—a bloodstained dagger in one hand, her kimono’s hem lifted with the other—stood with her face pallid in the moonlight, wearing a ghastly smile as she stared fixedly at Jinjurou. “Jinjurou-san, that was close, wasn’t it?”

“Who’s there? …Oh—you’re Otsuma.” “You can’t go forgetting your mistress now.” “Hmm... But... What happened?” “That’s something to discuss over here.” “...What the hell happened to this guy anyway?” “What do you mean ‘what happened’… I botched it.” “Seems that way, doesn’t it? Sure does. …Still, karma’s come around, hasn’t it?”

10 “Don’t call this humble one a fool for talking about karma—humans botch things sometimes. …Anyway, why are you here?” “Are you asking if I came here? …We did agree to meet at Tokiwa in Shitaya, but I got worried and came to check…” “Were you startled by all this chaos?” “So when I was hiding in the shadows, this night patrolman tried to sweep your legs with his six-foot staff, so…” “You rushed out and stabbed him deep in the side—”

“Well now, I’ve gone and done some awful slaughter here.” “Thanks to you, I was saved.” “I’m your savior now—don’t go treating me shabbily from here on out.” “So you’re calling in the favor already?” “It’s only fair to ask—so thank me properly.” “I’ll explain everything in due time.” “That ‘taking your time’ won’t do, I’m afraid.”

“Right—lingering’s forbidden. …We must flee this place at once. …But we’re hemmed in on all sides.” “I’ve got a plan—change your look.” “Change my look? What’re you scheming?” “Strip that patrolman bastard’s gear…” “Ah! Now this here’s a masterstroke.” With a rustling drag, Jinjurou hauled the patrolman’s corpse into shadow and concealed himself. When he reemerged, the samurai had vanished—in his place stood a night watchman. The paired swords lay hidden at his flank, only their guards betraying a telltale bulge beneath the fabric.

“Now then—with this hood drawn up and holding hands with you—we might not pass unnoticed as runaway lovers slipping away in the chaos.” “This role’s rather beneath my station.” “Don’t complain. …Let’s go.”

Just as they began walking, four or five samurai approached, cautioning each other.

“Halt!” “Yes?” “Who goes there?” “As you see… Please turn a blind eye.” “Heh—fellow elopers, are we?” “Yes, sir.” “Move along.” “Our humble apologies.”

“You there—wait!”

“What is it?” "A dangerous murderer prowls these streets. Keep your wits about you." “—Yes sir, most gracious of you. Deeply obliged…”

Three months passed, and early autumn arrived.

To enter Bushū from the Kōshū direction, crossing Dai-Bosatsu Pass and following the Tamba River—proceeding from Ōme to Ōgimachi Valley, from Takahagi Village to Sakado-shuku and Takasaka-shuku—was generally considered the most reasonable route.

While following this path, a young samurai and a young woman walked wearily with travel-stained clothes. They were Shigisawa Shuidō and Sumie. This was a journey of vengeance—having marked their father's enemy Mizushina Jinjurou for death, they meant to cut him down in retribution.

What was the relationship between Shuidō and Jinjurou? They were distant cousins of the most tenuous sort—and about three months prior to that incident, when Jinjurou had drifted unceremoniously to the Shigisawa residence and told his story, they only barely recalled that such a relative existed, with no particular obligation to care for him. Yet the magnanimous and compassionate Shōemon, unbothered by such formalities, acquiesced to Jinjurou’s entreaties and allowed him to stay under their roof, looking after his needs.

Journey of Vengeance

1

This proved disastrous. At first, Jinjurou had maintained a meek facade, but gradually revealed his true nature—he would go out drinking, return home drunk, boast of his martial prowess while deriding Shōemon and Shuidō's swordsmanship as child's play, frequently brought disreputable men and women into the estate, and eventually began making unwanted advances toward Sumie. Sumie was not Shōemon’s biological daughter but rather a girl they had raised from infancy with the intention of wedding her to his only son Shuidō; around this time, having submitted his retirement notice, Shōemon had been preparing to hold their wedding and present Shuidō as his successor before the authorities when Jinjurou’s unwanted advances were met with universal disapproval from the household.

Naturally, he came to be treated coldly. As the cold treatment persisted, Jinjurou’s disposition grew increasingly foul, and he began hurling ever more vulgar curses at Shōemon and Shuidō’s swordsmanship. Finally unable to contain his anger, that day Shōemon descended into the garden and faced off against Jinjurou. Upon facing him and witnessing Jinjurou’s swordsmanship firsthand, Shōemon realized it was even more fearsome than the man’s boasts had suggested, chilling him to the core; however, when his daughter Sumie intervened, Jinjurou unexpectedly yielded victory. However, Shōemon thought: Keeping this fearsome practitioner of wicked swordsmanship within their estate would bring no benefit to their household. And so, that day while drinking tea, he subtly ordered him to leave.

This struck Jinjurou hard. From his perspective, he had yielded victory; therefore, he ought to have been treated favorably henceforth. Moreover, the reason he had yielded was Sumie’s intervention—he had done it for her sake. Thus he had thought Sumie would likely come to harbor favorable feelings toward him from that point onward; yet matters had unfolded in precisely the opposite manner.

And thus, the petty man's smoldering grudge! Thus, his malice swelling at this turn of events, he launched a surprise attack on Shōemon the following night, cutting down the old man in his bedchamber. When Sumie rushed out at the scream, he seized her as if claiming his prize. Then, as Shuidō too emerged at the commotion, he fended off the young man while retreating toward the exit in desperate flight. Just then, an unexpected ally intervened. It was Akiyama Yōsuke and Naminosuke. Thereupon, he released Sumie and managed to flee, vanishing without a trace.

Now that things had come to this, for Shuidō, there was only one thing left to do.

Revenge killing! Yes, that was all there was to it. After holding his father’s funeral, he immediately petitioned for official sanction to pursue the revenge killing. “Serve well,” declared their magnanimous lord Lord Sakakibara Shikibu-no-sho, who promptly granted permission. With exceptional consideration even during Shuidō’s status as a masterless samurai, he issued the gracious decree that Shuidō should assume stewardship of Shōemon’s hereditary stipend. Upon successful fulfillment of his primary objective, His Lordship even bestowed supplemental words confirming inheritance rights and stipend security. “Brother, I must accompany you.” Just as they were finally about to depart on their journey, Sumie spoke these words.

“Father was slain by Jinjurou. For half the cause lies with me.” Thus did Sumie insist. “Taking a woman on a revenge journey—that won’t do,” Shuidō refused. “The lord’s perception, the domain’s speculations—it would make me appear weak and weigh on my conscience.” Having said this, Shuidō would not consent. “Did not Miyagino and Shinobu—mere women—take down their father’s enemy as two sisters?”

2 Therefore, it would be no surprise if we siblings were to cut down our father’s enemy ourselves—or so her argument went. Within Sumie’s heart lay these layered convictions: that they were betrothed; that should Shuidō—her husband-to-be—depart on this enemy hunt, years might pass before his return; that rather than languishing fretfully in their lonely home awaiting him, she—though unpolished—had received Tamiya-ryu kodachi instruction and obtained its license, meaning she would hardly prove a burdensome encumbrance; that Father, so cruelly slain, had been both her devoted adoptive parent and would-have-been father-in-law, owed greater devotion than even a blood father; that half the reason for his terrible end lay with her own existence; that with Mother passed years ago—no filial duties remained to chain her here. With all this considered, the conviction to journey alongside Shuidō burned thick and fierce within her.

Though Shuidō had refused her request outwardly, he secretly believed traveling together would be permissible—nay, if circumstances allowed, he desired nothing more than to have her accompany him. They were two people who would eventually become husband and wife—to leave one behind at home while embarking on this journey with no certain return date meant venturing into peril where even encountering their enemy might result in their own deaths rather than vengeance fulfilled. Such an expedition weighed heavily upon him. Were they to journey together through hardship and sorrow alike—could they not share their burdens and find solace in each other? Far from being deadweight, his sister wielded considerable skill with the kodachi—had she not proven this that very night by plucking her hairpin to strike Jinjurou’s vital instep point when danger loomed? As for their enemy Jinjurou—he was a sword demon of Kogen Itto-ryu whose mastery dwarfed that of any provisional licensee like himself from Shinkage-ryu. Alone he stood little chance against such a foe; with his sister at his side—this was why he yearned to travel together. Yet imagining domain members whispering behind his back—“Behold! Shigisawa Shuidō cannot slay his father’s killer without relying on a woman”—filled him with such shame that decisive action became impossible.

“I shall humbly inquire about our lord’s private intentions.” If they approved, I’d take her along. With this sudden thought, Shuidō devised a plan and submitted his petition through a superior.

And thus did His Lordship declare.

“For two children to slay their parent’s enemy—and one a woman—that shows admirable spirit.” “Serve.” “I hear she wields a kodachi—she’ll be no encumbrance.”

Furthermore, from Her Ladyship, even a protective amulet pouch and a purse of coins were bestowed upon Sumie through a messenger. It was the most auspicious outcome.

Thus, the two set out on their journey.

First, they set out for Kōshū. The reason being that during his stay at their home, Jinjurou—perhaps due to past misdeeds—had refused to speak about his history, obfuscating his words when questioned and never stating anything resembling the truth. Yet before lodging with the Shigisawa family, he had once volunteered unprompted that he had been taken in by a gambler household in Kōshū, serving as a gambling-den guard—that is to say, a bouncer. Though this lead was as insubstantial as grasping at clouds—truly vague and unreliable—with no other leads to pursue, the two—Shuidō and Sumie—decided to head to Kōshū regardless.

Now when they went to Kōshū and made inquiries, an old man named Monbē—boss of gamblers in Kurihara-shuku—told them some rather useful information that would prove quite valuable to the two.

3 “With that strange woman called Otsuma in tow, Mr. Mizushina did indeed arrive in this area about three months ago—but then, for whatever reason, he immediately set out toward Bushū. When it comes to him, he’s got quite a number of bosses favoring him in Bushū too. And since his swordsmanship teacher is none other than the renowned Mr. Itsume Tashirō of Ogawa, I expect that’s where he went.”

This was Monbē’s account. (So Mr. Tashirō Itsumi—the man regarded as the head of Kogen Itto-ryu—had been Jinjurou’s teacher all along?)

As this thought struck him, Shuidō felt a chill.

(Then he might be secretly sheltered at that Mr. Itsumi’s residence)

Thus Shuidō and Sumie continued their journey toward Musashi Province and now reached Ageo-shuku. Edo lay just a stone's throw away, and their mansion too was within sight—yet without first locating their enemy's whereabouts, they could not possibly stop by the mansion. With this thought, the two avoided even entering Edo and came straight to Ageo-shuku. “You’ve arrived quite promptly. ...Welcome.” The place they were guided to by the maid was an inn called Kikyōya.

They had truly wanted to head immediately toward Ogawa-shuku where the Itsumi family resided, but anxiety took hold—if they carelessly went and were spotted by Jinjurou, they might well suffer counterattack instead. And so, though the sun still hung high, they halted at this inn. They were guided to a room facing the thoroughfare. Having removed their travel garments and settled in first, when moistening their mouths with the tea that had been served, "The Horse Tycoon approaches!" chanted voices rang out in unison.

(What is this Horse Tycoon?) With this thought, Shuidō opened the shoji—and since the room was on the second floor, he peered over the railing at the street below.

Surrounding a single palanquin, five rough men who appeared to be gamblers and four men resembling horse traders swaggered insolently through the street—their shoulders cutting the air—as they stood to either side of the thoroughfare. Watching this group with a mix of fearful curiosity, whispering inn people observed them pass eastward through the town.

And among them walked a ronin-like samurai wearing a deep-brimmed sedge hat, carrying black-lacquered swords at his obi and clad in an unpatterned haori—guarding the palanquin closely as he moved with leisurely strides. "Huh?" Shuidō's eyes widened. "That looks like Jinjurou..." Since the man's face remained hidden beneath his deep sedge hat—and by the time this thought struck Shuidō, he had already passed by—only his retreating back remained visible. Though confirmation proved impossible, suspicion clung to Shuidō like burrs.

“Sumie, come here. Look at that.” “Yes, what might that be?” Sumie, who had been folding the discarded garments, stood up while repeating her response and approached. “Look at that—the samurai heading yonder. …Ah, botheration! They’ve turned the corner!”

Indeed, at that very moment, the group turned left at the crossroads that lay ahead. “Brother, what might that be?” “It might be my eyes playing tricks on me, but there was a ronin-like samurai who resembled Jinjurou…” “Oh!” Sumie fixed her gaze.

4 “So you mean they passed through?” "A group that looked like gamblers and horse traders went by guarding a palanquin—that samurai was among them." “Then I’ll go check whether it’s Jinjurou or not...”

“Wait, wait,” Shuidō restrained Sumie as she began to rise, pondering deeply before continuing: “Jinjurou remains vigilant against enemies; we cannot presume carelessness on his part. Should he instead catch sight of you, none can say he wouldn’t wield that wicked blade of his... Even if this proves truly to be Jinjurou, from what we observed he appears entrenched here as a guard protecting gamblers’ dens—in which case he likely won’t depart these lands today or tomorrow... We must first thoroughly investigate this ‘Horse Tycoon’ and discern that earlier group’s nature before acting. That course seems safest.”

Having said this, he kept Sumie from moving.

Around the time the evening meal had been cleared away, the innkeeper came to pay his respects. “I’d like to ask you something,” Shuidō promptly addressed him.

“Yes, what might that be?” “What manner of man is this Horse Tycoon?” “Are you referring to the Horse Tycoon?” “They were chanting ‘Horse Tycoon’ as he passed by, but what manner of man is he really?” “He is a wealthy man from Kiso.” “A wealthy man from Kiso? “So he’s from Kiso in Shinano Province?” “Yes, that is correct.” “In Nishino Village, deep within Fukushima Post Town of Kiso Valley in Shinano Province.” “He is the Horse Magnate Lord.”

“Horse Magnate? “Ah—the Horse Magnate?” "A wealthy lord who possesses not five hundred but upwards of a thousand Kiso horses... The one riding in the palanquin was indeed that very lord." “So he’s called ‘Horse Tycoon’ because he’s the Horse Magnate Lord?”

“Indeed, that is correct.” “Hearing the explanation makes it seem less strange.”

“Indeed, that is most certainly correct.”

“It seemed about five gambler-like men were accompanying the palanquin…” “They are subordinates dispatched by Inoshimatsu Oyabun of Takahagi Village.”

“Inoshimatsu of Takahagi? The boss of gamblers?” “Yes, exactly. He is a great Oyabun spoken of in the same breath as Rinzō Oyabun of Akao Village or Inoshimatsu Oyabun of Takahagi Village.” “Even so, for the Horse Tycoon of Kiso to be on familiar terms with Musashi gamblers…?” “There is a reason for that… As you may well know, in Kiso Fukushima every year around the summer solstice, a grand horse market is held. Horse traders and brokers from all provinces gather, and countless horses are bought, sold, and exchanged in great commotion.”

“As for the Kiso horse market, I know of it. It’s famous throughout Japan.” “Because rather rough exchanges of large sums are conducted there.” “Naturally that would be so.” “Bosses from every province would target that opportunity—bringing along their kin and underlings in great numbers, shouldering money chests and horse boxes as they marched in with fanfare. They’d set up huts in their claimed territories and lay out great trays, so—” “So you’re saying they run a gambling den there.” “Indeed that’s correct.” “The extravagance and vigor of it are said to be unmatched.”

5 “How outrageous to open a gambling den!” “You may say such things, but the Fukushima gambling den stands alongside Kōshū Minobusan’s Gokaishiki Gambling Den as one of Japan’s two great officially sanctioned establishments.” “Hmm... I see. That’s quite extravagant indeed.” “His true name being Lord Inoue Kamon—they say the sums amassed by Nishino Village’s Horse Tycoon at this horse market defy ordinary measure.” “That goes without saying—naturally.” “Thereupon would come swarming those underbosses and their lackeys to demand tribute.”

“I see. That does sound plausible.”

“Lord Kamon personally collects each tribute and graciously provides support.”

“Impressive. Though it must be because he’s loaded.” “As for the bosses, they can’t just look the other way—they pay their respects with visits of gratitude.” “Duty-bound lot, aren’t they?” “They say Lord Kamon personally receives each one with courteous acknowledgments.” “That’s rare consideration for a moneyed man.” “Through such dealings, bosses across the provinces have kept relations with Lord Kamon for years on end. Whenever his lordship travels, local bosses compete to host him in style—so it’s told.”

“Ah, I see. That makes perfect sense.” “With Inoshimatsu Oyabun of Takahagi Village—one might say their hearts beat as one—he maintains an exceptionally close association. After concluding the horse market, he brings a fortune and comes to this land nearly every year. Engaging Inoshimatsu Oyabun as his counterpart, he indulges in such extravagant gambling sprees that they turn Ageo post town upside down.” “Hunh, I see. That’s quite extravagant indeed.” “That said, he leaves nothing to chance. As Musashi Province has the Koganei pastures where horse and cattle breeding thrive, it is said he uses that time to negotiate with pasture owners and brokers for next year’s horse market.”

“Well, that stands to reason.” “He indulges in gambling sprees that enrich Ageo post town, so when people hear the Horse Tycoon has arrived, the townsfolk rejoice with great delight, making merry as if at a festival.” “By the way, among the Horse Tycoon’s entourage, there was a ronin-like samurai—what exactly is he?” “He serves as a bodyguard: Inoshimatsu Oyabun’s gambling den guard.” “And what is the full name of that person?” “Well, how should I put it… Those ronin types aren’t just one or two—Inoshimatsu Oyabun keeps five or six around at any given time. They’ll be there one moment and gone the next, then just when you think they’ve left, new ones show up.” “They’re always changing, you see.”

The crucial information they had wanted to learn remained completely beyond their grasp under these circumstances. Both Shuidō and Sumie were disappointed, but resolved nonetheless to depart the inn at dawn the next morning, make for Takahagi to investigate Oyabun Inoshimatsu, and verify whether the samurai from earlier had indeed been Jinjurou.

It was precisely on this night.

Rinzō of Akao—who rivaled Inoshimatsu of Takahagi—had slipped out of the Hirodani Plain gambling den with his underling Fujisaku and Sugi Naminosuke in tow, and was now walking along a country path toward Ageo Post Town, looking quite displeased. The gambling den wasn’t drawing the crowds he’d hoped for, leading to meager profits—the root of his foul mood—and he seethed with resentment, convinced that Inoshimatsu was poaching his clientele. (Even my regulars have apparently given up on me lately—heading to Inoshimatsu’s den instead.)

This was deeply vexing to him.

Imaushika and Kotengu

1

In Akao Village, Iruma District, Musashi Province, there was a village constable named Isogorō who operated a gambling den and supported a large number of subordinates. While such dual roles—what one might call wearing two hats—were generally denounced by itinerant gamblers as cowardly and often drew their scorn, Isogorō alone enjoyed a favorable reputation. This was because he was a man of upstanding character. Having passed fifty years of age with his vigor waning, he had retired, entrusting the gambling den and care of his subordinates to his son while remaining informed about official duties.

That son was Rinzō. At this time, Rinzō was twenty-eight years old—a man of small stature yet peerless ferocity, bold yet meticulous, and of greater ability than his father. In swordsmanship, together with his father Isogorō, he had studied under Akiyama Yōsuke Masakatsu and attained mastery beyond the level of formal licensure. Nicknamed Imaushika, as a young boss his prestige soared—he had become one of Musashi Province’s foremost moneylenders. However, in Takahagi Village of Koma District—bordering Iruma District—there existed a moneylender called Inoshimatsu. Now thirty-one years old, he had studied under Itsue Tashirō of Ogawa Post Town to master the secrets of Kogen Itto-ryu swordsmanship, earned the nickname Kotengu, and become a moneylender in middle age. Though a complete amateur at gambling, he nevertheless gained immense popularity. Within a short time he expanded his influence, even encroaching upon Rinzō’s crucial territory—so much so that he was now said to surpass Rinzō in both gravitas and public favor.

Thus it was that two rivals could not coexist—when face-to-face, they would put on indifferent expressions, exchanging seasonal greetings and mundane chatter while maintaining civil exchanges, yet in their hearts, each thought how he would kick the other down given the chance. Dew lay on the country path, coldly dampening their feet. “Mr. Sugi, what do you make of the gambling den?”

To Naminosuke, who was walking alongside him, Rinzō called out in this manner. “The gambling den I saw for the first time today—truly exhilarating!” Naminosuke said delightedly.

"In an instant, the outcome is decided, and money changes hands in a flash... The patrons' demeanor is so tense it steals your breath." "...the meticulous shaking of the dice cups." "...Everything is deadly serious and tense—just watching makes your whole body tense up instinctively..." "Ahahaha! You're quite something—being a samurai gives you such an amusingly different perspective from us gamblers... Well now, whatever you do, don't go dipping your hands into that sort of business." "No—I mean to try my hand at it." "Today was my first time—I didn't even know how to place bets properly—but after a day's observation, I've got the hang of it." "Starting next time, I'll be placing bets myself."

“You mustn’t, Mr. Sugi—that’s no good at all.” “Once you dip your hands into that and get a taste for it, you’ll never quit your whole life long.” “The more you gamble, the deeper you’ll sink—losing your fortune, rotting your soul—nothing good comes of it.” “I’m well aware of that.” “That’s precisely why I mean to do it.” “Huh—now that’s peculiar.” “Everything bores me stiff.” “That’s why I wanted to hurl myself at something—anything—that wasn’t boring, something I could grapple with body and soul.” “Gambling... now there’s a fine thing.” “…For now, I mean to throw myself into this headfirst.”

“I’m appalled—this is outrageous… If Master Akiyama were to find out, I’d catch hell for sure… Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you along…” “If Master Akiyama finds out, it won’t be any fun—let’s keep this between us,” Naminosuke said with a muffled laugh. 2

It was about half a month ago that Naminosuke had come to this area along with Akiyama Yōsuke, Genjo, and others, taking lodgings at Rinzō’s house. Having grown close through that incident, Naminosuke thereafter began frequenting Master Akiyama’s residence, listening to discussions on martial arts and receiving instruction in the Shinkage-ryu style. One day when he went there, Yōsuke said: “I will take Lady Genjo to the Chichibu region. If it pleases you, I would ask that you honor us with your company.”

“Do you have some business in the Chichibu region?”

“If fortune favors us, we’ll unearth riches—should ill luck prevail, we’ll at least gain singular experiences.” With these words, Yōsuke laughed meaningfully. “Are you bringing Genjo with you?” “That woman—no, that woman’s song is what brought us to Chichibu. …They say there was once a hinoki root in Lord Itsue’s garden in Ogawa Village, Chichibu District.” "—the song that woman sings." Yōsuke spoke with mounting significance.

Naminosuke thought he wanted to hear more details, but as Yōsuke spoke no further on the matter, he resolved to ask later. Thinking that joining Yōsuke’s group on such a journey might alleviate his boredom, Naminosuke decided to accompany them. When they set out on their journey—surprisingly—Yōsuke immediately came to this area and took lodgings at Rinzō’s place. Yet he seemed to be scheming something—at times he would stroll out alone and not return for two or three days; other times he would take Genjo along on his outings and again fail to return for days on end.

Since coming to Rinzō’s house, Naminosuke had not known a moment’s tedium. This was because the social life of these people—gamblers, outlaws, loan sharks, and others of their ilk—proved remarkably exhilarating. Taking duty and human compassion as their guiding principles, their activities centered on gambling—the very means by which they made their living. Power struggles—turf wars—when these flared up, they brought down a rain of blood. The bonds between bosses and their sworn followers were maintained with even greater strictness and reliability than the lord-vassal relationships of samurai. There was no flattery, honeyed words, or sycophancy—none of those distasteful practices—only straightforward honesty.

This was what delighted Naminosuke.

(Maybe I should try gambling too.)

There had been a time when he had thought such things and secretly told Inujirō about having had those thoughts. "The boss gave strict orders—we can’t let you place bets, Mr. Sugi."

With that, Inujirō and his men refused to indulge him.

This alone struck Naminosuke as regrettable.

In the end, Naminosuke could no longer endure it and pressed Rinzō today to show him the gambling den, even just once. “There’s no helping it,” Rinzō said with resignation. Unable to refuse, he had taken Naminosuke to one of his gambling dens in Hirodani-ga-hara, and now they were on their way back.

The three of them walked along the country path. “Boss, what are you planning to do next?”

Fujisaku, Inujirō’s subordinate, called out. “Let’s have Mr. Sugi come along and head to Yamashiroya for some fun.” “That’s more like it.” “For starters, Oyama-san will be thrilled.”

3

Yamashiroya, the number one brothel in Kamiigo-shuku—they had come right before its entrance, but upon looking, found the front entrance barred.

And yet from inside came boisterous voices of men and women. “Boss, this feels off. Closing up front to entertain—these days they’d only do that for some big spender loaded beyond belief.”

Fujisaku said with some irritation. "Yeah, this feels off." Rinzō also remarked with puzzlement. "Shall we try battering down the door?" "Yeah, let's give it a good knock."

Thereupon, Fujisaku knocked on the door. “Heeey—who might this be? We’ve closed for the evening due to circumstances.” “Whether you’re a regular patron or a first-time guest, we must decline entry as per our policy.”

On the other side of the latticed door where the young man likely stood stationed, he delivered this curt greeting. “Boss, did you hear that? He says they’re refusing entry whether you’re a regular patron or a first-time guest.” “Hmm, there’s no helping it.” “Anyway, try revealing my name one more time and negotiate with that young man.” “Right away, very well.” “Hey there, young man—it’s not like we’re strangers here. You know the Boss of Akai, don’t you?” “You should know that Oyama-san at your place shares an unbreakable bond with us—a bond that can’t be severed.” “By year’s end you’ll have her ready—if you don’t know about enclosing the mikoshi pine beyond the black-painted fence, that’s a damn lie.” “That Boss Rinzō, I tell you—he’s right here present.” “Hey! Still not gonna open this door?”

“Ah, so that’s how it is—the loan boss of Akai, was it?” “...The bastards have finally come.” “Huh? What did you say—what was that?” “No, I didn’t say anything at all. ...Ah, this is quite a predicament.” “Under normal circumstances, the entire household would come out to welcome you, but tonight Lord Horse Tycoon has taken Oyama-san as his companion and ordered the house closed to all guests...”

At that moment, Rinzō interjected. "So then—could Oyama's guest be Lord Inoue Kamon, the Horse Tycoon of Kiso?"

“Indeed, that is correct.” “Well then, there ain’t no helpin’ it.” “Oh right, now that you mention it—I did hear people say Lord Inoue Kamon arrived in these parts today.” “I myself have been quite indebted to him... No, if that’s the case, then it’s fine.” “Given that she’s being favored by such a personage, it rather adds luster to Oyama—no, that’s perfectly fine then.” “...Mr. Sugi, Fujisaku—let’s go. ...We’ll head to Sasaya and drink the night away.”

The three departed from Yamashiroya’s gate and entered another brothel called Sasaya, located about five blocks away.

The three of them each went to bed.

In the middle of the night, Rinzō woke up and left his room to take care of business. It was when he came before the private quarters, “Poor Boss Rinzō…” came the voice of Sasaya’s proprietor.

(Huh?) Rinzō halted his footsteps. "Poor Boss Rinzō—unaware that Oyama-san's heart had changed, even when told the lie that the visiting boss from Takasaki was some horse tycoon, he took it at face value and came meekly to a place like ours…" 4

The madam’s responding voice could be heard. "As for that woman Oyama’s wickedness—even I was taken aback." "Switching mounts from stallion to ox might be pardonable, but to cold-shoulder Boss Rinzō and throw herself at Boss Inoshimatsu—knowing full well how those two have been locking horns day and night—that’s wickedness down to the marrow." Rinzō left the private quarters and returned to his room via the back stairs after attending to his needs. To keep faith with Oyama, he hadn’t allowed the woman to sleep.

He sat cross-legged on the futon and sank into silent contemplation. (She’s just a post town prostitute—buying and selling’s her trade, can’t be helped—but Inoshimatsu from Takahagi’s a boss.) Ain’t he the one propped up by four, five hundred underlings? No way he don’t know ’bout me and Oyama. Still he takes my woman. Well, that I could stomach—but impersonatin’ Lord Inoue Kamon to mess with my plans? That bastard ain’t fit to stand upwind of a real man… Even without that, me and him were bound to clash sooner or later. Here I stand. Right then—this is my chance…)

Just then, the third rooster’s crow sounded, and night was beginning to break. (Alright.) Rinzō stood up, prepared himself, and went downstairs.

A young attendant keeping night watch stood in the dirt-floored entryway. "Well, Boss—leaving already?" "Right. I'll be heading back now. The two with me are still asleep—leave 'em be without waking them." "Understood, very well." Rinzō stepped outside through the hidden door.

A dawn mist hung thick; the inns blurred into the haze, few figures walked the streets, and every door remained shut. Rinzō let the morning wind blow through his sideburns, drew the stale sweat from his body back into his skin in one motion, and walked briskly down the street. When he left the inn and reached the highway, fields spread out in all directions, with groves, forests, and cultivated lands stretching across the landscape. To the left lay Akao Village; to the right, Takahagi Village. At this fork where both paths diverged stood the Six Jizō Statues, surrounded by a thickly wooded grove. When he reached that point and came to a stop, Rinzō paused in thought for a moment before slipping into the shadows of the grove.

Gradually, time passed.

Before long, the sky took on a pale blue hue that gradually tinged with red, and small birds began singing everywhere. Just then, from the direction of Ageo Post Station, seven figures appeared and began walking down the highway toward them.

They were Inoshimatsu of Takahagi and his group.

Inoshimatsu, thirty-one years old, was fair-skinned and large-framed—a man of refined bearing who bore no resemblance to a gambler. His tall, imposing nose gave him a dignified air, but his small, thin lips retained a youthfully innocent quality like a child’s—the kind of features women might find endearing. He wore Yūki silk garments with a Hakata obi and carried a long wakizashi in a shark-skin scabbard. The remaining five were underlings, and the other was a ronin-like samurai. Having had his underlings welcome the horse tycoon Inoue Kamon, escort him to their regular lodgings at Akashiya, gone there himself to pay his respects, and then come out to Ageo on the pretext of this errand, he had taken his underlings to Yamashiro Inn, picked up Oyama—who had grown close to him of late—and was now returning from a night of revelry.

When they came before the Six Jizō Statues, Rinzō emerged from the shadows of the trees.

5 “You from Takahagi—wait a moment.” Rinzō called out directly. “Oh! If it isn’t Akao’s man! What brings you here at this hour?” Inoshimatsu stopped in his tracks with a slight look of surprise and spoke. “Well y’see, last night I went to Ageo thinkin’ to raise some hell, but that horse tycoon had come to Yamashiro Inn—they shut the front for some tatara games. Got me right down in the dumps, so I ended up at some dead-end spot. When even that turned out lousier’n ditchwater, I bolted out at daybreak to take in the wilderness view.” “Looks like you’re returnin’ at dawn too—y’go to Ageo or somethin’?”

“Hmm,” Inoshimatsu made a bitter face and said with apparent bewilderment, “Well truth is, we did just that—went to Ageo for some fun—but got treated to such a lousy time it got our blood boiling on the way back.” “Oh, I’ve been thoroughly chastened.” “Doesn’t seem you’ve been chastened all that much… So where’d you end up staying?” “The inn? The inn was, um… Sasaya.” “Huh, now that’s odd. “We stayed at Sasaya too, but didn’t catch wind of you there at all.”

“Hmm, then maybe I was mistaken?” “You’re dead wrong in every way. …Well, never mind that triviality. There’s the Takahagi matter to settle. I’ve heard you’re a direct disciple of Master Hemi Tashirō from Ogawa Post Station with formidable skills—I’ve long desired to cross blades and receive instruction. Meeting here proves most opportune; few pedestrians about at this hour. Though it inconveniences you, face me now.” “Face you? ……A swordsmanship match?”

“And that must absolutely be with live blades.” “A live blade duel?” “A fight to the death!”

“……”

Inoshimatsu stared wordlessly.

But in his mind, he was thinking.

(He seemed to have discovered my relationship with Oyama. As for Oyama—it wasn't that I'd made advances and stolen her away. She'd been the one who set up this feast; though I knew about her ties with Rinzō, that was just business. I'd simply eaten what was offered without reservation. Still—putting oneself in Rinzō's position—there'd be nothing pleasant about this. ......And it wasn't just Oyama—given our history of territorial disputes, there must've been nothing but bad blood between us. So now Rinzō meant to settle all grievances at once under this pretext of a proper duel—trying to kill me.)

However, Inoshimatsu had not the slightest inkling that Yamashiro Inn had lied to Rinzō the previous night about having closed their doors and the horse tycoon’s arrival. This was because it had been handled independently by Yamashiro Inn’s young attendants. Inoshimatsu had only just finished handling the final arrangements for Oyama that very night at her request.

"Sooner or later, Rinzō and I would have to exchange blows to the death—circumstances had pressed us to that point. Even so—to have a duel on such a public road at this ungodly hour under some pretext of a match—it felt thoroughly distasteful. Best to avoid this for now."

Inoshimatsu, being older than Rinzō and of more prudent judgment, settled his resolve, formed a smile, and spoke. 6 “It’s true I’ve been trained in swordsmanship by Master Hemi, but I hear you yourself received secret techniques from Master Akiyama Yōsuke—they call him a demon in kenjutsu.” “I could never hope to match you.” “Come now—let’s put this duel on hold.”

“Then what…?” Rinzō pressed forward impatiently. “So if we don’t duel, you’re saying it’ll come to this?” “That’s right—we’ll settle our match someday on the gambling mat.” “Oh ho! So you’re sayin’ that for us gamblers, as long as we win on the gamblin’ mat, there’s no need for live blade duels? Is that your claim?” “That’s about the size of it.” “For us gamblers livin’ the life, nothin’ matters more than dice games—swordplay’s a distant second.”

Inoshimatsu said coldly, distorting his mouth into a mocking laugh. Rinzō grew increasingly agitated but, suppressing it forcefully, also sneered, “If that’s how you want it, we’ll call off the live blade duel. However—starting today, even if I spread across the entire Kantō region that Inoshimatsu of Takahagi, unfit for the trade, is a blade-fearing coward who cowered at Rinzō of Akao’s skill and refused a live blade duel… I won’t hear a word of complaint.”

Having delivered his ultimatum, he spat with a *pah*, swung around sharply to turn his back on Inoshimatsu, and started walking down the highway toward Akao Village. “Hey, Akao—wait up!”

Inoshimatsu’s angry voice rang out. “Business?” Rinzō turned—and found himself facing Inoshimatsu’s drawn long wakizashi thrust straight and pale before him. “Oh! So you’ve finally drawn it after all!” “That’s right—if you want a live blade duel with this Inoshimatsu, I’m a man who won’t back down. I’ll gladly face you. …Hey, you lot…” he turned and called out to his underlings. “This live blade duel between Akao and me—don’t you dare interfere. If I’m killed—just gather my bones… And Mizushina-sensei too…”

Having said this, Inoshimatsu turned his face toward the ronin samurai wearing a woven sedge hat, “You there—don’t go lending a hand or nothing. Just watch till the end, you hear?” “Understood,” the samurai replied as he slowly removed his woven sedge hat. After killing Shigisawa Shōemon and fleeing temporarily to Kōshū Province, he had reasoned: *Shuidō will surely come for vengeance—the lighthouse casts its darkest shadow at its base.* Moreover, Musashi Province held more gamblers with whom he had close ties than Kōshū did. Though expelled from his position due to unsettled circumstances, his swordsmanship teacher Master Hemi Tashirō still resided there. Deeming this arrangement favorable, he had turned back from Kōshū to Musashi and taken refuge with Inoshimatsu of Takahagi Village—who had previously shown him particular kindness—as a gambling den guard. That was Mizushina Jinjurou.

Holding the removed woven sedge hat in his hand, Jinjurou leaned his back against a standing tree, “A duel between fellow gambling bosses—a once-in-a-lifetime live blade match. I shall observe it thoroughly.” “However—should anything befall the boss of Takahagi—I shall most certainly not allow Lord Rinzō to return alive.” As he spoke, he laughed with those unnervingly pale eyes.

7

Inoshimatsu called out to Rinzō. “There—I’ve made sure my underlings understand. “I won’t let anyone stick their hands in from the sides. “Just you and me crossing blades—come at me any way you like!” He snapped into a perfect *seigan* stance with his longsword. “Now that’s the Takahagi mettle I respect! This’ll be a fight worth having… Have at you—!” shouted Rinzō of Akao as he drew his wakizashi and mirrored the *seigan* stance—every muscle locked in flawless readiness.

Shinkage-ryū and Kogen Ittō-ryū—both in strict *seigan* stances, bodies locked in impervious readiness—remained motionless for a time, positioned without moving a muscle. Just then, from Ageo Post Station, a samurai in travel attire and a woman who appeared to be his companion came walking briskly, bathed in the newly risen morning sun.

It was Shigisawa Shuidō and Sumie.

Having left Kikyō Inn at Ageo Post Station, they were now on their way to Takahagi Village to secretly confirm whether the samurai in the woven sedge hat they had spotted yesterday was indeed their enemy Mizushina Jinjurou.

“Brother, what is that?” Sumie said anxiously, pointing. Ahead lay a scene of gambler-like men locked in combat, with several others watching; with a clang their blades met—steel flashed like fire in the sunlight—then they disengaged, reassumed their seigan stances, and leapt several ken apart before freezing once more. “It’s a duel,” Shuidō said. “It appears to be a duel between fellow gamblers.” “If we were to become entangled in such a quarrel, it would be most troublesome for those burdened with grave matters like ourselves. Let us avoid it and continue on our way.”

“Very well,” Sumie said.

“Then let’s detour sideways from around there… Wait—” Shuidō suddenly stopped in his tracks and stared fixedly at one spot. “A samurai leaning against that standing tree—watching the duel. The one with the woven sedge hat we saw yesterday!” “Oh!” Sumie gasped, pressing herself against him. “Is that him?” “...Oh! It’s Mizushina Jinjurou!”

“That profile without the woven sedge hat—it’s undoubtedly Jinjurou!” “—Sister!” “Brother! A gift from heaven!”

“At last, we meet! “Now, prepare!” “Aye,” she said, untying the cord of the long dagger she had been carrying in her bosom.

They now vividly saw before their eyes the figure of their father’s enemy whom they had been seeking. Even the usually thoughtful Shuidō was flushed with agitation; without considering that the gamblers surrounding Jinjurou might side with him and attack them, he stood shoulder to shoulder with his sister Sumie, charged toward Jinjurou, and called out upon facing him directly: “How unexpected, Mizushina Jinjurou! You haven’t forgotten us siblings?” “How dare you slay our father Shōemon in such wickedness!” “Our thirst for vengeance could not be quelled—we journeyed three months seeking you, and by heaven’s grace have found you!” “Now face me in proper duel!”

Revenge Melee

1

Called out to, Jinjurou—even he—flinched and paled, swiftly stepping away from the grove at his back to position it before him. For a time, he glared wordlessly through the tree trunks at the Shuidō siblings, breath held.

But—seeming to have settled on a course of action—his pallid complexion suddenly flushed with color; however— “Oh, you Shigisawa siblings—how could I ever forget you? It is this humble one who endured unbearable humiliation through your father Shōemon’s doing—who lost all samurai dignity and was forced into retreat! How could I ever forget? And yet you dare name this humble one your enemy—how preposterous! If resentment exists, it is I who hold it toward you! To call this vengeance—what utter folly! The ones bearing inverted malice are yourselves! …Yet if you insist on slaying this humble one through twisted grudges—then attempt it! But know this blade won’t fall easily. Grant me proper duel by all means! Then let us exchange lives! Take care not to have your own necks severed instead! …Ah! Brothers of Takahagi—as witnessed and heard—these two now falsely accuse this humble one through perverse enmity—unreasonably seeking my life! Facing two alone—by our bonds of brotherhood—I implore your blades!”

With cowardly deceit, inverting black and white, Jinjurou goaded the shallow-minded gamblers and shouted with feigned earnestness to have the Shuidō siblings slain. “Understood! Attack!” responded Kakutarō, one of Inoshimatsu’s underlings. “They’re targeting Master Mizushina as their enemy! Cut down these outrageous wretches!”

“Understood! Attack!” “Cut them down! Cut them down!” Hachigorō, Gonroku, Shimeshimatsu, Minekichi, and four lawless underlings also drew their wakizashi in unison as they shouted. Boss Inoshimatsu and Rinzō remained poised with drawn blades in their duel, but under the boss’s orders, they could not intervene—a lament of idle limbs! They had been lamenting this very situation when opponents to cross swords with appeared. Right and wrong were secondary; they could see blood, they could cross swords—this alone satisfied them enough.

“Cut them down! Cut them down!” they shouted as they enveloped Shuidō and Sumie and recklessly charged.

Shuidō was both shocked and enraged, but he encircled his sister Sumie from behind, “Ah, gentlemen—do not act so unreasonably! We have received permission from our lord and even been granted an official license to pursue this vengeance publicly! Our sworn enemy is Mizushina Jinjurou! To aid that Jinjurou is an act of lawlessness unbecoming even of Date retainers! Step aside and bear witness!”

He cried out with desperate urgency.

And then—the treacherous Jinjurou, with his deceitful eloquence twisting a heron into a crow, “Ah, gentlemen—it’s all lies! Do not believe their words. What utter falsehood—this licensed public act of vengeance! As for these two here—their father’s blunder led to their ruin: his stipend confiscated and his residence seized. I have heard such rumors among the people. In short—this is but a masterless samurai’s desperate scheme! They seek to slay this humble one and use that deed as merit to beg reinstatement—such is their ploy!”

2

“That’s right! That’s how it is!”

“No doubt about that.” “Just kill ’em already—doesn’t matter how!”

Kakutarō and the five gamblers launched their attack on the Shuidō siblings. With debate now futile, cutting through to avoid peril and closing in on Jinjurou remained their only strategy. "You gamblers who know not right from wrong—since matters stand thus, mercy cannot be granted! I shall cut you down one after another and stack five corpses... Sister! Sumie! Stand back to back with me!" At her brother's command, Sumie—her face twisted with desperation—gripped her dagger in a reverse grip and pressed her back against Shuidō's.

“Drop dead, bastard!” In that instant, Kakutarō—no master of swordsmanship but skilled in brawling, a seasoned hand at blade clashes—lunged at Shuidō.

Clang! A metallic clang—then a scream! The sent-flying wakizashi fell onto the dust-choked road as Kakutarō—shoulder split open—flung his legs skyward, “I’ve been cut—damn it!” “…Damn it!” “Damn it!” “Damn it!” Collapsed and thrashing wildly, his exposed chest drenched in blood—the figure presented a pitifully grotesque sight.

“Agh—!” The gamblers recoiled all at once.

“Sister, keep at it!” Seizing that opening, he burst through the gap in the crowd and charged toward Jinjurou. “Jinjurou! You! …Let us settle this properly!” With his sword swung straight downward as he charged, Jinjurou—who had already drawn his blade by then—held it in a middle stance. Yet pressed by Shuidō’s ferocious vigor, their swordsmanship proved nearly mismatched in skill; though technically superior, he retreated step by step, maintaining his posture for a time—but what cowardice! Realizing he couldn’t win, he veered off the highway toward the fields, turning his back on Shuidō as he broke into a run.

“Do you think I’d let you escape, Jinjurou! Disgraceful conduct! Take it back! Face me!”

Shuidō cursed and gave chase. Had he chased him some thirty-six meters or so,

He suddenly realized—Sister?!—and whirled around. Surrounded by four gamblers, parrying the slashing wakizashi left and right as she twisted and dodged, Sumie’s figure became visible through the highway’s dust cloud. Good God—would I let my sister die?!

“Sumie—!” he shouted as he turned back, but

“Shuidō, face me!” Jinjurou’s voice rang out from behind in that instant. “Understood!” Shuidō whirled around—and before his eyes flashed the gleam of a white blade! “Clang!” Clang! For the first time, Shuidō crossed blades with Jinjurou.

But in the next instant, they leaped apart and took stances; perhaps realizing he could not prevail—or perhaps out of renewed cowardice—Jinjurou broke into a run. “Wait, you craven coward! You think I’ll let you escape?!” He gave chase, but his sister weighed on his mind. “Sumie—!” he shouted as he turned back.

3 Sumie’s voice cried out, “Brother—!” followed by a scream of pain. A gambler—likely stabbed by Sumie—clutched his flank as he tumbled from the road into the fields. Through the scattered gamblers came Sumie, breaking through their ranks and running toward them.

“Sister, well done! …I’m here!”

From behind Shuidō, who had shouted,

“Face me! Shuidō! Here I come!” Jinjurou’s voice rang out. “Face me!” he shouted, whirling around—as Jinjurou’s blade—splintering the sunlight—came slashing down. Shuidō caught it at the hilt, heaving it overhead, letting the edge bite his own flesh to cleave his foe’s—the Irimi Sutemi Buddha-Demon Blade! And then—with shocking nonchalance—Jinjurou swatted aside Shuidō’s thrusting blade without even blocking it, pulled back his sword, twisted his body, and once again broke into a run. Shuidō, failing to realize Jinjurou was fleeing with a strategy,

“You flee again?! Craven Jinjurou! I’ll never let you escape! Face me, my father’s killer!”

Shouting as he gave chase while looking back— “Sumie—! Here! I’m here!” “Wait, Jinjurou! To flee is cowardly… Sumie—!” he shouted across tens of meters— They had already moved two hundred meters away from the highway. Ahead lay a massive thicket that rose like a hill. Chasing after Jinjurou, who ran along its base, he too circled around to the other side of the thicket. When he looked back, the highway was no longer visible, and his sister had vanished from sight.

“Shuidō!” Jinjurou shouted as he turned back toward him, “Heh, heh, heh… You wretched fool. Did you truly let yourself be lured this far?” “...This humble one fled to draw you here—how laughable you failed to notice! But that was my design. I couldn’t toy you to death before witnesses. Now we’re alone… just two. Should I flee? This humble one shan’t. Should you escape? You shan’t let me. With this thicket shielding us from eyes, I’ll let this starved blade drink its fill of your blood.” “...I’ll slaughter you slowly—piece by piece.” “...First your right hand… then your left.” “Next your legs! Finally your head!” “...So you may boast in Enma’s court of meeting an unprecedented counterattack, I’ll butcher you without mercy!” “...Here stands my stance—break it if you dare!”

Now revealing his true nature as a heinous, vampiric fiend—a perverse cruelty incarnate—Jinjurou assumed Kogen Itto-ryu’s upper stance: left foot forward, sword raised high, left fist beneath the pommel as he glared resentfully at Shuidō from the side, while his right hand gripped near the guard, shaking the blade mockingly. The dread of such peerless skill! The raised blade—like frozen lightning—held Shuidō immobile through intimidation and pressure, his sword poised in mid-stance.

After keeping watch in all directions, he managed to cut down one gambler. The physical and mental fatigue from cutting down a man was no ordinary exhaustion. Not only had he chased the enemy through two hundred meters of cultivated fields while swinging his sword as he ran. Nor was that exhaustion ordinary. Shuidō was exhausted beyond exhaustion. And then—the wicked blade aimed at him! Blurred eyes! Labored breathing!

4 Sumie stabbed the gambler Shimematsu in the flank with her dagger and knocked him down, broke through the scattered gamblers, and raced across the cultivated fields on legs exhausted beyond exhaustion in an attempt to catch up to her brother Shuidō pursuing Jinjurou—but three undeterred gamblers closed in once more, surrounding and attacking. "You still dare to come?!" Though a woman, she wielded her Tamiya-ryu kodachi with the skill of a seasoned warrior—yet her weapon remained a dagger. Unable to block their wakizashi, she dodged and parried, seizing moments to thrust and slash.

“Brother—!” she called out again and again, attempting to pursue Shuidō.

Realizing this, she looked toward Shuidō.

Shuidō’s figure had vanished.

She was shocked, disheartened, and tried to sink into numbness. Her head spun dizzily; all strength drained from her body at once, her arms throbbed violently, and the world around her darkened. The brother who, until mere moments ago, had been chasing Jinjurou while calling her name to lend strength! Where had that brother gone? Had Jinjurou killed him?

Vast cultivated fields, scattered groves... hills, dense thickets, rice field ridges, small streams... and in the far distance, the Chichibu Mountain Range! ...The morning sun filled the fields, and small birds darted in every direction. ...Neither her brother’s figure nor Jinjurou’s could be seen anywhere across that expanse. “Broooother—!” she screamed. Not even a wood spirit answered her call. Dizzily, her vision swimming, she nearly collapsed. Even without that ordeal, she had fought several ruffians and managed to stab one down. She was utterly exhausted beyond measure. Moreover, they were still pressing their attack even now. And then—her brother, who was also her lover and betrothed—Shuidō—had vanished from sight.

Terror, dread, agitation, despair!

She staggered and began to collapse.

“Drop dead—!” With that cry, Gonroku the gambler lunged at her. Barely managing to evade, she stumbled—Sumie collapsed heavily to the ground.

“Now’s my chance!” Minekichi brought down his blade. Thwack! In her fallen state, Sumie scooped up dirt with quick thinking and flung it at Minekichi’s face. “Gah!” Staggering and covering his eyes as he withdrew, Hachigorou took his place,

“Damn cheeky wench!” Hachigorou thrust at her. Thud! Sumie rolled toward him instead, stretching out a hand to seize his toes. With a jujutsu ground technique, she twisted them outward. “Agh!” The moment he screamed and fell, Sumie sprang up and staggered forward, “Broooother—!” she wailed mournfully. But this marked the desperate limit of her strength. After running four meters, she halted abruptly—body quaking violently—her dagger slipping from trembling fingers. Like a rotten tree crashing down, Sumie collapsed face-first onto the earth.

Her consciousness was gradually fading away. Into her fading consciousness came the voices of the gamblers— “Killing her would be a waste—carry her away.”

5

When the three gamblers carrying Sumie began running toward Takahagi Village, two figures appeared on the highway, pointing and conversing.

They were Sugi Naminosuke and Tōsaku.

When they awoke at Sasaya this morning and inquired, they learned that boss Rinzō had already returned alone some time earlier. At this, the two were not a little embarrassed and hurriedly prepared to leave. When they came out, they saw three gambler-like men carrying a young woman and running across the cultivated fields.

“To abduct a woman by the roadside at this early hour is unconscionable! Let us intimidate them and take her back, Mr. Tōsaku!” “Got it, let’s do this. These bastards are outta control!” The two men swiftly caught up.

“Hey! Wait, wait, you lot—!”

Tōsaku was the first to call out. “What do you think you’re doing kidnapping a woman?! You there—Hachigorou and Minekichi of Takahagi, Inoshimatsu’s underlings!” “What’s this? Tōsaku?! “Tch! Akao’s peasant?!”

Minekichi spat those words hatefully, "What do you mean 'peasant,' you sewer rats?... Mr. Sugi, these are Inoshimatsu's underlings..." Even before that, Sugi Naminosuke had kept his eyes on the woman being carried. Though her appearance had changed into travel garb, he realized she was none other than Sumie of the Shigisawa family—the daughter he and Akiyama Yōsuke had rescued from peril that night in Hongō's samurai district. "Hey, you there!" Naminosuke shouted. "That woman is my acquaintance—she's no lowly wench to be carted off by your sort!... Release her!" "Put her down!" "Begone from here!"

“What’s this ‘three-pin’?!” Hachigorou roared. “Where the hell do you think you’re from, you two-sword samurai? Comin’ in sideways to snatch our catch takes some balls!... Enough yappin’—smash ’em!” “Alright, do it!” At this cry, the reckless crew threw down Sumie—whom they’d been carrying—drew their short swords, and charged wildly at Naminosuke and Tōsaku. “Though slaughter it be, such is our path.” Naminosuke drew his blade and dropped into a mid-level stance with a guttural growl.

Though he was inherently weak-willed by nature and no master of swordsmanship, three months under Akiyama Yōsuke’s tutelage had instilled in him the spirit of chivalry and imparted instruction in the Shinkage-ryu style. The three months of training received from a true master yielded greater results than three years of half-hearted instruction under a yakuza mentor. This Naminosuke now stood transformed from his former self—his spirit unbridled, his courage blazing, bearing the visage of a true warrior.

It was Naminosuke they now faced. The gamblers were daunted. The three exchanged glances, but without a word from any of them, “We’re done for!” “Run!” They split into three directions and fled. Having perceived this, Naminosuke barely took the time to sheathe his sword before rushing to Sumie’s side, dropping to his knees on the ground and cradling her, “Lady Sumie! Lady Sumie!” he shouted. Lady Sumie came to,

“This won’t do. She’s unconscious—very well.” Pressing on her vital points, he shouted, “Hah!” and revived her.

6

Sumie gasped, drew a shuddering breath, and opened her eyes wide to stare blankly at the sky— “Brother—!” she cried hoarsely, her labored voice tearing from her throat like blood. “It is I—Sugi Naminosuke! Have you regained your senses? It is I!” Sumie fixed her gaze on Naminosuke’s face as he called to her. For a long moment she simply stared in bewilderment, her breaths coming in ragged bursts— “Y-you… That night… When we were in such peril…”

“It is I, Sugi Naminosuke, who saved you! That I’ve saved you twice now must be fate’s profound design—please be at ease! But even so—what is this state of affairs?” “Y-yes, I am deeply grateful. My debt to you is as vast as sea and mountain! My debt to you is as vast as the sea and mountains!... Brother—!” she cried out again. “Brother—you mean…? Lord Shuidō?... What happened to Lord Shuidō?” “The enemy… Father’s… Father’s enemy… we encountered Jinjurou… In the midst of crossing blades… Brother was lured away by Jinjurou!... Further away—further—he went further… until he vanished from sight… Brother—!” she cried out once more, then seemed to faint again, her body going limp as she slumped against him.

“Ah! So you two—brother and sister—had set forth on this journey of vengeance, as I had heard tell. And your enemy was Mizushina Jinjurou. Ah! So here you encountered him and crossed blades?... Even so... Against Jinjurou—that peerless wielder of a cursed sword—Lord Shuidō stands no chance.” “……So he was lured away by that Jinjurou?” “……This is dire!” “I cannot leave this be!” “……But where to?” “Where has Lord Shuidō gone?”

She had only repeated "Over there, over there" without indicating which direction he had gone, and once again Sumie lost consciousness.

“Where to?” Which way? And Lord Shuidō?

“Mr. Sugi… It’s gotta be… Takahagi Village!” Tōsaku, who had been standing by anxiously until then, shouted. “Since they tried to carry off this maid, those bastards from earlier gotta be part of Jinjurou’s gang—that evil samurai.” “As for those bastards from earlier—they’re Inoshimatsu’s underlings from Takahagi Village.” “So that Jinjurou bastard’s probably holed up at Inoshimatsu’s place too. If that’s the case, then that scoundrel Jinjurou must’ve lured Lord Shuidō—that samurai—off toward Takahagi Village…”

“A good deduction—you’re right… Then I’ll head that way… Lord Tōsaku—I leave Lady Sumie in your care!…” “Understood! Right—you hurry…” “Right,” he said, snatching up his thigh guards and gripping his swords at the hilt collars. Veering away from the thicket’s direction toward Takahagi Village instead, Naminosuke kicked off the farmland soil and ran—ran—dashed forward at full speed. At that moment from Ageo Post Station’s direction came four horse handlers of Takahagi Village—men who had been sent to welcome a wealthy horse trader and subsequently treated by Inoshimatsu with his underlings at Yamashiro Inn as thanks. Having left the inn slightly later, they now walked with unsteady drunken steps, swaying cheerfully as they approached.

7

The one who collided with them was Hachigorō. It was Hachigorō—Inoshimatsu’s underling who had fled blindly after being threatened by Naminosuke—that came stumbling their way. “Perfect timing! Now listen—I need your help. “Details later… For now—backup! I need backup!” “…The mark… It’s a woman… We gotta carry her off… Come with me!” At Hachigorō’s breathless torrent of words, the four horse handlers found themselves whipped into a frenzy— “Yeah! Let’s do this—deal!” “Kidnappin’s our bread ’n butter—’specially when it’s our own Takahagi boys askin’. Nothin’ to sweat!” “Move out! Charge—!” they roared, breaking into a run.

When they arrived and looked around, the samurai from earlier was nowhere to be found, leaving only Tōsaku spinning around the unconscious woman like a top, utterly bewildered.

There, five comrades rushed in, “It’s her! Grab her!” Startled by their sudden swarming advance, Tōsaku— “These bastards… the horse handler scum… and Hachigorō too?! “…You’re back again? Still haven’t learned your lesson, have you?” He shouted, drew his short sword, and swung it—but against such overwhelming numbers, the blade was immediately knocked away. Then the horse handlers, skilled in brawling, scooped up dirt and flung it at him. Dirt filled his mouth and eyes. “Gah! Damn you!” “Blinding someone with dirt—you’re cowards!” Kicking aside Tōsaku as he writhed on the ground, the five men hoisted Sumie onto their shoulders, crossed cultivated fields, leapt over hills, forests, groves, ridges, and streams, and vanished into the unknown.

In the shadow of the thicket, Jinjurou and Shuidō stood poised with swords at the ready, their glares locked—their stances unchanged from before. Jinjurou, his blade raised high in jōdan stance, shook it rhythmically back and forth—even amidst this lethal exchange—maintaining bold composure while relentlessly spewing venomous taunts designed to fray his opponent’s nerves, to provoke haste, anguish, and fury. “Come now, Shuidō—charge at me! Aim for the forearm guard! The right one! Then this humble one disengages—plants my right foot wide—and shatters your shoulder. ...Or perhaps you’ll gather strength in both hands and thrust for my chest. In which case this humble one feints—reverses—and pierces your throat instead… But you, with your modest skill—you’d likely pull back your right foot to deflect my blade tip rightward—then withdraw your left foot while again pushing my tip aside. Ahahaha! A paper swordsman who only spars in dojos—who’s never truly killed—your moves unfold exactly as predicted, you spineless samurai! …So what does this humble one do? What? Each time I invert your move—step left—step right—closing distance relentlessly—cornering you further… And once cornered—what comes next? Now that you’re trapped—what will you do?”

Even as he spoke, Jinjurou did exactly as he said—advancing his left foot, then his left foot again, step by step, inch by inch—driving Shuidō back toward the thicket.

Shuidō gradually retreated backward. He tried to lunge but couldn’t close the distance; tried to strike but found no opening.

The difference in their paths, the disparity in skill, the sorrow of being outclassed—it was something he could do nothing about.

8 While being driven into a corner, Shuidō ceaselessly thought of his sister. Many against one—and a woman at that—what had happened? What had happened? …A scream rang out! A scream echoed! …Could she have been killed? Behind me lay a dense thicket—blocked by it, my figure wouldn’t be visible. He would worry and writhe… The moment Shuidō had been completely driven to the thicket’s edge was when Jinjurou’s sword—until then held high in an overhead stance—suddenly shifted to a middle guard.

“Now I’ve got you cornered! Now then…” Jinjurou launched into another torrent of words. “Don’t you dare retreat! Come strike me down! Here stands your father’s enemy—this humble one! Now come! Cut me down! Charge!” He positioned his blade tip at Shuidō’s throat, placed his left fist precisely three sun above his tanden, distanced it two fist-widths from his abdomen, assumed his stance in utter stillness—this time, he would strike for real! He would stop the taunting! Having seemingly made this resolve, he fixed Shuidō with a gaze so sharp it seemed to gouge the soul.

Pressed by the blade tip and gaze, Shuidō shrank back like a frog mesmerized by a snake. He held a middle guard as well, but his blade began to tremble, trying to lower itself further and further. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his glaring eyes began to cloud over. Sweat poured forth! Blood surged upward!

With a whoosh, Shuidō’s spirit seemed to slip free from his body, and his mind abruptly fell into a trance. It was the extreme limit of psychological collapse—a state on the verge of spiritual death. But at that moment, Jinjurou’s blade—like water receding—was drawn back diagonally to the left with a soft, cold hiss. Danger! Treacherous blade! "It’s the 'Reverse Wheel'!" Even the master swordsman Akiyama Yōsuke had sighed that he could scarcely counter it—Jinjurou’s signature "Reverse Wheel" technique! That’s the preparatory movement! Danger, danger! Once lured out and stepped in, the sword would come whirling back like a wheel! But even that was merely the preparatory feint! The major downward cut that would follow! This one he couldn’t block—it would plunge deep into his torso with a whoosh! A perfect Reverse Wheel slash to the torso!

The preparatory movement was executed. Lured! Lured! Shuidō was lured! Ah—he lunged forward and struck! A flash! Whirled back! Jinjurou’s blade lightly arced through the air in a Reverse Wheel motion! With a gasp—Shuidō! He narrowly twisted it back, but... It’s no use!

Behold!

In the next instant!

Like a raging tidal wave crashing ashore, he whipped his sword around in a massive downward slash—!

“Gah!” A scream! A spray of blood! A spray of blood! No—in that interval, in a split second—during that hair’s breadth of a moment before the major downward cut was unleashed… ~In Chichibu District, Ogawa Village, ~Lord Hemi’s garden—the roots of hinoki cypress

That woman's singing voice reached them from nearby.

With a sharp gasp, Jinjurou drew back his sword and retreated falteringly several steps backward.

9

While singing absently, Genjo lay deep within the thicket. The seizures that sometimes plagued her had struck again the previous night. There, like a sleepwalker, she had slipped out from Rinzō’s house in Akao Village—wandered without knowing where or how—drifted all the way to this area, passed the night in this thicket, and had only just now awoken.

Her mind remained hazy, not yet restored to sanity. Her Shimada topknot had collapsed over her slender white neck; the gaudy Yuzen-patterned kimono and purple Hakata obi hung disheveled about her in pitiful disarray. On bare feet she wore only one straw sandal with red straps. Her clothes hung limp from the night's dew, torn by brambles and branches in places, limbs and chest bitten by bush mosquitoes until blood oozed from the wounds. In this state Genjo lay turned sideways upon the grass. Autumn flowers—bellflowers, golden patrinia, and kudzu blossoms—had bloomed around her sleeping form at head and feet. A chestnut-colored rabbit watched from the base of a bush clover some distance away.

Above Genjo stretched birch, oak, sawtooth oak, and wax trees—their branches and leaves from both shrubs and towering trees—alongside wild grape vines, ivy, and kudzu that clung and wound about them. Piercing through this greenery, faintly and dimly visible between gaps, lay the clear morning sky. Sunlight tinged with deep yellow filtered through the thicket, weaving a dappled pattern of light and shadow across the grass below and the surrounding trees.

Absentmindedly—or rather, compelled by the song that perpetually clung to her heart—once she had finished singing that familiar melody, she slipped into a trance-like reverie. Into her mind on such occasions would arise visions—vast forests, great ravines, enormous mansions, steep slopes, herds of five hundred to a thousand wild horses, countless people riding and herding them, and finally a bizarre old man with long hair and a ruddy face resembling the legendary Shuten-dōji—all these phantoms would appear.

Yet she did not know where any of these places were. Nor did she understand why such visions surfaced in her mind. Still, she felt compelled to determine where these scenes existed—and then, without fail, journey there herself—so fervently did this conviction grip her. Yet this compulsion was neither to satisfy her own curiosity nor fulfill personal desires; it was for the man who had rescued her from hardship—Akiyama Yōsuke—that she wished to uncover these truths and make the pilgrimage.

While chasing the emerging visions, even now she was thinking.

(I must go. Come on, let's go!) And she stood up.

*They say there was one in the old days*

*They say there was one in the old days* Again, she hummed.

And so, parting the dense thicket as she tried to make her way out. Outside that dense thicket, Mizushina Jinjurou—the bloodsucking fiend who had been targeting her all along—should have been standing there, holding an unsheathed blade.

10

Jinjurou stepped back and let his sword hang slackly in a low stance—yet his eyes never wavered from their glare at Shuidō—as he instantly calculated where the singer might be positioned. Nothing surrounded them but dense thickets and open cultivated fields stretching beyond; no human figures moved through those fields. By both voice and song’s nature, the singer could only be Genjo. Yet Genjo was nowhere to be seen.

(Could it be my ears playing tricks?) Even so, hadn't the singing voice come through with unmistakable clarity? Genjo! Genjo! The one who sang was Genjo! The woman he had once obtained and made his own—but before he could uncover the great secret she held, she had been snatched away by Akiyama Yōsuke! It had to be O-kumi Genjo! After searching and searching and scouring everywhere, he had unexpectedly discovered her at the Curved Spinning Top performance venue in Ryōgoku, Edo. But due to the incident that occurred immediately afterward—the slaying of Shigisawa Shōemon—he could no longer remain in Edo and had to depart on a journey; thus, he had been unable to ascertain Genjo's subsequent whereabouts.

It was here that Genjo’s singing voice was heard.

(What was this? What was this?) It had to be called nothing short of mysterious. (If I could get that woman back and decipher the meaning of that song!) At that very moment, fate—the fate of the one who deciphered it—would transform utterly, allowing them to attain extravagant glory and indulge in supreme pleasures! (I had to get that woman no matter what!)

But where was she? A mere split second—minutes fractured into instants! In that brief span of time measured in moments, what surged through Jinjurou's mind was precisely those thoughts.

During that time, he was in a dazed state. How could Shuidō let him get away!

Wielding the courage he had mustered all at once, he charged in resolutely.

Once again came the clang of clashing blades. Though dazed moments before, Jinjurou now moved like a sword-wielding demon. "What madness—to let myself be carved up like this?!" He met Shuidō's strike head-on—one decisive clash! Leaping back... By the time his feet touched ground again, his mind had cleared. No—it burned sharper than sanity itself. (I'll crush this whelp in one stroke and find Genjo's hiding place!) "YAAAH!" he bellowed with earth-shaking force. "YAH! YAH! YAH!" The cries came rapid-fire now.

Three moves ahead—he overwhelmed him completely! As though a ranked practitioner drilling a novice, Jinjurou anticipated Shuidō's every intent—whether to strike, cut, or thrust—before the motions even formed. Staying three moves ahead at each turn, he harried him with slashes, thrusts, and relentless advances.

Once more, Shuidō was driven to the thicket's edge. As he tried to circle around its base to the right—vision swimming—his fortune finally failed: tripping over a tree root, he crashed sideways to the ground with a thud. "Drop dead!" With a sharp hiss, he swung down his blade!

11 With a sharp hiss, Jinjurou’s blade swung down—aiming to split Shuidō’s forehead down to the bridge of his nose as he lay fallen—when a dagger pierced through the sunlight, flying straight for Jinjurou’s throat. “Ah!” Jinjurou cried out involuntarily, arching his chest back—barely avoiding disaster—and looked in the direction from which the dagger had been thrown. From over ten yards away, a single samurai came running. “What!? ...Akiyama!” “...Akiyama Yōsuke!” The samurai running toward them was indeed Akiyama Yōsuke—who, upon awakening that morning, had found Genjo missing after her episodes since last night. Concerned, he had left Rinzō’s house to search for her and come all this way—and there before him stood Mizushina Jinjurou, harboring old grudges, poised to strike down Shigisawa Shuidō with whom he shared a fateful connection. The distance was too great; he wouldn’t make it in time. And so he had thrown the dagger.

Having thrown the dagger to check Jinjurou’s murderous blade, Akiyama Yōsuke came leaping in like a flying swallow.

However, Jinjurou was no ordinary man; having fought against Shuidō, his body was already fatigued. If he were to face swordsmaster Akiyama Yōsuke with fresh strength now, there would not be even a one-in-a-hundred chance of victory. The moment he perceived this, he drew back his sword—without sheathing it—and fled through the fields. In that instant, it was Shuidō—who had been lying there steeling himself for a counterattack despite bitter regret—that sprang up, “Master Akiyama—I’ll thank you later! “…You—wait! Mizushina Jinjurou!” “…Let him escape? My father’s enemy!” His body felt like cotton, his swordsmanship far inferior to Jinjurou’s—even if he chased and cornered him, he might end up slain instead. Yet having crossed blades with his father’s killer right before him... If he let him flee now, who knew when they might meet again? He could not help but pursue.

And so, Shuidō, swinging his sword repeatedly, chased after Jinjurou.

“Wait! Lord Shuidō! Lord Shigisawa!” Knowing that even if he caught up and fought, Shuidō stood no chance against Jinjurou—that it would surely end in a counterattack—Akiyama Yōsuke shouted urgently with a booming voice to stop him.

“Do not pursue him any further! Turn back, my lord! Await another opportunity!” But why would he listen! Shuidō staggered and stumbled as he ran onward and onward. (He was not hunting an ordinary foe—this was his father’s enemy.) (As a son, even knowing retaliation might claim him, to chase and fight was his duty.) Realizing this, Akiyama Yōsuke refused to let the filial son perish pointlessly. “Very well,” he resolved, “I’ll catch up and guard his flank!” He steeled himself to intervene and reached for his hakama’s thigh strap—

“S-sir! Master! Master Akiyama!” came a gasping voice from behind, and a hand abruptly seized his sleeve.

"Who's there!" he bellowed, turning to look.

It was Tōsaku, Rinzō’s underling.

12

“Oh, Tōsaku! What’s wrong?” “I-It’s terrible… B-Boss…!” “What about the Boss? Boss Rinzō?” “Y-yes—Boss Rinzō—on th-the highway—that highway over there… w-with Inoshimatsu of Takahagi…” “Hmm—with Inoshimatsu of Takahagi?” “Ha! It’s a duel! It’s a duel!” “Hmm—” Groaning, Yōsuke turned around and looked toward the highway. A crowd of travelers and peasants—keeping their distance and gathered along the highway, staring fixedly at a single spot—came vividly into Yōsuke’s view. At the spot they were watching, Rinzō was likely engaged in a duel with Inoshimatsu, who bore a grudge. Yōsuke had long known from various circumstances that Rinzō and Inoshimatsu’s power struggle was intense and that they were bound to eventually settle their supremacy through a live blade duel.

(This couldn’t be ignored. He couldn’t abandon Rinzō to die. He’d heard Inoshimatsu of Takahagi had received instruction from Hemi Tashirō and was said to be a practitioner of Kogen Itto-ryū—though this humble one had thoroughly trained even Rinzō in Shinkage-ryū. There might be no concern about him losing, but should he lose, it would bring shame to this humble one as his instructor. Depending on perspective, the duel between Rinzō and Inoshimatsu could be considered a duel between Hemi Tashirō and this Akiyama Yōsuke. This couldn’t be ignored.)

“Let’s go, Tōsaku!” he shouted, but “(What about Lord Shuidō?)” he wondered, also concerned, and cast his eyes in the direction he had run off. Staggering and stumbling through the vast cultivated fields in pursuit of Jinjurou, Shuidō kept running.

(If he goes alone, he’ll fall victim to a counterattack—Jinjurou will cut him down. …What a waste of a fine warrior!) Poor warrior! …No matter what—I must lend him assistance… But if I throw myself into that, what fate would befall Rinzō? (What should I do? What am I to do?) Unaware, Tōsaku pressed him. “Master! Hurry! Go!” “There’s so much I need to tell you… First off, a woman’s been kidnapped… A young woman, a beautiful one… The bastards who took her are Inoshimatsu’s underlings and their horse-handler accomplice… At first, we—me and Mr. Sugi—er, Lord Naminosuke—managed to rescue her… But that runaway Hachigorō and the horse handler regrouped and came back for her… And Lord Naminosuke wasn’t there at the time… No, no, that’s not it!” “Go already, c’mon Master!” “Boss is in deep trouble with that Inoshimatsu bastard!” …”

(I must go!) Yōsuke thought. Lord Shigisawa is a complete stranger—our connection remains tenuous at best. But Rinzō is my disciple—moreover, I currently lodge under his roof. This bond runs deep—he’s no mere acquaintance… I cannot let Rinzō die! I must go! Yet—yes—Lord Shuidō deserves pity too! (Then let words be my blade!) Yōsuke wheeled toward Shuidō and roared across the field.

13 “Lord Shigisawa! Lord Shuidō! “Pursue the enemy Mizushina Jinjurou and splendidly accomplish your revenge! “This humble one—Yōsuke, Akiyama Yōsuke—shall accompany you! Should I perceive you in peril, I will emerge without fail to lend my blade! “…Do keep your spirits strong!” “…This will do. Now, let’s go!”

When they started running toward the highway, 〽Now changed to a thousand horses Five hundred horse herders’ Then, in a voice he recognized as Genjo’s, he heard singing nearby. “Ah... That’s a singing voice!” …Genjo’s singing voice! Yōsuke froze in his tracks.

The singing voice of Genjo, whom he had been searching for, came from nearby. It was only natural that he had stopped in his tracks. “Lady Genjo! Lady O-kumi!”

Involuntarily shouting at the top of his voice, Yōsuke frantically scanned his surroundings.

Except for a thicket that rose like a hill—or perhaps one might call it a small mound—towering high above, there was nothing but expansive cultivated fields stretching out, with nothing to obstruct the view. (How strange... What's happening?... Was that singing voice merely my imagination?)

Yōsuke found himself experiencing the same sensation Jinjurou had felt. “Master! What’s wrong? Get goin’ already!”

Having been stopped by Yōsuke, Tōsaku—his courage shattered—bellowed.

“First off, Master—you makin’ a mistake dashin’ off in this direction! We were watchin’ over there, so...” Then Master’s figure came into view. Perfect! Master’d come—he’d side with Boss Rinzō and cut Inoshimatsu down! But that was a mistake—ended up comin’ to this thicket’s shade instead.

“So we came to meet ya, but look at us now—nothin’ more miserable than this! Got dirt flung at us by that horse handler, see? All ’cause Mr.Sugi wasn’t around. What happened to him? Well, that kidnapped woman’s brother—Shuidō, was it?—got lured out by that bastard Jinjurou headin’ toward Takahagi Village. When she told him that, Mr.Sugi went chasin’ after ’em thinkin’ it was serious… Ah, whatever! Boss ain’t lookin’ good—if we keep dawdlin’, Inoshimatsu’s bastard’ll… Hey! What’s with the spectators…?”

The farmers and travelers who had gathered along the highway and cultivated fields to watch the duel suddenly grew agitated—a shift Yōsuke clearly saw. However, the agitation quickly subsided, and the people grew quiet once more. They seemed to watch in tense stillness.

In an instant, Yōsuke made up his mind.

(If Genjo was around here, she must be in the thicket.) Even if she wasn’t in her right mind，there was no immediate danger of her dying． The duel between Rinzō and Inoshimatsu—this couldn’t wait a moment longer． Alright，I’d head that way． (But…just in case…)

Thereupon, Yōsuke once again called out in a loud voice toward the thicket.

“Lady Genjo, Yōsuke has come to retrieve you. Do not go anywhere!……”

14

On the highway, Rinzō and Inoshimatsu had positioned the crowd of spectators at a distance and now faced each other with drawn blades—a duel between gambler bosses who could not afford to lose, a live blade duel. A considerable amount of time had passed, but they had only exchanged two blows. Now separated by roughly twelve feet, they stood in mutual seigan stances with their wakizashi at the ready, doing nothing but glare at each other. Around Inoshimatsu, some incident seemed to have occurred between his underlings and Mizushina Jinjurou—there was a sense of people scurrying about in confusion across the fields, some fleeing, others collapsing—but he could neither investigate nor observe nor address the situation. If one were to glance aside even once, in that moment Rinzō would cut them down—that was why.

Even Rinzō was in the same situation—Tōsaku’s voice rang out among the underlings, Sugi Naminosuke’s voice could be heard, and some sort of commotion seemed to be unfolding—but there was nothing he could do. For his opponent Inoshimatsu’s sword skills were on par with his own, leaving not a moment’s lapse for carelessness. But now, even that surrounding commotion had completely subsided. Several ken away, the crowd of spectators—farmers, travelers, and such—had merely formed a circular formation to watch, and an eerie silence had fallen.

Two swords formed a mountain shape, floating with slight movements in the deep yellow light of the morning sun.

Both men felt it— (A duel where one simply wildly swings their sword to cut down their opponent—such a duel could not be performed. It’s a clash between men, with people watching. The talk that would follow was terrifying. If one strikes, let it be done with honor! If one falls, let it be done with honor!) Both men were exhausted in body and mind.

Mental exhaustion! Mental exhaustion! Dreadful mental exhaustion! Precisely because their techniques were superior, precisely because their skills were evenly matched, their mental fatigue grew all the more severe. The tips of the two swords that had been facing each other gradually began to draw closer from both sides.

Behold—both men’s right feet stepped forward, their toes coiled like vipers as they carved into the earth, advancing inch by inch toward each other. Shhnk——!

No sound rang out.

But as if to produce a sharp "Shhnk——", the tips of their blades touched. However, the two blades then drew back like water all at once, their interval becoming about six paces. And then they came to a halt. They remained still in a mountain shape; maintaining that form, they shifted slightly.

Faintly, with a soft poof, what rose between the swords was dust. The dust that rose with a soft poof was from the feet the two men had carved into the earth. A pause—

A long time.

Heaven and earth stood desolate. But suddenly, the two swords clashed fiercely in midair. A flash! The clash of blades! A metallic ring! Clang of guards! And forming an X shape, the two swords crossed—slightly to the left and right, then forward and back—twisting, swaying, pushing and being pushed, they remained locked together, refusing to part.

15 Sword guards locked in combat! A clash of gazes! Indeed, Rinzō and Inoshimatsu's eyes pierced through the crossed blades, locked in a mutual glare. The terror of their locked guards lay in that fleeting instant when they broke apart. Whether to slice through the torso or split the skull straight down—these choices shifted freely depending on their skill, physique, and the rhythm of their breath! But either way, it was terrifying. Both Rinzō and Inoshimatsu desperately tried to gauge each other's breathing. Then between the crossed blades, a black-lacquered sword scabbard slid silently inward.

“?”

“?” The scabbard slowly and steadily rose upward. It lifted the two bare blades. And then, a dignified voice rang out.

“Halt the duel!” “Withdraw your blades!” “The mediator is Akiyama Yōsuke!” Simultaneous with the voice, the sword scabbard parted the two blades to either side. Maintaining a distance of two ken while remaining on guard with swords at the ready, Rinzō and Inoshimatsu glared at each other—between them stood Akiyama Yōsuke, holding his sheathed longsword with effortless composure, who first addressed Rinzō calmly: “Sheathe your sword.” Then he turned toward Inoshimatsu: “I believe I’ve had occasion to see you once or twice before.” “Lord Inoshimatsu of Takahagi Village, I presume? I am Akiyama Yōsuke.” “Kindly sheathe your sword.”

For a time, there was utter stillness. At last came two clangs of sword guards being sheathed. Around this time, Genjo had emerged from the large thicket and was walking beyond the sorghum fields. (I must go. Come on, let's go.) She walked on, thinking this. Someone was calling out over there. That was how it seemed to her. She crossed the ridge and the mulberry fields. And then she crossed over the hill. Even if she looked back now, she probably wouldn't be able to see the road or the large thicket anymore.

Great ravines, vast slopes, immense forests—five hundred, a thousand horses! Countless grooms! Grand mansions! To where such things existed she must go—must go! ……With that thought, she walked on. Her disheveled hair and disordered clothing made her the spitting image of a madwoman. During the spells that never ceased, she might as well have been called a madwoman. There was a long, slightly elevated embankment. She climbed up and walked on. On the opposite slope, where miscanthus and reeds grew thickly swaying in the wind, there was a river about three ken wide with water flowing gently.

“Ah!” Genjo’s foot slipped, sending her sliding helplessly down the slope toward the river. A flurry of reed warblers burst from the reeds with harsh screeches as they fled. The rustling stalks parted abruptly as an old boat slid into view. There lay Genjo inside its rotting hull. The derelict vessel—its mooring rope severed—drifted away carrying Genjo.

Genjo did not even stir.

Individual Destinies

1

Shigisawa Shuidō, who had pursued Jinjurou into the forest near Takahagi Village, was utterly exhausted in both body and mind, hardly feeling human.

He thrust his bare blade into the ground to support himself, but even that proved too much—he collapsed in exhaustion. He had long since lost sight of Jinjurou. That disappointment too was taking its toll. *What a blunder—missed! The enemy’s escaped!* *But I must find him, no matter what...* He made an effort to stand up. But his body would not obey, and not only that—his very mind grew hazy. Thus enveloped in the sacred grove—where cedars, cypresses, podocarpus, oaks, and other towering trees blocked even the sunlight, casting a dim twilight over a landscape that held only a faded vermilion torii gate deeper within, and beyond it an Inari shrine, where nothing could be heard but the ceaseless cries of sparrows, siskins, tits, and wood pigeons—the figure of Shuidō lay collapsed in unconsciousness, a pitiful and agonizing sight to behold.

Autumn-tinted leaves, stirred by a gentle breeze, drifted down onto his body.

There was silence for quite a long time.

Just then, voices could be heard, and soon after, a group of ten-odd men and women emerged into the forest. They were a peculiar-looking bunch. There was a young man wearing a red hood and matching sleeveless garment; a middle-aged man in tortoiseshell-patterned work trousers with a large doll box strapped to his chest; a woman clad in purple armguards and leggings cradling a shamisen; and an old man dressed in light yellow breeches and plain brown kimono sleeves, a monkey perched upon his shoulder.

They were all in travel attire. They were a troupe of Chichibu kagushi. Ordinarily staying at their own homes—engaging in farming when they farmed, forestry when they logged, hunting when they hunted, and river fishing when they fished—but upon hearing of a grand festival or thriving market somewhere, they would swiftly transform into kagushi (itinerant performers), venture out to earn money, and upon returning home, resume their lives as farmers and woodcutters as before—this was a troupe of Chichibu kagushi, a separate faction from the ordinary thirteen kagushi.

On this day too, it seemed they had formed a group with only those close to them, aiming for some market or festival, and were about to set out.

Among them was a young woman not in travel attire—her hair swept up in a comb wrap secured with a single silver hairpin, wearing a madder-red unlined kimono adorned with a small Benkei pattern. She was Jinjurou’s mistress, Otsuma. “Boss-lady, you should come along too.” A man said this and looked at Otsuma as if enticing her.

“Well… when I see you all setting out together like that, I do feel like going along.” Not entirely insincere in her flattery, Otsuma said this with a thin smile. “Jinjurou-san isn’t the only man around—there must be others, don’t you think?” “That’s right—instead of always clinging to him, why not come travel with us?”

Then another man said. "Is there even a good man among your lot who'd take me on a journey, I wonder?"

As she spoke, Otsuma smiled thinly again and looked around at the kagushi troupe members.

“What about me? Huh, how ’bout me?” said the monkey handler, thrusting his face forward.

2

“If I were ten years younger, you might’ve been worth it.”

Otsuma laughed rather cheerfully. Otsuma had been born in Chichibu and was one of the Chichibu kagushi. But long ago in her youth, she had given up on her remote rural hometown and ventured out into the wider world, plunging into a far more intense, far more sinful, and far more daring line of work than the penny-ante trade of kagushi. A female con artist—that was what she had become. She would grow close to men on the road or at hot springs, lodge with them at the same inns, sometimes sharing intimacy—but when the man displeased her, she would beguile, mislead, and swindle him, biding her time to seize his money and belongings before fleeing. To put it plainly, she had become a pillow hunter—a female thief who preyed on travelers’ trust.

Her becoming Jinjurou’s mistress had begun when, staying at the same inn in Hiratsuka during one of her pillow-hunting schemes—a con artist’s ploy to swindle travelers—she had been caught and subdued by Jinjurou, marking the start of their fateful bond. She was this female con artist, Otsuma, but now she had returned to her birthplace alongside Jinjurou. Then that morning along Takahagi’s village path, her dear old companions—that is to say, the Chichibu kagushi troupe—had passed by in their travel attire. There were several familiar faces among them. And so, overwhelmed by nostalgia while exchanging jokes all the while, she had accompanied them all the way to this forest.

“Oh?” Otsuma suddenly exclaimed and came to an abrupt halt. “There’s a dead person here!” In the grass beneath the roots of a cedar tree ahead, a samurai clutching a bare blade lay collapsed. “Truly pitiful… He’s dead. And such a young samurai too.”

The kagushi troupe members murmured and drew closer. Otsuma squatted down before him and placed her hand on the samurai’s forehead. “He’s not cold—he’s warm.” She hurriedly checked his pulse but—

“He’s okay—he’s alive.” “So he must’ve fainted.”

One of the kagushi troupe members said with a knowing look. "That's right—he's fainted." "Seeing as he's holding a bare blade, he must've crossed swords with someone." "...He hasn't been cut anywhere." "...He collapsed from overexertion and mental fatigue." As she spoke, Otsuma peered closer— "Look here—isn't he quite the handsome man?"

“Tsk,” someone clicked their tongue. “Boss-lady, cut it out already—fussin’ over some no-account stray! A half-dead wretch who couldn’t even get himself killed proper! Ain’t worth spit.”

“Well, it’s not like that… First of all, isn’t he just pitiable? …And look here—this pale face… Only his lips are red… He’s chillingly beautiful…”

“You lust-crazed fool! ……Let’s go, let’s go!” “Get lost, you good-for-nothing! ……I’ll take care of this man.”

Otsuma plopped down at Shuidō’s bedside and continued peering into his face.

3

It was the same day.

On the bank of the village river called Kinugawa, a samurai was fishing.

He was a samurai of forty-five or forty-six years old, with a broad forehead, a prominent nose, and sharp yet warm eyes—such was his countenance. Though he appeared to be of high status, his garments were rather plain, yet his bearing held both dignity and refinement.

Beside him lay a basket, but not a single fish was inside. The river’s water was muddied and fouled; algae and scum floated on the surface where the setting sun cast its hues—within this tableau, a fishing float bobbed as the samurai watched. “Tōma, what time do you suppose it is now?” In the grass some distance away, a young samurai who appeared to be his attendant sat scanning the surroundings with bored eyes when he called out to him. “It might be around the Hour of the Snake, sir.”

The young samurai answered thus, “The catch has been poor today, sir.” Tōma added mockingly. “My fishing is always unproductive.” “As you say—it’s truly always unproductive, sir... And yet despite that, Master, you remain so diligent every day.”

"That is well. That is my true intent." "For you see, my fishing mirrors Taigong Wang's." "Taigong Wang?" "Haha, precisely so, sir!" "I mean to say there lies purpose beyond mere fishing." "...Though I find myself struggling to convey it." "What manner of purpose might that be, sir?" "I shan't reveal it so cheaply." "This humble one is duly chastened... yet when you speak thusly, others might mistake it for petty excuses—the bitter grapes of one who cannot catch fish."

“You truly are a petty one, aren’t you?” “Your reprimand is most severe—I am deeply humbled, sir.” “I lower the line like this and watch the water’s surface.” “Yes, for it is fishing, after all.” “The water flows in and strikes the float.” “And so it bobs and sinks.”

“It’s perfectly natural and without strain… When debris gets caught…” “That damn float spins violently, sir.”

"When a fish bites, it sinks deep." "Damn, no bites today." "It adapts to the opponent... The float's movements are truly splendid." "But we're not trying to catch the float itself." "Through this, I believe I gain something." "You've only caught a crucian carp at best." "I'm not talking about fish." "Ah... Then what?" "...Then what?" "In other words—the method to break that technique." "Huh? By 'that technique,' you mean...?"

“Mizushina Jinjurou’s ‘Reverse Wheel’…” “Ah, I see, sir.”

“Oh—what is that?”

At that moment, an old boat drifted down from upstream—carrying a woman, a young woman as motionless as a corpse. “Tōma—haul it in. Get the boat to shore.” “Seems we’ve hooked quite the extraordinary catch.”

The young samurai began removing his hakama pants while speaking. But the old boat drifted slowly and steadily toward the shore of its own accord. The samurai extended the handle of his fishing rod, attempting to hook it onto the boat’s gunwale and pull it closer, but— “Bring the woman ashore and tend to her.”

So he said sternly to the young samurai.

Phoenix and Kirin 1

1

Several days had passed since then.

Akiyama Yōsuke brought Sugi Naminosuke to the vast dojo-style mansion of Hemi Tashirō Yoshitoshi—grandmaster of Kogen Itto-ryu, who resided like a tiger crouched in its lair on the outskirts of Ogawa Village in Chichibu District, revered by swordsmen from all quarters—and presented himself with due ceremony. "I request an audience."

“Acknowledged,” came the reply. As the front sliding door slid open to one side, a young samurai wearing hakama trousers appeared respectfully.

“Well, well, Master Akiyama! What an honor to have you grace us with your presence.” “I wish to obtain an audience with Master Hemi. Kindly convey this request.” “Ah, but the Master has gone to Edo and has yet to return…” “Ah—so he still hasn’t returned.” “He has not yet returned.” “This unworthy one sought to cross blades with the Master and receive instruction through a single match. For three days since arriving here, I have paid daily visits—only to be met each time with claims of absence. Given that Lord Hemi is hailed as the Phoenix of Ogawa and spoken in the same breath as Lord Higuchi Jūrōzaemon of Kantō’s Manda region, I can hardly imagine he would cower at the name Akiyama Yōsuke and resort to feigning absence through retainers. Yet this situation proves rather difficult to accept.”

Though Yōsuke was typically refined and bold while maintaining courtesy toward others, coming from him, these words carried remarkable edge. Even Naminosuke, who had been accompanying him nearby, found this situation strange enough to strike him as peculiar. The intermediary samurai, clearly flustered, “Y-Yes, your words hold reason—but in truth, my master has gone to Edo and has not yet returned…” “Is that so? Very well. If his absence stands as fact—if this remains true—then I must return another time.” “Yet departing empty-handed after three visits would leave this unworthy one’s indignation poorly settled. Though I recognize the discourtesy, I shall take custody of the signboard displayed at your gate.” “When Lord Hemi returns from Edo, convey this message in full.” “I lodge at Kobeni Inn.” With a curt “Excuse me,” he turned on his heel and exited through the gate. There he removed from the gatepost a six-shaku hinoki board—two sun thick, inscribed “Kogen Itto-ryu Instruction”—tucked it under his arm, and strode away.

The one utterly astonished was Naminosuke; he followed silently behind Yōsuke without saying a word. Though called a village, Ogawa Village was an unusually prosperous land with more bustle than a post station; both sides of the road were lined with numerous shops, and people came and went in great numbers. Through such a place walked a splendid samurai, clutching the gate signboard under his arm, trailed by a young warrior like an attendant, his heavy footsteps resounding as he went. The shopkeepers peered with scrutiny, while the passersby gazed in wonder.

But Yōsuke paid no heed and walked to Kobeni Inn—the foremost inn in Ogawa Village, located at the village entrance in the direction opposite the Hemi residence. “Welcome back,” said the clerks and maids—their faces also betraying bewilderment—as they greeted Yōsuke’s party carrying the gate signboard and lined up bowing at the entrance. He magnanimously acknowledged them and proceeded to the inner quarters.

2

In the detached guest room facing the inner garden—apparently the finest room in this inn—Yōsuke leaned the gate signboard against the alcove there, sat back comfortably with it at his back, sipped tea brought by a maid, and laughed cheerfully. Before him, Naminosuke sat stiffly formal—though this demeanor seemed fraught with unease. “Master,” Naminosuke finally said. “What in the world is the meaning of this?” “………”

He was laughing cheerfully. "The gate signboard of a martial arts instruction hall holds equal importance to a merchant's signboard—for the household, it's a vital object. To have it removed would be a grave disgrace..." "I am well aware of that." "Yes," Naminosuke said blankly, "Yet knowing that... you still took their gate signboard—" "Indeed, I removed it." "Yes," he said blankly again, "And that of the renowned Master Hemi..." "The one they call the Phoenix—Lord Hemi—correct?"

“Yes,” he said blankly again, “To think Lord Hemi is such a renowned figure…” “I too am called Kirin.” “As you say,” he bowed his head, “I am referred to as the Kirin of Kanto.” “The Phoenix and the Kirin… they’re a perfect pair, aren’t they?” “It is indeed an ideal match, but to speak of pairing and take the gate signboard…” “Well, since it’s me, I suppose removing it was permissible.” “Because I’m the Kirin, the Phoenix’s gate signboard…” “Indeed—perfectly permissible to have removed it.”

“Ah, so that’s how it stands then?” “Were it anyone else, this would not be permissible.” “……” “I am fully cognizant of that fact. “Just as Lord Hemi himself must be.”

“……”

"A person discerns a person, after all." "Yes—well, someone like me is just a small fry." "In time, you'll gradually become someone of consequence." "Yes—I shall gratefully accept that." Even so, Naminosuke—

(If I speak carelessly, this is what happens—getting lectured and then threatened.) He couldn't help but think this way. "But even so, Master—what do you think you're doing going to Ogawa Village and visiting Master Hemi's residence...?" "To have a martial arts match..." "Is that your sole purpose?" "My true purpose lies elsewhere." "What sort of purpose might that be?" "I want to elevate Rinzō of Akai to become the top gambling den boss in Kanto."

“Is that why you’re going to have a match with Master Hemi?” “Exactly—does that seem strange to you?” “What connection there might be...” “You’ll understand soon—you’ll understand shortly.” “Ah, so that’s how it is?” “I’ve lost my gold connection—since I lost track of Lady Genjo, there’s no longer any need for me to remain in Chichibu. Therefore, I intend to return to Edo... As a parting gift upon my return, I want to turn Rinzō into a proper man. That’s why I’ll be having a match with Lord Hemi—Inoshimatsu of Takahagi’s kendo instructor.”

3

(I see...) Naminosuke thought. (Master Akiyama—Rinzō’s instructor—and Master Hemi—Inoshimatsu’s instructor—would have a martial arts match, after which they would make Rinzō the top gambling den boss in Kanto. I see—there does seem to be some meaning to this.)

He couldn't ascertain anything definite, but it appeared to carry meaning.

It would all become clear in time. He did not press the matter further, but—

“Nevertheless, I would like to hear about your relationship with O-kumi Genjo, the songs she sings, and your connection to Master.”

About the things he had long wondered about, Naminosuke eagerly inquired. That Naminosuke had indeed been Genjo’s lover in the past. Yet when he met Genjo this time, she had developed an altered personality, suffered from a mysterious illness, and not only chanted strange songs but had also come under the protection of someone named Yōsuke. Thus refraining from pursuing fleeting romance or diluted affection, he had interacted with her merely as a friend—until Genjo vanished during the duel between Rinzō and Inoshimatsu on the Ageo Highway several days prior, after which she had ceased to appear.

Naminosuke had of course been concerned, but Yōsuke’s approach was even more— “On that day, I distinctly heard Lady Genjo’s singing voice from the shadow of a thicket. But after calling off the duel and rushing to search for her, Lady Genjo was already gone. Where she could be or what has become of her,” he had continued to say until today.

“The relationship between Lady Genjo and myself?” “Indeed. I suppose it’s time I spoke of it.” Yōsuke uncharacteristically did not press the matter. However, he remained silent for a while, lost in thought. The secret story he had long hoped to hear would finally be revealed. Naminosuke involuntarily straightened his posture and could not help but tense up.

In the courtyard was a modest pond where several koi swam, occasionally leaping up to the surface. That was the sole sound that shattered the midday stillness of the old countryside inn. And then, Yōsuke began to speak.

“You must know of Musashi Province—for the Genji clan, this is land steeped in ancestral ties.” “It might even be called the Genji’s birthplace.” “From this soil sprang the clan’s warlords.” “Chichibu no Shōji, Hatakeyama Shigetada, Kumagai Jirō Naozane—all were Musashi-born commanders who raised their banners.” “...Yet the matter concerning me reaches further back.” “This is common knowledge, but during Emperor Go-Reizei’s reign, Abe no Yoritoki—Ōshū’s chieftain—rebelled against the court alongside his sons Sadato and Muneto, unleashing chaos. Minamoto no Yoriyoshi quelled them, then his son Hachimantarō Yoshiie... these two lingered in Musashi during their Ōshū campaigns.” “The Kokubunji Temple in present-day Kokubunji Village—yes, then a grand complex with soaring pagodas—became their quarters... But they did more than lodge there. After the Former Nine Years’ War ended, they returned hauling Ōshū-mined gold by the cartload and buried it secretly within the temple grounds.” “There lies a deeper purpose behind this.”

Having spoken thus far, Yōsuke sank into silence once more.

4

Yōsuke began to speak bit by bit. “The Genji clan should establish their base in the eastern provinces." “To establish their base required gold.” “Using this, they buried the gold here.” “They should use this gold to establish their base.” “It was from such reasoning that they buried the gold... After that, in this land of Musashi, though various battles occurred time and again, those who made use of that buried gold always emerged victorious.” “Yet each time those who used it sought to prevent others from doing the same, they always reburied the remaining gold elsewhere... In the tenth month of Jishō 4 [1180], when Minamoto no Yoritomo gathered soldiers from across Kantō like clouds at the Fuji River Plain south of Fuchū, those funds too came from that gold. Much later, in the Genkō era of the Nanboku-chō period [1333], when Lord Nitta Yoshisada sought to destroy Hōjō Takatoki by advancing troops toward Kamakura and encamped at Fuji River Plain to battle Hōjō Yasutoki, Yoshisada—as a Genji descendant—also utilized that gold.” “On the 19th day of the 12th month of Shōhei 7 [1352], when Nitta Yoshimune led southern forces into Musashi Province intending to defeat Ashikaga Takauji at Kanogawa River, Takauji had already departed Kanogawa, entered Fuchū via Taniguchi, and engaged in fierce battle at Hitomihara Plain. Yoshimune was defeated and retreated to Iruma River; on the 28th day, he fought again at Kotesashi Plain but was once more defeated and forced to withdraw. At this time, it is said Ashikaga Takauji—since he too was of Minamoto lineage—utilized that gold.” “Further on, entering the Ashikaga period, Kamakura Kubō Ashikaga Shigeuji killed Kanrei Uesugi Noritada.” “Noritada’s retainer Nagao Kageharu, enraged by this, led his personal troops and battled Shigeuji at Tachikawa Plain, soundly defeating him; at this time, Kageharu utilized that gold. Among those who later used the gold were historically renowned figures: Hōjō Sōun of Odawara, who rose from commoner status to rule over Kantō; Tachikawa Munetsune—foremost of the Musashi Seven Bands—and his brother Tsunenari; and Uesugi Norizane, warrior-scholar founder of Ashikaga School.” “…But as times changed—through the Toyotomi era and into our current age, that is, the Tokugawa reign—no one came to utilize that gold. Its burial site grew obscure, leaving only remnants in a *temari* ballad sung in this Chichibu region: ‘In Ogawa Village of Chichibu District, beneath the hinoki roots in Lord Hemi’s garden—they say it once lay there…’ That is all that remains.…”

Having spoken this far, Yōsuke suddenly fell silent.

Naminosuke, who had been listening intently, felt his tension heighten. He had vaguely sensed some connection between Genjo's mysterious songs and gold, but never in his wildest imaginings had he thought they might hold such deep ties to historical battles and figures. (This changes everything!) His interest now fully engaged, he found himself holding his breath in anticipation. And so he waited motionless.

Yōsuke continued his account. “The meaning of that song is straightforward. The aforementioned gold we just spoke of—it is said that long ago, it was buried at the base of a hinoki tree in the garden of the Hemi family in Ogawa Village, Chichibu District, Musashi Province. That is none other than its meaning. The Hemi family—this goes without saying—refers to Lord Hemi Tashirō’s household. As for what this Hemi family is, they are a preeminent old family of Musashi Province descended from the Kai Genji lineage, and the head family of the Kogen Ittō-ryū school—the characters ‘Kogen’ derive from this origin. In other words, it signifies ‘Kai Genji.’”

5

Yōsuke continued his account. “The song itself would be insignificant if it ended there. “For as an ordinary temari song, the people of Chichibu have known it since ancient times.” “But here lies the peculiarity—only Lady Genjo knows the subsequent verses: ‘Now changed to a thousand horses, five hundred horse tenders… then after a brief pause—mountains of fodder and bottomless rivers, a cavern at the river’s heart…’ She alone possesses this knowledge.” “That became my focal point. “The gold buried by Yoriyoshi and Yoshiie must now lie in the realm described in those later verses. “Yet how did Lady Genjo come to memorize those verses? That remained unclear. “So I questioned her. “Her reply proved most curious. “‘I feel… I once visited a place deep in the mountains—a place of vast forests and ravines, grand mansions and steep slopes—where countless horses and tenders dwelled.’ “‘There… I believe I learned the song.’ “‘But my memories are hazy.’ “Naturally, she knew not where this place was—such was the vagueness of her answer. “Moreover, as you’re aware, Lady Genjo suffers occasional fits. …I consulted various physicians about her condition. One—Lord Hiraga Anri, a Western doctor retained by the shogunate—explained thus: ‘Those who endure terrifying ordeals and severe psychological trauma, then fall unconscious from fever for months, often lose not only memories of that period but portions of their past as well. Lady Genjo’s case aligns with this.’ “‘Yet,’ he continued, ‘were she returned to that realm—or even a similar one—her memories might abruptly resurge.’ “…But taking her to that realm proves impossible. “For its location remains unknown. “Placing her in a comparable environment also presents difficulties. “As I cannot ascertain what precisely constituted that realm.” ……However, a thought struck me.

If I were to go to the Chichibu region mentioned in the first half of that song, patiently have Lady Genjo reside there, and keep watch over her condition, I might obtain some clue. So I brought her here. However, there exists another person besides me who knows Lady Genjo’s secret in the same manner. None other than Mizushina Jinjurou.

Having said this, Yōsuke frowned and fell silent. It was an awkward silence that laid bare the unpleasantness of recalling Jinjurou—a man akin to both a sword demon and a vampire. Naminosuke too disliked Jinjurou—found him terrifying beyond mere dislike, so much so that he loathed even speaking the man’s name. Yet regarding how Genjo and Yōsuke had come to know that vampire, he yearned to uncover the truth.

It seemed the truth was finally within reach.

With even more bated breath, he waited poised for Yōsuke to continue his account.

6 “It was about ten months ago now,” Yōsuke continued his account.

“I traveled to the Shinano region. It wasn’t for martial arts training—just my usual wandering about as a drifter—but I ended up staying a night at Kutsukake Post Station. As it was a moonlit night bright enough to read by, I left the inn and wandered through the station grounds until I found myself at its very edge. Then I heard singing. ‘Needless to say, it was that song.’ When I thought ‘What now?’ and halted my steps, a deranged young woman came walking along singing that very tune. Then from behind her came a samurai hurrying to catch up—but without warning he kicked her down and began stomping and beating her in a savage display, shouting ‘You think to flee? Let’s see you try!’ as he continued his brutality. At that moment the woman seemed to regain her senses—she sprang up, recognized this humble one, came running to cling to my sleeve and begged ‘Save me!’ Understanding the situation, I stepped forward—and when I saw the samurai’s face in the moonlight, it was Mizushina Jinjurou, whom I’d crossed swords with before at Lord Higuchi Jūrōzaemon’s estate! He too seemed to recognize this humble one—perhaps sensing the tide had turned against him—for he spoke these honeyed words: ‘Ah! Lord Akiyama! This woman goes by Genjo—a mad street performer I’ve been sheltering for personal reasons. If you want her, she’s yours.’ With that he beat a hasty retreat. I brought Lady Genjo back to the inn and pressed her for details—turned out she’d had a wicked foster mother who was a spinning-top master performer in Ryogoku, Edo trying to sell her off as some Nagasaki foreigner’s concubine. To escape this fate she’d taken to the road, performing in mountain provinces until she was taken—for reasons unknown—to some great mansion in a land of vast forests, steep slopes and countless horses. There she suffered horrors that stole her wits. When she came to her senses, this Jinjurou fellow was at her side—from that day he subjected her to every manner of coercion and abuse, endlessly demanding ‘Take me there! To the land in your song!’ Ever since he’s dragged her through every backwater you can imagine. ...After that I brought Lady Genjo back to Edo and housed her properly—but being a performer at heart, she begged to return to the stage. When I reinstated her at her old theater troupe, Jinjurou found her again—and through that she came to know you and others...”

“I understand perfectly.” Having heard Yōsuke’s lengthy account, Naminosuke felt his lingering doubts dissolve.

“If that is the case, then Jinjurou was also aware of the legendary secret of the gold, endeavored to uncover it, and was keeping Genjo under his control, so...”

"Indeed," Yōsuke nodded and said. "As a disciple of Lord Hemi Tashirō who long resided in Chichibu, he must be thoroughly versed in the gold's secret." At that moment came quiet footsteps in the corridor outside. "Pardon the intrusion," called a man's voice as the sliding door opened, revealing the Kōbeniya proprietor wearing an expression of solemn deference. "Lord Hemi has arrived." "At once," he said with a bow. Behind him stood a dignified middle-aged samurai of imposing stature—smiling amiably as he peered into the room with casual ease.

“Hemi Tashirō Yoshitoshi presents himself.”

7

“Well now!” Even Yōsuke—though Hemi Tashirō was but a country samurai yet received as an honored guest by Lord Matsudaira Yamato-no-kami, a descendant of Shinra Saburō Yoshimitsu’s prestigious Kai Genji lineage, a swordsman renowned throughout the land whose household prospered with a thousand koku in storehouses and some two thousand disciples—had never imagined such a man would casually visit this common inn. Moreover, this was the very Hemi whose dojo sign and grand gate plaque Yōsuke had removed during his absence. That he should be visited so casually by this very person left even Yōsuke startled into rising to his feet.

“Well now, Master Hemi! You’ve gone out of your way to visit us?” “Come, right this way!” “Right this way!” “If that’s the case, pardon me,” declared Tashirō—dignity intact in his Sendai-hira silk hakama trousers and black habutae silk kimono and haori—as he quietly entered the room. Once seating arrangements were settled—now came the greetings! At that critical moment came Yōsuke’s quick thinking—respectfully cradling the gate nameplate that had been standing in the alcove, he brought it over, presented it before [Hemi], and sat down facing it, “In truth, I visited your residence today, Master, only to learn you had gone to Edo and were absent. Then—as my usual bad habit—what one might call drunken whimsy—surged up within me. Though I knew it somewhat discourteous, I informed your disciples and removed this grand gate nameplate, bringing it to the inn. Yet I assure you I treated it with utmost care—propping it in the alcove to gaze upon its splendid calligraphy.” “Yet it was precisely *because* I removed and brought this gate nameplate that I could invite a personage of your stature, Master, to such a humble inn. My stratagem hit its mark splendidly! Ha ha ha!” His laughter carried a disarming brightness.

Tashirō joined in with an equally carefree laugh—unburdened by pretense—but, “Regarding that matter—in truth, I had business in Edo and was absent for three days. Upon returning home moments ago, I learned from one of my disciples that the renowned Master Akiyama had called upon me three times during my absence, and on this third visit today, removed and carried away the gate nameplate. I am profoundly humbled by your three visits and deeply regret my absence—as I explained to that disciple—it is fortunate that the person who removed and took the gate nameplate was Master Akiyama Yōsuke." "Had it been any other man, I, Tashirō, would never have let them live." "It was fortunate that it was Master Akiyama Yōsuke." "That Master Akiyama is an intriguing man of unconventional charm and refinement—though I’ve yet to have the honor of meeting you in person, I’ve heard much of your gallant reputation." "Five hundred koku constitutes an imposing stipend indeed. Though born as the eldest son to a kendo instructor receiving such emoluments, you declined family succession to become a rōnin. You consort with gallant wanderers, yield neither to authority nor fear martial might, flatter no wealth nor feel shame in poverty, conducting yourself as boundless as the heavens and seas—truly you stand as this era's paragon of excellence." "The gate nameplate being taken was no doubt mere eccentric act." "If you were staying at Kōbeniya Inn, I thought I should come meet you at once. —Thus I have come here, and it is indeed an honor to meet you."

“Mr. Sugi, what say you?” called Yōsuke, addressing Naminosuke.

8 “I did say that true character reveals itself to its equal—wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Sugi?” Having delivered this, Yōsuke turned toward Tashirō. “This gentleman here is Lord Sugi Naminosuke—an associate and friend of mine. While I initially harbored grave concerns about removing and appropriating your gate nameplate, being who I am made it permissible. Master Hemi surely understands that any lesser man would have faced dire consequences—as I was just remarking, true character recognizes its own. …What impressions strike you, Mr. Sugi?”

"I was... rather distracted, sir."

Having said this, Naminosuke—as though awakening from a dream—widened his eyes and let out a sigh. "Phoenixes and unicorns! Phoenixes and unicorns! It was like witnessing fellow master actors perform a scene together." "What an exemplary dialogue this is!"

Hemi Tashirō had arrived! This was bad! Something incredible was about to happen! A heated argument! An accusation of disrespect! A duel! A duel! At that very moment when he thought this, things turned out completely opposite—it was fortunate that it was Master Akiyama after all!

And so it came to pass that they were laughing together, harmonizing, and respecting each other as if they had been close confidants for a decade. And Naminosuke, entranced, listened to the discourse between the two titans.

“Sake!” Yōsuke declared brightly. “Among trusted comrades in arms, no gathering lacks sake. “Sake! “Let us drink! Lord Naminosuke—clap your hands and call for the maid!” “Nay,” Tashirō countered, raising a restraining hand. “We shall drink sake. “Yet let us drink it elsewhere.” “Elsewhere? “And where might that be?”

“At my residence.” “…Goes without saying.” “So this residence where Yōsuke humbly resides—it seems it does not meet your favor.” “No no—that is absolutely not the case. However—since it was your esteemed self who first visited this humble one’s residence, so to speak setting the precedent. …Then drinking at that place would be most appropriate...”

“Ah ha, indeed—that does make sense.” “Since that is the case, I had a palanquin prepared—it has already arrived in front of the inn.” “My, my—such efficient preparations. ...However, as for this humble one, at your honorable residence, rather than partaking of sake, I would much prefer receiving guidance in kendo with wooden swords.” “Needless to say, we shall of course engage in a kendo bout as well.”

“But Master Hemi—this match shall be no ordinary bout.”

“To say that—surely you don’t mean live blades…” “What nonsense—live blades? …Truth be told, I wish to propose a gambling match.” “What gambling match? This is preposterous! The kind of vulgar gambling matches that street ronin swordsmen engage in for their livelihood—such things…”

“The stakes differ.”

“I see. And the stakes?” “As for this humble one—Akabane Rinzō!”

“Akabane Rinzō?” “Akabane Rinzō?” “Hmm!” Tashirō said, staring fixedly at Yōsuke’s face.

9 “Though he is a gambler, Rinzō is this humble one’s kendo disciple.”

Yōsuke said this meaningfully and stared intently at Tashirō’s face. “You would stake Rinzō… Then what must this humble one stake?” Tashirō spoke with faint unease while equally staring meaningfully at Yōsuke. “If you would stake Inoshimatsu of Takahagi Village, it would fulfill my earnest wish.” “He is this humble one’s kendo disciple…” “Then stake him.” “Wager and compete?” “Should this humble one prevail—to establish Akabane Rinzō as Kantō’s foremost syndicate boss—you will have Inoshimatsu of Takahagi Village submit to Rinzō’s authority.”

“If this humble one wins, I will have Akabane Rinzō submit to Inoshimatsu of Takahagi and make Inoshimatsu the foremost in Kantō—” “Let us make him the Syndicate Boss.” “Ah ha—so that’s the purpose of this gambling match?” “Disciples are dear to one.” "I see," Tashirō said, but then fell silent and became lost in thought. That Rinzō and Inoshimatsu had been engaged in a power struggle for some time was something even Tashirō knew. That conflict had intensified to such a degree that sooner or later, they would inevitably collide head-on through sheer force—it had reached that very brink. He had also heard of this through hearsay. Nevertheless, that a great swordsman named Akiyama Yōsuke would appear for this very purpose—using their master-disciple connection as pretext to propose a match to him, attempting to resolve the power struggle between the two gamblers through its outcome—such an event occurring had never once crossed his mind in his wildest dreams.

What in the world? was his first thought.

(Now, what should I do?) That said, I too care for my disciples; if possible, I would like to crush Rinzō and make Inoshimatsu the Syndicate Boss. (In that case...) I found myself forced to conclude. (In that case, I shall accept Yōsuke’s proposal, hold the gambling match, and defeat him.) Once he had made up his mind, his bearing became truly imposing. Hemi Tashirō Yoshitoshi declared resolutely.

“This humble one accepts the gambling match.” “Then let us immediately proceed to this humble one’s residence and cross swords in the training hall to conduct the match.” “Accepted.”

Yōsuke stood up. “Mr. Sugi—you shall attend as well.”

The three of them left the room together.

Here at Hemi Tashirō Yoshitoshi’s residence stood the training hall— The weapon was not a bamboo sword but a wooden one. Yōsuke and Tashirō assumed their stances.

One-strike duel!

It had been so decided. Both men in mid-level stance!

Now, it was deathly quiet. Deeming spectators unnecessary for such a match, they had dismissed all disciples—both commuting and live-in—leaving only the two men!

No—there were others: Sugi Naminosuke and the young samurai who had come out to receive Yōsuke’s visit earlier were also modestly waiting and watching in a corner of the training hall.

10

The vast training hall stretched hazily into view. Its loftily constructed front area served as the master’s seat. On the left plank wall facing this position, bamboo swords, wooden swords, spears, naginata, masks, torso armor, and armored gauntlets were neatly arranged on shelves; on that same left plank wall hung lacquered nameplates divided by rank. The spotless wooden floor, polished to a mirror-like sheen, caught the slanting sunlight streaming through gaps in the wall panels, weaving amber stripes across its surface. Within that luminous space, faint dust motes appeared suspended like wisps of smoke or sheer gauze.

Positioned in mid-level stances facing each other without moving, Yōsuke and Tashirō—being at the center of the spacious training hall—appeared as small as dolls to Naminosuke, who sat formally at the hall’s edge with his back against the waist panel. Maintaining an interval of approximately six shaku apart, each pressing the tip of their wooden swords precisely against the other’s forehead in their stances, they showed no intention of moving. In this match fought with wooden swords rather than live blades—truly no different from an actual duel with sharpened steel—the red oak bokutō with their clam-shaped edges were every bit as lethal as true swords; should a master’s single strike land on a vital point, the outcome was irrevocably decided—either instant death or life-altering maiming.

However, this was not a grudge match born of mutual resentment, but rather a contest between masters bound by duty and personal bonds to elevate their respective disciples—a duel where two virtuosos crossed blades not for vengeance, but to uphold their obligations to those under their tutelage. With dignified natural composure, devoid of any malicious intent to force a victory, fought with courtesy amidst their combativeness—it was a refreshingly ideal match. For twenty minutes now, they remained in their stances without moving. They did not utter a single kiai. There are three types of kiai.

The kiai used when driving an opponent into a corner. The kiai used to disrupt the moment when the opponent attempts to strike; the kiai used after delivering a victorious strike to suppress any subsequent attack attempts—preventing them from striking. These are the three types of kiai. Yet in this match between the two, there existed no opportunities to press an advantage, nor did they reveal any openings that might invite an attack—let alone any chance of delivering a decisive strike—such possibilities were utterly nonexistent.

Thus they remained without uttering kiai, maintaining identical positions and stances yet never becoming stationary—a contest of cores through technique, eyes locked in mutual glare, breath suppressing breath. When one caused their sword tip to shift, the other suppressed it with iron resistance; when one attempted to apply technique, the other deflected it through preemptive counters executed with focused intent... This interplay naturally transmitted itself to their wooden swords, and the two blades—as if alive—constantly moved vertically and swayed horizontally with faint yet razor-sharp precision.

An even longer time passed. Then, Yōsuke’s right foot—with a ferocity, strength, and power as though to shatter bedrock—advanced forward slowly yet tenaciously, almost gingerly, followed by his left foot. In that instant, Tashirō’s left foot gingerly retreated backward, followed by his right foot. And—the interval! They froze. An eternity! ...However... the next instant... the thundering sound of footsteps echoed.

11

Yōsuke charged forward like a raging torrent! Tashirō, driven back, retreated! The thundering footsteps of both men! Behold, that speed, that sharpness! Ah! Tashirō had been driven to the very edge of the training hall, his back pressed against the plank wall, now crouched in a stance from which he could retreat no further. Before him, like a massive boulder, stood Yōsuke.

The match was decided! The victory went to Yōsuke! No—behold! In the next instant, Tashirō’s chest heaved mightily, his shoulders swelled high like whirlpools, and he abruptly stepped one pace forward. And Yōsuke stepped back one pace. Tashirō abruptly stepped two paces forward.

Yōsuke retreated. It was exactly the same! The thundering footsteps! Tashirō advanced as Yōsuke retreated—in an instant, the tide shifted. Now Yōsuke found himself driven back against the training hall's paneled wall. And—they froze! A brief interval! Two swords—wooden swords—minutely sliced through the air again and again—minutely, endlessly. Had Tashirō won? Had he driven him to the brink? No! He gingerly stepped back one pace. Then Yōsuke took one step forward. Tenaciously, slowly, with heron-like steps—gingerly, gingerly, gingerly, gingerly—the two men advanced back to the center of the training hall.

How unchanged their stances and positions remained! There they stood—exactly as before, both still poised in middle stance—appearing as small as dolls in the very center of that vast training hall that stretched hazily around them, silent and utterly motionless. Sweat streamed down their faces to their chins, their complexions flushed crimson as blood surged, their breaths ragged and labored. This suffocating spectacle! The match continued unabated. The match had to be continued.

But suddenly, at that very moment, 〝Chichibu District Ogawa Village Lord Hemi’s garden The root of a hinoki cypress There was once, so they say—〟

And then, a woman’s singing voice could be heard from outside the training hall, coming from the direction of the garden. “Wait!” Yōsuke suddenly shouted, then slid smoothly back about two ken, lowered his wooden sword, and listened intently. …… Hemi Tashirō angled his body with a stern expression, yet maintained vigilant awareness toward his opponent, never dropping his guard as he held his stance. “What troubles you, Lord Akiyama?” “That singing voice? ...Who is singing?” “Along with Tōma, who waits here now—several days past, while fishing in the Kinugawa River—we found a woman adrift in an old boat, her senses lost to the currents.” “We rescued her and brought her to this mansion. She is the singer you heard.”

12 “What is her name? “Genjo!” “Genjo of O-kumi!” “Did you not say…?” “You know well—exactly so.” “So it is true! “So it was indeed!” “...A blessing—truly a divine gift!” “That woman is none other than one whom this unworthy one has long protected and sheltered for particular reasons. Having lost her near the Kōmi post station days past and languished in despair—did you come to her aid, my lord?” “...Hand Genjo over to this unworthy one.”

“I refuse!” Tashirō stated flatly. “I shall never hand Genjo over!” “What is your reason? What is your reason? Lord Hemi?” “The reason lies in the song! The song Genjo sings!” “……” “‘Now changed to a thousand horses, five hundred horse breeders’... There were more verses thereafter, but this woman called Genjo who sings this song—this humble one needs her! Needs her utterly!”

"I see," Yōsuke nodded and said. "For your house—the House of Hemi—a song with the deepest ties... A woman named Genjo who sings that song would indeed be necessary... To unearth the buried gold from legend, a clue from Kukkyō..." “Then does that not apply to you as well?” “Your will be done—precisely why I have kept Genjo until now…” "Now that you know this, I cannot possibly hand over the woman called Genjo."

“However, originally, this unworthy one was protecting…” “Until recent days, yes. But losing her afterward proves there was no bond.” "...Since I rescued and obtained her, she is now this humble one’s possession." “Using Genjo as your clue to unearth the buried gold—then, do you intend to search for it?” “Exactly so—it goes without saying.” “Then you are my rival!” "It cannot be helped—such is our fate." “You’ve made yourself a twofold enemy now!” “What enmity do you speak of? “What ‘twofold enmity’?”

“Now we may speak of enmity! …The first concerns your disciples, the second concerns Genjo!”

“That too is an unavoidable matter.”

“Take care, Lord Hemi—this unworthy one shall certainly obtain Genjo and acquire the buried gold as well.” “Then by all means, do so!” “Take care, Lord Hemi—there are more than just the two of us scheming to obtain Genjo and unearth the buried gold!” “More than two? Who’s that one?” “Your disciple—Mizushina Jinjurou!”

“Oh, Jinjurou! That scoundrel!...A disciple though he may be, he’s a rare master—moreover, the founder of the malignant sword ‘Reverse Wheel’ and a fearsome man....This humble one has been struggling these days to devise a technique to break that man’s evil sword—but he, *he’s* after Genjo and the gold...” “Lord Hemi, I take my leave.” “What of the match? Lord Akiyama, what of today’s match?” “Ah ha ha! We’ll settle this with live blades another day!”

Ill-Fated Love

1

On the outskirts of Takahagi Village lay a settlement of Chichibu performers known as “Blade’s Hamlet.” There were about thirty households comprising women, children, and elders—some 150 part-time farmers and performers living in close-knit unity.

If an incident were to occur in the hamlet and the signal bamboo conch shell boomed, they would set aside all work and gather—such was the established arrangement.

The house of Benzo Jii-san—a performer—stood in a corner of this hamlet.

A thatched roof, podocarpus hedges, modest front and rear gardens, main house, storage shed, barn—all indistinguishable from ordinary farmhouse construction—save for the matchlock rifle in the alcove and half-bow hung on the wall, weapons remaining from their origins as country samurai. Indeed, this difference stemmed from the Chichibu kagushi performers’ conviction—shared by both themselves and others—that they descended through Yoshihira of the Minamoto clan’s legitimate line, setting them apart from common farming households.

On a beautifully clear afternoon several days after Akiyama Yōsuke and Hemi Tashirō had crossed wooden swords in Tashirō’s training hall, persimmon leaves lay scattered across this garden.

Brushing away the falling leaves as if annoyed, Otsuma entered the garden. "Nice weather, isn't it, Benzo Jii-san?"

On the veranda of the main house, having spread a round straw mat and sat upon it wearing a gloomy expression while grinding ointment, Benzo Jii-san looked at Otsuma's face when addressed.

“Indeed, it is fine weather… Aye, just so—fine weather it is.” Once more, he sullenly began kneading the family’s secret ointment with his gnarled hands. Otsuma furrowed her brow, but— “Even though this lovely weather should put anyone in a good mood, you always seem so grumpy, old man.” “Aye, this old man’s in a foul mood indeed—my boy went off to Edo and hasn’t come back, you see.” “Are you going on about that again? Oh, he’ll come back soon enough,” she said aloud, though inwardly she thought, *How could Bentaro return? He’d been killed.*

(Jinjurou was the one who killed him... and wasn’t I the one who urged him to do it?) Even she couldn’t help but feel disgusted at this thought. From back when Otsuma had not yet become such a charlatan and was living an ordinary life in this hamlet, Bentaro had been desperately in love with her, persistently pursuing and courting her. After that, Otsuma left her hometown and ended up in her current circumstances. Then Bentaro suddenly appeared in Edo as an ointment peddler and unexpectedly ran into Otsuma. Ever since then, Bentaro had clung to her, trying to fulfill his long-standing affection, probing into Otsuma’s current circumstances, threatening to report her to the authorities if she did not yield to his desires, and even menacing her with the shame of being bound as a female charlatan. Otsuma inwardly snickered, but finding him too bothersome, she thought to put him to sleep for good. With that in mind, she incited her lover Jinjurou, dragged him out to Ochanomizu one night, and had him cut down with a single stroke.

The corpse of the performer that Sugi Naminosuke had seen on his way home from Genjo’s hut was none other than Bentaro. “Old man, how’s Lord Shuidō’s mood?” Otsuma steered the conversation elsewhere.

2 “His Lordship also seems to be in poor spirits.”

Benzo said this while looking down and listlessly kneading the ointment. "Is there any sign he wants to leave, huh?" “He does seem rather eager to leave.” "You mustn't let him leave."

“Since it’s your order, I’m doing my utmost to stay cautious.” “Let him escape and I’ll have your head.” She fixed him with a razor-edged glare.

"If it doesn't suit our hands, there's no help for it—we'll just have to drone on the bamboo conch." "And with all the village exits secured tight, it should be safe enough." "But I don't want to resort to such drastic measures." "Your reasoning is most sound." "Well then, I'll go check on his mood."

Standing up from the edge where she had been sitting, Otsuma went around to the back. (What a fearsome woman she's become...) Watching Otsuma's retreating figure, Benzo Jii-san thought. In her days living in this village, Otsuma had been nothing more than a plucky, innocent girl—one who would often visit this house and affectionately call out "Grandpa! Grandpa!" But now, having returned hand-in-hand with some ronin called Jinjurou, looking at her—though her beauty had increased—what stood out far more was how completely she had transformed: tattoos on her arms, murderous glint in her eyes, poison festering in her heart—a gang madam who'd kill without hesitation, a woman gone utterly to ruin.

(That samurai called Jinjurou seems quite fearsome, but to secretly hide a samurai like Lord Shuidō here under his nose... Let’s just pray no blood-soaked incident comes of this.)

When he thought of this, Benzo Jii-san couldn’t help but feel anxious and terrified.

A few days prior, she had brought that samurai in a palanquin, arriving secretly in the evening. “Hide this samurai for me—keep him hidden from everyone in the village and from Jinjurou-san too. There’s no place to conceal him except with an old acquaintance like you.” Otsuma said as though she had no choice. Upon looking, the samurai appeared half-dead, his breath faint and body emaciated. “Very well, in any case...”

Having said this, Benzo accepted. And so from the next day onward, Otsuma came nearly every day to tend to him. (What sort of samurai is he, I wonder?) (What exactly is his relationship with Otsuma-san?) He didn’t understand, but he was anxious. He had been separated from his wife by death, and his only son Bentaro had left for Edo and never returned.

At a time when he was already anxious and somewhat lonely, he had taken in such a samurai.

Benzo Jii-san was gloomy. He continued silently kneading the ointment. He glanced abruptly over the hedge. "Ah!" he involuntarily let out. Jinjurou twisted his pallid face into a ghastly grimace and was peering intently through the hedge right at him. (This is bad! Now it's happening!)

3

"Hey," Jinjurou called in a low voice. "Hey old man, come here for a moment."

He beckoned over the hedge.

Otsuma should be in the back room.

He couldn’t even manage a proper reply. With his emaciated body trembling, Benzo Jii-san unsteadily rose to his feet, managed with great effort to slip into his garden clogs, and scurried toward Jinjurou. Exiting the hedge, he found himself on a village path. As Jinjurou crouched down, Benzo, facing him, also crouched, “H-here, Lord Mizushina…” “Old man, seems like Otsuma came by.”

“O-Otsuma-san… Y-yes… No.”

“Now, isn't it strange to say 'no'? Is it 'yes' or 'no'?”

“Y-yes… N-no… It’s a no.” “In that case, was it my eyes playing tricks on me?”

“……” “The figure looked like Otsuma, but...” “…………” “Well now, when I left my house to go to the boss’s place, didn’t some woman go right past my nose? "What a damn fine figure from behind she had." “Not bad at all—whoever she was. But when I looked close, it was my wife.” “Ah! Hah hah! So that’s how it was! Figured it wasn’t strange for my wife to be out, but when I trailed her asking where she was off to—she went into your house.”

“Y-yes, indeed… That is to say...” “Not ‘that is to say’—this demands ‘well now.’ I stood transfixed in astonishment for some time, but when she circled around to the rear, that’s precisely why I summoned you here, old man.” “Y-yes, such would appear to be the case...” “What in hell’s back there?” “W-well, a garden and hedge...” “And beyond that—the privy and guest quarters, I presume?” “Y-yes, there exists a back guest room.”

“Who’s in that guest room?!” “Waaah!… N-no one’s there…”

“So she went somewhere she shouldn’t be, huh?” “Wh-what could you mean?” “Into the empty back guest room—did my wife go in there, huh?” “…………” “A dog?!” “Huh?” “A male dog?!” “N-no such thing!” “Then what?!” “…………” “You’re not talking. Seems the dose Otsuma slipped you is working…” “Oh, Lord Mizushina, such a… Such a lowly wretch as Benzo would never…” “Are you saying there’s none? This is amusing! An elegant old man who lends out rooms in a brothel quarter yet claims not to receive doses—if you say there is, this is amusing! You took the dose—you did take it! That’s where you’ve been hiding it all along! ...Alright then—if that’s how it is, I’ll make you take a dose from me. One that really works.”

He tapped the hilt of his sword. “Forged in Seki, inscribed Magoroku—it’s cut down so many men there’s a couple nicks in the blade. When I draw it, from your mouth straight down to your belly…!”

Abruptly, Jinjurou stood up and forcefully snapped open the sword’s koiguchi with his fingers.

4

Worn tatami mats, a sooty ceiling, brown sliding doors marked with water stains. The back guest room was dimly lit and appeared impoverished. A pillow screen adorned with brocade pictures of Edo souvenirs stood sideways, and atop a zabuton cushion sat Shuidō—his cheeks pallid, jaw gaunt, only his eyes burning with feverish intensity—presenting such an appearance. "My body and mind have both recovered. I am fully restored now."

Despite his haggard appearance and voice that lacked strength, Shuidō spoke with seeming vigor. "I must soon depart..."

“Well now, have you recovered, I wonder?” With a nose almost too high—the sole flaw if one had to name one—and a face otherwise strikingly beautiful yet edged with vengeful allure, Otsuma sat facing him. A smile laden with implication played on her lips as she cast a sidelong glance at Shuidō and spoke. “Now that you’ve recovered, I suppose you must go slay your father’s enemy.” “Yes—and I must find my kidnapped sister’s whereabouts and bring her back…”

“Yes, yes—that was indeed the case, wasn’t it?” Otsuma smiled again, but, “That ‘younger sister’ of yours, Lady Sumie—she isn’t your real sister at all, but your betrothed, isn’t she?” As she spoke these words, something like a sneer laced with jealousy flashed shadow-like in Otsuma’s eyes.

“Yes,” Shuidō replied honestly. “Even so… having been raised as brother and sister in the same household for so long… she must seem just like your real sister…” “What can one say?” As she spoke, she brought her hand to her hair and scratched the side of her temple with a hairpin. “Taking your betrothed along, pillowing your head on the journey of revenge—ho, ho, ho—it’s just like a play. I must say I’m rather envious…” Shuidō made a displeased face but forcefully suppressed it and acted nonchalantly,

“Since that incident with your sister… where could she have been taken… How pitiable… I must find her no matter what…” “I too am to be pitied!”

Otsuma’s tone turned venomous, its edge tinged with agitation. "You know nothing of others’ hearts... To prattle on before me about your pitiful betrothed—searching for her, this and that—how very resolute you are!" She reached out sharply, took the chilled bitter tea bowl before her knees, drained it in one gulp, and slammed it down with a clack. "You know nothing of my heart!" The setting sun streamed through the shoji screens, its light occasionally broken by flitting bird shadows. From beyond the hedge, in a nearby field, came the sound of a girl singing a work song as she tilled the soil.

♫ When I step out the back door, naa... ♫ A lovely moonlit night— ♫ The lord’s cheek-veil, naa...

Pale light,

The two remained silent for a time. Then, suddenly and resentfully, Otsuma declared in a heated voice: "Do you think I saved you that day merely on some drunken whim? …Nor did I hide you here afterward or nurse you back to health out of intoxication… It was because my heart holds feelings for you."

5

Shuidō showed a flicker of bewilderment and some displeasure—such emotions. But even being treated thus, Otsuma was not a woman to back down, “If I hadn’t saved you then, Jinjurou would have returned and cut down you—who had lost your senses—would he not? …I do not wish to hold this over you as a debt—but this deed of mine, which I could rightfully claim… Do not treat it as an act of betrayal, Lord Shuidō…” “I fully understand your feelings… and I am deeply grateful for your saving me then—for this profound debt of life…”

Indeed, as Otsuma had said: that day when Shuidō had pursued Jinjurou and collapsed from utter exhaustion in the shrine grove—had he not received her aid, he would have been slain by Jinjurou (who, he later learned, had indeed returned to those woods), and would not be alive today. Thus he felt genuine gratitude toward Otsuma as his savior. Yet each time she visited, she would insinuate—no, at times outright declare—her amorous feelings toward him. And he had long since understood the meaning behind Otsuma saving him.

Yet for that very reason—how could he possibly enter into such a relationship with Otsuma? One steeped in impropriety, adultery, and moral transgression!

“Lord Shuidō,” Otsuma said. “To you, my lord, this humble woman remains Jinjurou’s favored one—Jinjurou’s mistress—and thus unworthy of trust, is that not what you still believe?” Peering up from below, she studied Shuidō’s expression. “Indeed,” Shuidō said painfully.

“How could you not think of that? “…The enemy of your father who must be slain! Knowing I am Jinjurou’s mistress—whether you find me untrustworthy or not—how could you possibly respond to your own…” “Will you not comply?” “To the mistress of your sworn enemy…” “Then why did you openly save me?”

“You were saved without even knowing it…” “Then why did you nurse me…?” She could not answer. All that came to mind was that he had missed his chance! It meant that he had missed his chance. The day after he was rescued, in response to Otsuma’s questioning, Shuidō disclosed everything—from his full name and background to the events of that day, his plans for revenge, and even the name of his enemy. With that, Otsuma—with a look of surprise—fixed her gaze on Shuidō’s face, but eventually confessed that she was Jinjurou’s mistress—that she was Otsuma.

Shuidō’s shock upon hearing this!

At the same time, it occurred to him that— (If only I hadn’t been saved!) That being the case—and with matters standing thus—he had resolved to leave immediately.

6 (If only I had left right away!) Even now, Shuidō thinks this. He did attempt to declare his intent to leave then.

And Otsuma stopped him, saying— “This is Takahagi Village in Koma District. The gambling boss here is a man called Inoshimatsu—Jinjurou’s superior. “You couldn’t walk even ten chō in your weakened state! If you carelessly try to go outside—Jinjurou is nearby, Boss Inoshimatsu’s underlings are here too—you’d be discovered instantly, captured, and tortured to death! “…How could you possibly depart?”

However, to Shuidō, being nursed by the enemy's mistress seemed unbearable for even a moment, so he stubbornly insisted on rising despite his weakness. Otsuma mocked him: "This place is called 'Blade Village'—a distinct district within Takahagi Village, the hamlet of Chichibu's itinerant performers." "The villagers stand united—when trouble arises, they sound bamboo horns." "Then they gather to secure every entrance and exit, barring entry to newcomers and blocking departure from those within." "I too am one of this village's female performers—no, I will not permit you to depart, my lord!" "If you insist on forcing your way out, we'll sound those horns and stop you."

He could no longer depart. Thus, against his will, he had received her care until now—care forced upon him—and though he had accepted this nursing while knowing she was the enemy’s mistress, when she voiced this fact, he found himself at a loss for words. (If only I had left right away! I missed my chance! I missed my chance!) Only this matter continued to torment him.

The two remained silent for a while—Shuidō bowed his head and stared at his knees, while Otsuma gazed hungrily at his profile. “Even so… What can I say? For you—this Shuidō—to cherish someone who could be called a fragment of your enemy…” “That you would cherish someone who could be called a fragment of your enemy in such a way…”

In fragmented speech, Shuidō eventually spoke in such a manner. “Indeed, I am but a fragment of your enemy.” “Because I—who target your lover Mizushina Jinjurou as an enemy—” “It must be an ill-fated bond.”

Thus Otsuma too faltered in her speech and said in a tone that threatened to break off at any moment. “It must be an ill-fated love… That day, in that moment, in the shrine’s sacred grove—when I saw you collapsed there on a bed of grass, looking so pitiful and forlorn as though dead—I don’t know what came over me… For me… it must have been my first true love since the day I was born… Seized by such feelings… Ah, how shameful—even though many fellow villagers were right there beside me, I shamelessly declared, ‘I’ll take care of this man myself,’ and brought you here… It must indeed be an ill-fated love… And another reason… For me, that man Mizushina Jinjurou was never truly someone I longed for or loved… That’s what I’ve come to believe.”

7

“Lady Otsuma!” said Shuidō in a tone both sharp and angry, as if reproaching her. “However deep your affection for this unworthy one may run—to declare so openly before me that you feel no love for your current paramour… If such is truly your heart’s inclination, then once you tire of me, you shall surely speak ill of me to some new lover in like manner… What faithless fickleness! …” “No—it isn’t so, Lord Shuidō! There are reasons—so many reasons…”

Though she blurted out, Otsuma could say nothing more. That she was a female thief—an itinerant trickster—who during an overnight stay at Hiratsuka Inn had tried to steal the coin pouch from Jinjurou, the samurai sharing her lodging at dawn, only to be overpowered by him instead, and how that ill-fated encounter had bound them as lovers ever since—even for a woman of her wickedness, such truths were too shameful to voice. Instead, she had told Shuidō that she was the daughter of this village’s itinerant performers, seduced by Jinjurou into becoming his mistress and dragged around Edo and Kōshū.

Since she could not justify that their relationship as lovers—formed when her criminal acts as a female performer were discovered—was not true love, even when reproached by Shuidō in this manner, Otsuma found herself completely unable to mount any defense and fell silent.

But Otsuma smirked slyly and spoke plausibly. "Before me, Jinjurou had a mistress. A female performer from Edo’s Ryōgoku district—a top-spinning woman named Genjo—this was his mistress. Not only did he parade her about various places and boast of it before me, his current mistress, as if it were some grand feat… he even extended his reach to your lordship’s betrothed, Lady Sumie…" "Even to Sumie?!" "Hmph—Jinjurou, you fiend!" "He reached out with illicit desires…" "Truly… an atrocity!" "...Jinjurou…"

“That night he kidnapped Lady Sumie—and made this humble woman wait at places like the Tokiwa restaurant in Shitaya… Then, had he succeeded in abducting Lady Sumie, he would’ve cast me aside like a fan in autumn and replaced me with her…” “How could I ever hand over my sister—my own sister—to a fiendish brute like him?” “That’s the kind of man he is.” “Why must I alone endure such a man as Jinjurou…? If you strike first, then I’ll strike too… Lord Shuidō!” “Now it’s your turn, Lord Shuidō!”

“Even so… my sister Sumie…” “As for your betrothed, Lady Sumie…” “At that bloodsoaked battleground on Kamigo Highway—they say she was borne away by several horse-handling gamblers…” “Ah… I heard through whispers… How quick you are to frenzy whenever your precious betrothed—your Lady Sumie—is mentioned!” “Were she my sister—as she is—would you not do the same?” “Your darling darling fiancée—naturally you’d madden her with your fussing! Ho, ho… What if those who snatched your precious Sumie-chan were but base gambling riffraff? …”

But at that moment, from the direction of the front garden, the voices of men arguing could be heard. “Huh? That voice…?” “Oh… That voice…”

The two of them strained their ears toward the forest.

Jinjurou shoved Benzo aside, crossed the boundary hedge from the village path, and marched into the front garden. “It’s a tired old line, but my golden nostrum ain’t coins—it’s a dagger’s blade! Ha ha ha! If you’re so eager for a shock—how ’bout I draw it with a swish and ram it from your mouth clear down to your guts? What d’ya say? What d’ya say?!” Shoving aside Benzo, who kept trying to stop him, Jinjurou pressed forward relentlessly.

8 “Out of my way, damn you!” Suddenly, Benzo—though aged—revealed the violent nature of a Chichibu kagushi itinerant performer, roaring ferociously as he stood his ground. “There ain’t nobody in the back room! Once I’ve said it, I’m Benzo of the Chichibu kagushi—I’ll stand by my word till the end! What the hell are you, huh? Some stray dog or mangy ox with no roots? Even a starvin’ ronin like you cozyin’ up to our Blade Village comrade Otsuma turns my damn stomach! Prancin’ round here flauntin’ that trashy yakuza gig as some gambler’s lackey—nothin’ to crow about—shootin’ your mouth off like you own us proper folks who’ve lived here for generations! Sword my ass! Draw it and cut me then! Oh, how funny to get carved up—but ’fore you swing that blade, I’ll get a taste of your flesh first!”

After roaring, he turned his back to Jinjurou, dashed through the garden, scrambled onto the veranda, burst into the tatami room, grabbed the matchlock gun from the alcove, rushed back out, planted himself on the veranda, and took aim. “In the mountains of Chichibu, bears and wolves—with winter steadily approaching—roam about growling, their bellies empty. Aim true and shoot ’em dead—if it’s a bear, rip open its chest, take the liver, skin it and lay the pelt underfoot! That’s the rightful privilege of us Chichibu itinerant performers. This matchlock don’t miss! Come at me, you bastard! Charge in and cut me down! I ain’t Jūrokurō, but take two bullets to the chest and vomit blood—you’ll croak before that happens! Come at me—!” he roared, and even as he roared, his practiced hands moved swiftly—he had already lit the matchlock’s fuse.

“Wait, wait, old man!” Panicked, Jinjurou’s courage failed him as he retreated to the very edge of the hedge. “You’re too hasty! Wait! …A matchlock… Hmm—this one’s no match…” Surely he wouldn’t actually shoot—it must be a bluff. But even so, it was unnerving. Looking closer, it wasn’t just a bluff—Benzo’s eyes glaring at him blazed with hatred, fury, and hostility like fire. A chill ran through him. (He’d heard it from Otsuma before—that Bentarō, the man he’d mercilessly cut down at her request in the woods near Ochanomizu long ago, was none other than the lost son of old Benzo, that Chichibu itinerant performer and ointment peddler! Ah—so this Benzo was the father of Bentarō, whom I killed… Though he likely doesn’t know I’m the killer—such are the mysterious workings of parent-child blood—countless things exist in this world where a deep-seated hatred toward me might well have surged within old Benzo’s heart. If that’s true—he’ll really shoot!) A chill ran through him.

A chill ran through him.

There, he finally retreated, backing step by step toward the small gate,

“Understood! Fine—there’s no one in the back room! Not even a dog! “Alright, I get it! Exactly—exactly!” “Who could possibly be there?! There’s no one—no one! …If there were—!” “If they were there, it’d be bad… but that’s fine—they’re not there—they’re not!” “...So I’m leaving! Don’t shoot—don’t shoot!” “Hah! What’s a matchlock… Terrifying? A bit frightening, but… You fool!” he barked. But by that time, he had already fled out to the village path.

Sacrificial Woman

1

It was the very same day.—

In Takahagi Village, the house of Inoshimatsu, the boss of gamblers, was bustling. The house was bustling with activity—for they were hosting a lavish banquet in honor of Lord Inoue Kamon, the horse magnate. Though he was a gambler, Inoshimatsu—being a syndicate boss—lived in an imposing residence that could rightly be called a mansion, complete with two storehouses, a detached guest room, and a back garden resembling those of first-class tea houses with their artful design. Earthen walls encircled the estate, and even Lord Jihē, the village headman, had praised it as splendid. Inoshimatsu’s secret wealth was also famously abundant, and this was because he had a financial backer; many people speculated that this backer was Lord Inoue Kamon, and these rumors were not mere speculation but indeed aligned with the truth.

Inoshimatsu was a man who—unlike a gambler—possessed refined character, a dignified and composed demeanor, and an almost lordly air. While this made him somewhat ostentatious and grating at times, his calm bearing and adherence to proper etiquette meant he could stand before nobility without shame. It was this quality that allowed him to naturally mingle with high society, earning the patronage and favor of wealthy magnates like Lord Inoue Kamon.

Since they were hosting Lord Inoue Kamon—their financial backer—the extravagance was no ordinary affair. From Ageo Post Station, they summoned several quick-witted tea house women to serve food and drink; from the village, they brought girls who had shed their rustic charm—the fairest of the village maidens—to attend the banquet. They also called Tokiwazu female performers from Ageo and, through insistent requests, secured about three beautiful onnagata youths—male actors specializing in female roles—from an Edo theater troupe lodging at the same post station, arranging for them to perform dances.

Even if one were to say country food was inedible—though Ageo too was rural, being somewhat more urban than Takahagi Village—they had procured all provisions from Ageo. Not to mention his sworn brothers, dozens of key followers took turns attending him, receiving the honor of partaking in Lord Kamon’s ceremonial sake flow and accepting cups from his hand. Kamon had arrived in the afternoon, and now night had fallen—yet he showed no sign of leaving, nor did anyone urge him to depart. The banquet in the inner tatami room seethed with fervent activity. Two tall lanterns flanked the gate, their bases encircled by spread sand. The entrance—for Inoshimatsu’s house was no merchant’s latticed shopfront but a samurai-style residence with grand gate and formal entryway—remained ceaselessly busy with guests even after dark. Around back, the kitchen bustled more intensely still, thriving in splendid prosperity: two four-to barrels stood drained dry. The drinkers guzzled chilled sake without restraint between boasts, hurling bawdy jests at the harried serving women.

It was lively, flamboyant, and festive—a roaring, clamorous atmosphere.

The one who appeared at the kitchen entrance was Jinjurou, his face sullen. "Well, if it isn’t Master Mizushina! What brings you here so late?" The one who called out in this manner was Inoshimatsu’s top lieutenant—not the hapless Minekichi who had been fleeing from Naminosuke and others along the Ageo Highway—but Kuira Minekichi, a sumo wrestler turned henchman.

“Whether it’s late or early—this humble one cares not.” “Lively indeed. Splendid.” Having apparently been drinking elsewhere, Jinjurou was drunk, but with terribly fixed, bloodshot eyes glaring around him, he made no move to step up and instead plopped down heavily on the upper threshold—quite in the way—flung one leg up onto his knee, and picked at his front teeth with a toothpick.

2 (He’s in a foul mood—dangerous, dangerous.) The group, well aware of his volatile drunkenness, exchanged wary glances as if muttering dangerous, dangerous under their breath—but in such moments, there was no better recourse than to flatter their boss’s prized mistress, Otsuma. Thus, Otokichi Karakko—a nimble-footed henchman—stepped forward. “Lady Boss—well, ‘Lady’ was it?—we haven’t seen hide nor hair of ‘Her Ladyship,’ but what in blazes is she up to? At a time like this, we’d be ever so grateful if you’d have her grace us with her presence—looking all pretty and refined like she does—to lend a hand in the banquet hall and sprinkle some charm about. Why, Lord Kamon’d be over the moon, and the Boss’d be mighty pleased too, I tell ya.” “And from day till night, she hasn’t graced us with her presence even once… What in blazes is Her Ladyship…”

“Her Ladyship?” Jinjurou snorted derisively. “Who the hell are you talking about?!” He shot a sharp glare at Otokichi, “Her Ladyship—” he sneered, “—who the hell do you mean?!” “Who? That’s… Otsuma-san…” “Pillow spy! …You mean that wench?!” “Huh— What’d you say? She’s awful!”

Otokichi flinched and drew his head back.

Of course—starting with Otokichi—all the followers had long since concluded that Otsuma couldn’t possibly be an ordinary person. They had vaguely suspected her of being a pillow spy—a female swindler of that ilk—but hearing their boss, her lover Jinjurou, state it so blatantly now made them flinch despite themselves. "What are you saying, Master Mizushina?" "What do you mean ‘what’?! This ‘what’—what is this?! ……She’s a pillow spy because she’s a pillow spy—what’s wrong with saying that? A wretch who’ll slit her man’s throat sooner or later! Her Ladyship? That kind of woman?!"

“Whoa— That’s not right! What’re you sayin’, sir? If ‘Her Ladyship’ rubs you wrong, then ‘Her Ladyship the Mistress’…”

“Come out! You bastard! Step forward!” The bright lamplight flooding the kitchen flared momentarily—gathering into a single point that flashed. They saw the drawn blade gripped in Jinjurou’s right hand. With a clatter of footsteps, the women fled deeper into the house. Jinjurou abruptly erupted in an eerie laugh. “Sometimes called Seki no Magoroku! Sometimes Sanjō Kojirō! Sometimes Nami no Taira! This blade gets grand names depending on time and place—but its true nature’s just Echizen Naoasu steel. Second-rate work at best.” “But it cuts—when I wield it!” “Even a thousand-ri steed becomes useless as a packhorse if ridden by some brute who can’t handle reins!” “A famed blade turns worthless in a layman’s hands—the sword itself grows inept! But in a master’s grip?” “It cuts—oh, how it cuts clean through!” “Doubt me? I’ll carve proof into your flesh!” “Any of you worms—step forward!”

As he spoke, he glared around in all directions. Yamakegō no Gentarō, Nakaniida no Genpachi, Tamagawa no Gontarō, Minekichi—Inoshimatsu’s most formidable followers—had all gathered in perfect formation, but this was worse than a madman wielding a blade; here stood Jinjurou in drunken fury, swinging a naked sword. They hunched their necks and thrust out their buttocks like scallop shells, edging backward while holding their breath and widening their eyes—poised to flee like common cutthroats at the slightest provocation, they maintained defensive stances.

3 “Ahahaha!” Jinjurou let out another eerie laugh. “The cutter exists elsewhere—you won’t be cut. Rest assured… Find Shigisawa Shuidō and strike him down in a single counterblow! Drag out that woman Otsuma and finish them both with two strikes! …This Echizen Naoasu blade hasn’t tasted blood in ages—soon I’ll let it drink its fill!” Staring fixedly at the viscous blade glistening in the lamplight, he muttered—

“Do you lot understand a man’s heart? The heart of a man who has an enemy—one bent on killing him—hounding him relentlessly?” He turned back toward his followers.

“Right away,” came the reply from Kuira Minekichi. “That must be quite eerie and unpleasant for you, sir.” “I run around trying not to be killed. “Disgusting… Absolutely disgusting!” “That must be quite unpleasant indeed, sir.” “But on one hand, it’s exhilarating.” “…………”

“Attack, brat! Find him and attack! But I’ll run and run—never let you strike me down. …This resolve to keep fleeing—how exhilarating, how exhilarating!”

“Is that truly how it is?”

“That said—what a loathsome feeling. The attacker’s mind is wholly committed, staking their life on the assault. The defender clings to survival, scurrying about to escape. Their mental states differ entirely. The attacker needs no caution—they’re consumed by striking! The defender lives in constant wariness... Stay vigilant, stay vigilant—yet humans grow careless! Openings appear! That’s when you’re targeted and cut down! This terror—how detestable it is!”

“Yes, that must indeed be the case.” Suddenly standing up, Jinjurou positioned his sword at middle stance with a forceful motion, drew both elbows in and lowered his shoulders— “Until now—that was me! “The one being struck down! The one fleeing in circles! Until now—that was me!” “In swordsmanship terms—this stance!” “...But I’ve transformed completely!” As he strained his voice with grave intensity, he abruptly raised his sword to the high overhead stance. “High overhead stance—the posture of aggression!” “Starting today, I face them head-on!” “I’ll seek out the enemy myself and strike them down in counterblows!” “Yet you’re all so spineless!” “You know full well in your hearts that Shigisawa Shuidō hunts me—yet you don’t so much as hint at it!” “Isn’t that right?!” “Isn’t that right?!”

With his sword raised to the high overhead stance, Jinjurou shouted hatefully. The followers exchanged glances.

That was indeed the case. Some days prior on the Ageo highway, when their boss had been challenged by Akabane Rinzō and engaged in a live-blade duel without retreating, Shigisawa Shuidō and his sister—a girl named Sumie—had sworn vengeance for their parent's death and attacked Mizushina Jinjurou. Neither striking nor being struck down, the warrior Shuidō had disappeared, while the girl Sumie had been carried off somewhere by horse dealers. From Hachigorō—who had been at that carnage alongside their boss—the followers had heard this account in detail and knew these circumstances. Not only that, but since that day, Jinjurou—who until then had frequented this house nearly daily to teach swordsmanship to his subordinates or lounge about—had scarcely shown his face. Moreover, by rumor's account, he no longer dwelled in the home he had occupied until then—Otsuma's family house on the village outskirts—and rarely visited it at all, living in constant dread of being tracked down by the Shuidō siblings. This too they had heard and come to understand.

4 And yet, despite knowing this, they showed not the slightest hint of whether they were aware or unaware of the fact. The reason lay in the gravity of the matter itself—for given those circumstances, to say something like "We'll stand by you, so let's hunt down the Shuidō siblings and finish them off in a counterblow" would have been absurd when Jinjurou's swordsmanship was so overwhelmingly superior. Moreover, suggesting he should let himself be deftly struck down by the Shuidō siblings was even less justifiable—which is why they had remained silent.

And the followers exchanged glances. Suddenly Jinjurou—who had been holding his sword aloft, its blade glinting in the lamplight—let it droop limply. His gaze abruptly turned suspicious and desolate—or rather, became that of a man unable to endure his terror—as he peered restlessly about. He scrutinized each follower’s face in turn, as if suspecting Shuidō might be hiding among them there by the kitchen hearth. “Suspicion!” “This is what’s intolerable!” “Your timidity breeds this!” “…And this—” He resumed the middle stance with his sword. “—is what becomes of defense! When you take this defensive posture—this posture—your life remains unprotected!” “Worse still—when you grow timid in defense—” His shoulders shook with mirthless laughter. “Heh heh heh—even your mistress will scorn and betray you!” “…This—” He raised his blade to the high overhead position once more. “—is aggressive offense!”

“Only by taking the offensive can you finally protect yourself—that’s how it works! “…Sake!” “Give me!” “A chilled cup!” Smoothly sheathing his sword, he thrust out one hand abruptly, but then swiftly pulled it back and stepped lightly over the threshold. “If we’re drinking, let’s do it properly in the inner rooms.” “In the presence of Lord Horse Tycoon.” “A cheerful and bright tatami room, I tell you.” “I haven’t paid my respects to the boss in some time.” “I must apologize for this intrusion... Out of my way! You’re blocking me!”

With a lanky sway, he parted through the followers and walked toward the back.

After seeing him off, the followers remained silent for a while.

Suddenly, Kuira Minekichi—

"I wonder what happened to that Hachigorō fellow," he said, steering the conversation in an unrelated direction. If they carelessly overheard Jinjurou’s backbiting and he were to catch them eavesdropping, it would spell disaster—he might start swinging his drawn blade again. It was out of a desperate mindset of Don’t interfere, don’t interfere that he had steered the conversation in an unrelated direction.

The group exhaled with a sigh of relief. “Just earlier, he popped his face out, boasting something fierce about bringing a splendid offering that’d please both Lord Horse Tycoon and our boss, then went dashing off in high spirits—but hasn’t shown hide nor hair since.” “What on earth does he plan to bring?”

It was Genpachi who had said this. "Since the Ageo highway incident, that guy's been failing our boss something fierce—got so discouraged he couldn't stay put. But seems he's been scheming this'n'that to make up for it."

It was Gontarō who said this. “Since that guy was our top enforcer, even if the boss said not to interfere—not that he’d care—he’d have sliced that Rinzō bastard from behind with one clean strike. If he’d silenced his breath right then, it’d have been a hell of a feat. But instead, he went and hauled off some woman they say’s that Shuidō samurai’s sister, taggin’ along with horse traders or whatnot. What kinda half-assed approach is that?”

Kuira Minekichi said bitterly.

But just then, from the direction of the entrance, five or six voices boomed energetically—

“Offering! Offering! An offering!” came the boisterously chanted voices, so the group fell silent and pricked up their ears. Not only the followers in the kitchen area but also those hosting the banquet in the inner room to welcome the horse tycoon pricked up their ears just the same at this boisterous chanting.

5

The fifty-mat room held countless candlesticks arrayed in rows, their flames reflecting off golden screens standing in every corner—a dazzling, resplendent sight. At the front of this room, before an alcove hung with vividly colored Tosa-school pair of scrolls depicting Sagano, sat a gigantic man of sixty years: Inoue Kamon, the Horse Tycoon. His salt-and-pepper hair was cropped short and curled into whirls around his shoulders. His sunburned, ruddy complexion—intensified by alcohol to the hue of a ripe persimmon—featured thick eyebrows that drooped heavily; eyes large and double-lidded, their murky gaze ceaselessly scanning all directions; a nose thick, flat, and ridged; lips beardless, large and purplish, revealing only the left canine tooth even when closed; a chin that slumped bluntly into two folds; and ears so thick, large, and pendulous they nearly reached that chin. Though his height exceeded that of ordinary men, his obesity was even more pronounced—likely weighing around ninety kilograms—and while he wore a black habutae crested kimono with Sendai-hira hakama trousers, giving him an otherwise ordinary appearance, his belly swelled drum-like and jutted aggressively forward, rendering his figure graceless and grotesque. He leaned one elbow on the armrest, his arm from wrist to fingertips covered in bear-like hair.

He could be described as akin to a toad, or perhaps even compared to the Shuten-dōji of legend as portrayed in painted scrolls.

Seated to Kamon’s left and right were over a dozen syndicate bosses—Inoshimatsu’s sworn brothers invited for the occasion: the sake brewer of Ryōke; Gon’emon of Matsugishi; Kojūrō of Shirazu; Shichikurō of Chichibu; and others. Facing them sat Inoshimatsu of Takahagi in his role as host, issuing directives while maintaining formal posture. Behind him waited five or six key associates positioned with propriety, among whom Mizushina Jinjurou now demurely kept his place. The Tokiwazu master’s shamisen performance had concluded, the young actors’ dance had ended, and the guests had eaten their fill of delicacies and drunk their fill of sake—yet even as the gathering drifted in a dazed, euphoric haze, hostess maidens and serving women bustled about with sake decanters to press more drink upon them. Voices refusing, urging, teasing, laughing—the boisterous uproar showed no sign of subsiding.

Thus, it was settled that they would drink through the night, with Lord Kamon staying over. "The Final Horse Market approaches in ten days' time. We'll meet again in Fukushima of Kiso then—but that mountain town can't prepare proper feasts. As for women...they call them 'Kiso Beauties,' but thick necks, stout calves, rough skin—dreadful things! Compared to the fair ones here, matching them would be like coupling the moon with a turtle." "But pray endure it! When that time comes, I'll play host—we'll drink until thoroughly sated!" "Truly tonight's hospitality surpasses measure. At a loss for words to express gratitude—Lord Kamon's grand satisfaction brings this Inoshimatsu deepest joy."

Inoshimatsu smirked with one side of his mouth. “Ah, but Kanto women have rough skin and wild tempers—they’re like headstrong mares with too many vices! Now Kiso Beauties...they’ve been renowned since antiquity. Why, even legendary ladies like Tomoe Gozen and Yamabuki Gozen hailed from those parts.” "When you grace us at the Final Horse Market, I’ll personally see to it you receive hospitality from such peerless beauties..."

Here, Inoshimatsu smiled.

6

Inoshimatsu continued to smile as he said, “So tonight, I shall take charge—if any of the women here catch your fancy, hahaha, I’ll arrange it for you.” “Hahaha! My, my—such repeated kindness! Since you grant such permission, I, Kamon, shall rejuvenate myself tonight and...” Just then came a voice from the entrance chanting, “Offering! Offering! It’s an offering!” (What could it be?)

Just as Inoshimatsu and all present at the gathering turned their heads toward the entrance with puzzled expressions, Hachigorō—leading four horse traders who were none other than those from Takahagi Village that had previously gone to welcome the horse tycoon Inoue Kamon—entered with great fanfare. The group carried on their shoulders a rectangular box of unvarnished wood measuring approximately six shaku in length and three in width, boldly inscribed with "Offering" and even adorned with ceremonial paper strips. “Isn’t that Hachigorō?! You fool, can’t you see Lord Kamon is here!” “What the... What’s that strange box?!”

Inoshimatsu shouted in surprise, his voice scolding. Hachigorō paid no heed to this, directing the horse traders to place the large box between Inoshimatsu and Kamon before sitting down neatly beside it himself. “Now, this is an offering from Kiso’s esteemed Horse Tycoon, Lord Inoue Kamon, which I humbly present to you." "I am called Hachigorō and am a member of Inoshimatsu's inner circle." “Though I am but a clumsy fool, I beg you to kindly acknowledge this unworthy one. [...] Now then, Lord Kamon—for you to have graciously journeyed all the way from Kiso to this Takabagi Village in Bushū Province, and even granted audience to those of our lowly station—we consider this the utmost honor.” "So I too humbly devised various ideas for a souvenir, but given this backwoods countryside, there’s nothing particularly rare or refined to offer." “And as for foodstuffs or delicacies—truly nothing rare could be found here—after much deliberation, I resolved to follow the wisdom of those offering boxes said to have flourished during the An’ei era under Lord Tanuma Oribenokami’s reign, which I hear remain fashionable even now in Edo. Thus, I humbly present this Hachigorō-crafted offering box.” “I humbly beseech you to accept this offering.” “…And now, Boss—if *you* were to take off this lid and see what’s inside, I reckon you’d clap me on the back and say, ‘Hachigorō here’s done something splendid! A real feat!’ But enough preamble—let the unveiling begin! C’mon now, you all—lend a hand!” As Hachigorō rattled on, he glanced back at the horse traders who’d been sitting stiffly behind him with knees primly aligned, then sprang to his feet in one swift motion.

“Unveiling! Unveiling!” they chanted boisterously as the four horse traders stood up and first untied from the box the cord fashioned like a ceremonial paper binding. “Are you prepared? I shall now remove the lid.” “Heave-ho!” Hachigorō called out.

“Heave-ho!” the horse traders responded in unison. And with that, the lid was abruptly removed.

7 A Kyoto doll had been placed inside. Inside lay a lifelike doll—a life-sized young woman with her hair styled in an elaborate bun and dressed in a long-sleeved kimono. The doll's eyelids twitched; it opened its eyes and stared fixedly up at the ceiling, then quietly closed them again. It was not a doll but a living human—and that human was Sumie. A high, rounded forehead reminiscent of Mount Fuji; Jizō-statue eyebrows—thick and straight; eyelashes so thick one might suspect they’d been inked; almond-shaped eyes closed over tinted lower lids; an imposingly long nose—though pallid and haggard, it retained a maidenly beauty. This face—now muzzled by a kōgai gag—had its mouth concealed.

The brilliant light of the candelabra shone from all sides into the box, making such a face stand out—its beauty was unparalleled. An eerie silence pervaded the gathering. None spoke as they exchanged glances, remaining utterly still. The boorish Hachigorō blurted out: “That day on Ageo Highway when Boss and Akabane Rinzō were ’bout to duel with live steel—why Master Mizushina! You’re here! Perfect witness you are!—this young samurai and the girl charged at Master Mizushina here, yammerin’ ’bout him killin’ their pa or some such.” “Right then me an’ these horse traders grabbed our chance—snatched just the girl an’ brought ’er to my place.” “So I got thinkin’—damn! This Edo girl’s somethin’ special... Pretty face, classy airs... That’s when I figured—why not gift ’er to Lord Kamon here?...”

Kamon, who had been leaning forward with his neck craned to peer into the box at the woman, narrowed his elephant-like eyes, parted his thick lips wide, and let out a laugh brimming with satisfaction and delight through his large yellow teeth. “Heh, heh, heh... Hachigorō or whatever your name is—Kamon is thoroughly satisfied... Heh, heh, heh... Thoroughly satisfied! Well now, this is truly... absolutely splendid! The finest gift one could ask for! Kamon accepts it with the greatest pleasure!...”

8

Night had deepened.

In the backyard stood a separate structure—the detached guest house of Inoshimatsu’s residence—thickly surrounded by shrubbery and standing darkly silent. The roof tiles glistened faintly like water under a late-rising moon. Several shadowy figures moved around the building. For fear that some mishap might befall the horse tycoon Kamon after he had retired to his chambers, Inoshimatsu’s foster sons stood watch with practiced discretion.

In the pond, ducks occasionally flapped their wings, and in the shadows of the shrubbery, a drowsy night bird let out startled cries from time to time. But it was quiet and still. In the main house as well, most guests had left, and those who remained lay slumped in drunkenness, perhaps having fallen asleep, leaving everything quiet.

A room inside the detached guest house.—Folding screens stood arranged around its perimeter. A candlestick stood there, its wick trimmed to a slender flame that cast a dim glow over the room. Within the screen enclosure lay Sumie—the sacrificial woman extracted from the box—her head and neck freed from the quilt and illuminated by lamplight. Beside her sat Kamon. What turmoil must have raged in Sumie's heart? She who was bound to wed Shuidō—her sworn brother, lover, and betrothed—to whom she must devote both body and soul! Until that union, her virgin form must remain unsullied and pure! To be defiled now—by Kamon! Kamon! A mere horse-trading magnate from Kiso's mountain wilds!

If I were to lose my virginity now, I could never face Shuidō again. We would never become husband and wife for all eternity. Even our triumphant revenge would scatter and vanish in that very instant. What must Sumie have been feeling?

Time ticked inexorably onward. Then suddenly, a gleaming blade thrust through from above the folding screen. Though startled, Kamon boldly raised his eyes upward. A masked face glared down from atop the screen, fixed intently in their direction. "Villain!" Crash!

The folding screen was knocked over.

9

Paying no heed to Kamon dashing toward the alcove where his pillow sword lay, the masked warrior—his informal kimono’s hem hitched up to expose his shins, a tasuki sash across his shoulders, sleeves rolled back—abruptly hoisted Sumie under his arm. “There’s a villain here! Intercept him!” shouted Kamon as he charged in. Casually knocking aside the sword, “Heh—” He seemed to have laughed— Thwack! Another slash! The gleaming blade swung! “Gah!” Kamon collapsed—for while delivering a ridge strike, the masked figure of fearsome skill had struck his vital neck—and pitched forward to crawl about.

Abandoning him [Kamon], he kicked open sliding doors and leapt into an adjacent room; passing through it and ripping off storm shutters before jumping down into the garden—they aimed…

“Bastard!” “An intruder!” From both sides, Inoshimatsu’s two foster sons standing guard came slashing with their long wakizashi—Seiya! Dashing through, turning back, as they chased after him— Grunt! Thrust! “Agh!” Beast! A beast to be slaughtered! The first screamed and collapsed like a beast; then, with a grand diagonal slash from the shoulder, [the masked warrior] struck down the other who had lost his nerve and tried to flee. “Agh!”

This one too turned beast and perished; though night veiled the blood mist, a metallic stench surged up—! But already by then, the masked warrior had plunged into the shrubbery—and within those thickets five foster sons of the guard were massed together,

“Thief!” “Don’t let him escape!” And then—bamboo spears, long daggers! But in the blink of an eye, spears and swords were knocked aside and sliced through, followed by screams and the thuds of collapsing bodies! Having broken through that point, the masked warrior was seen running toward the earthen wall; when he reached its base, there too were guard foster sons. Not only did they swarm in from all directions to attack, but at these noises and shouts, the people in the main house seemed to have noticed as well—throwing open storm shutters, five, ten, twenty people—no, even more—pouring out and streaming forth, swinging lanterns and torches to illuminate their prey. In that fiery light, they brandished spears, matchlock guns, even half-bows—snapping them taut, whirling them about to take aim—and even these very figures were cast aglow by their own flames.

However, by this time, the masked warrior had long since scaled the earthen wall, left Takahagi Village behind toward the wild fields, pale moonlight upon his shoulders, parting mist that swirled across the plains, kicking through dewy dayflowers clinging to his feet, Sumie cradled tenderly under his arm, his sword already sheathed—he ran with single-minded purpose.

That warrior was Mizushina Jinjurou.

About ten days had passed since then.

Jinjurou and Sumie, having attired themselves in traveling garb and presenting from outward appearances as either a married couple on good terms or else siblings with an amiable bond—or something along those lines—were proceeding along the Kiso Highway.

The early autumn beauty of the Kiso Highway showed bush clover blooming wildly, persimmon fruits ripening to color, and migratory birds flocking together while crying out overhead. Torn clouds drifted across clear azure skies, their shadows occasionally grazing the sun before falling upon the road where village horses and palanquin bearers kicked up light dust clouds that cast shifting patterns of shade across the thoroughfare. “Lady Sumie, are you weary?” Jinjurou asked this in a gentle voice full of feigned concern.

“No,” answered Sumie from beneath her woven sedge hat, her voice just as gentle.

Travelers of Divided Hearts

1 “If you are fatigued, we shall hire a palanquin.” From beneath his woven sedge hat, Jinjurou repeated his words insistently. His voice remained thoroughly gentle. “What need for reserve? Should weariness take me, I myself would urgently entreat you to hire a palanquin or horse... Yet it appears to me that you, my lord who speaks thus, show greater signs of fatigue.” “Pray spare no courtesy—take horse or palanquin yourself whenever you wish—ho, ho, ho.”

Sumie said teasingly. “Ha, ha, ha! What an absurd notion! When it comes to this humble one, even were I to run ten or twenty ri like the swift-footed Idaten himself, these legs would not falter in the slightest. “…You may force yourself to walk as a woman, but once we reach the inn—even if you fuss with tearful complaints of ‘Oh, a massage!’ or ‘Oh, moxibustion!’—this humble one shall pay you no mind whatsoever.” “As for you, my lord, even should you arrive at the inn and voice complaints of sore ankles or stiff shoulders, I shall pay them no mind.” “Ho, ho, ho,” she laughed brightly. Jinjurou too laughed brightly.

Jinjurou also laughed brightly.

What in the world was this! That these two sworn enemies could continue their journey so intimately, so cheerfully, so lightheartedly—what was this?

There were profound circumstances behind this.

That night at Inoshimatsu’s residence, Sumie had been on the verge of having her chastity violated by Inoue Kamon. Jinjurou had thrown himself into danger, disregarding even the debt of having been sheltered and supported by Inoshimatsu’s faction. He cut down several of Inoshimatsu’s foster sons, rescued her to flee far away, concealed her at a farmhouse, and allowed her to live peacefully until this day. Throughout that entire period, Jinjurou had not once resorted to lewd words or lewd conduct toward her. Of course, Jinjurou was her father’s enemy—a man she had to slay in vengeance—and yet, half the reason he had killed her father lay in the fact that she had rejected his affections, and that her father and Shuidō had spurned him; though by nature a villain, he had never once committed any wrongdoing against her. Moreover, the man who had now protected both her life and chastity—under these circumstances, her body’s purity belonged unquestionably to her betrothed Shuidō alone; she must never offer it to any other man, and she herself was resolutely determined never to do so. This much she had made unequivocally clear to Jinjurou through both words and actions. Yet beyond this single matter, she found herself compelled to treat Jinjurou with kindness, loyalty, and diligent devotion. While avenging her adoptive father aligned with the obligations of bushido, she felt an equal duty of human compassion toward the man who had saved her life—and her virtue. Thus, ever since that night, Sumie had maintained this conduct; even if Shuidō and Jinjurou were to cross paths and cross blades in vengeance, she harbored in her heart the conviction that she could not bring herself to oppose Jinjurou.

As for Jinjurou's state of mind,

“This pure and immaculate white pearl—I won’t let anyone defile it!”

He had remained fixated on this single point. One reason he had killed Shigisawa Shōemon was that his romantic feelings toward Sumie had been obstructed. The very reason he had become someone with enemies—Sumie being that reason—was that Sumie was Jinjurou’s lover. So how could he idly stand by and watch as someone like Kamon, leader of horse handlers, attempted to defile that very Sumie! Thus he had seized her and fled, taken refuge at a farmer acquaintance’s home where they had lived together until now. During this time, he came to realize anew that within Sumie’s feminine gentleness lay the unyielding resolve of a woman of fortitude—a resolve she held steadfastly. As his affection grew, so too did respect take root within him, until he even began to think: How could he possibly fulfill his desires through violence?

2

(To Sumie, I am—no matter how you put it—the enemy of her adoptive father. What does she think about that?) This had to be the matter of greatest concern for Jinjurou, and so he constantly paid attention, trying to discern Sumie’s heart. Yet Sumie never attempted to broach that matter.

Jinjurou also did not broach the matter. Indeed, though neither had ever attempted to address that matter between them, Jinjurou knew full well that Sumie’s character made it unthinkable she would resort to such base conduct as exploiting his carelessness to slit his throat in his sleep—a realization that allowed him reassurance on that score. At the same time, he could not help being seized by compassionate sympathy when considering how she must be torn between duty and human feeling, trapped in this agonizing mental predicament through having been saved by himself—the very man who had slain her adoptive father.

(What were Sumie’s true feelings toward Shuidō?) This too weighed gravely on Jinjurou’s mind. (Of course Sumie must harbor deep affection for Shuidō in her heart!) This thought kindled smoldering jealousy within him, (Sumie defies me because Shuidō lives!) Such loathing toward Shuidō drove Jinjurou nearly to madness, propelling him into frenzied agitation. At times he would turn to Sumie and venture to speak of Shuidō.

Sumie would invariably steer the conversation elsewhere each time, offering no response whatsoever. For Jinjurou, this left him unsatisfied and fretted inwardly, yet even so, this state remained preferable—for were Sumie to declare outright through her words, daily conduct, or gestures that she longed for Shuidō, Jinjurou’s violent nature might erupt in that very instant, driving him to commit reckless havoc. In any case, Jinjurou had come to think this way.

(To ensure the eternal safety of his own life, he had no choice but to eliminate Shuidō.) Jinjurou, who had resolved some time ago to seek out Shuidō himself and cut him down, had now deepened and strengthened that resolve all the more.

Where was that Shuidō? He had no idea at all. But he had noticed something. The Kiso horse market—the season's final horse market—would soon be held, and gamblers from Bushū and Kōshū would all be heading there. Inoshimatsu of Takahagi was sure to go as well. Now, since Shuidō knew I was staying with Inoshimatsu as a gambling den guard, he must be assuming I'd follow if Inoshimatsu went to Fukushima. To kill me, Shuidō would undoubtedly head there too. Alright! I'd use that—venture out, seize the moment, and cut him down first.

And then one day he said to Sumie: "It appears some of Inoshimatsu's foster sons have discovered that this humble one and you are hiding at this farmhouse—they've been prowling about here lately. Shall we not remove ourselves elsewhere?"

3 Thus did the two set out on their journey. Only after their departure did Jinjurou inform Sumie they were bound for Kiso. Yet he kept concealed that their true purpose in going to Kiso was to kill Shigisawa Shuidō.

“Whether it be Kiso or Ina, I will go anywhere.”

Thus Sumie calmly replied. Things could only turn out as they would. By divine will, as the current flows. That was because Sumie thought this way.

Moreover, she had no other choice but to think and act that way. But if Sumie were to learn that I myself was going to Kiso to kill Shuidō, she would hardly remain at peace. Jinjurou thought this, and without revealing it, he casually led Sumie out on their journey to Kiso. There were times when even he grew disgusted by his own wicked feelings, *I'm evil! Evil!* he would even mutter under his breath, driven by self-loathing.

By contrast, regarding Sumie, he could not help but feel profound pity and compassion for having led her—unaware as she was—on this cruel journey to ambush Shuidō, who was her sworn brother, lover, and betrothed. A journey of two hearts bound in utmost complexity!

However, on the surface, both of them laughed cheerfully and spoke cheerfully as they continued lodging at inns along their way.

Now, they arrived at Oiwake lodging.

The post town of Oiwake lay at the foothills of Mount Asama, whose four peaks spewed smoke throughout the seasons—a lodging station designated for daimyo processions during sankin-kotai. Lords from Hokuriku, Saigoku, and Kyushu domains all inevitably passed through this bustling land. Here stood imposing inns like Aburaya and Kakuyu that doubled as brothels, sightseeing spots featuring masugata fortifications, and historical sites bearing stone windmills and unfinished monuments left by forgotten hands. If one followed the highway in one direction, there was a checkpoint celebrated in folk ballads; if one traced it the other way, there stood the old-fashioned station of Kutsukake.

At the inns were meal-serving courtesans; at the brothels were saboshi courtesans—such were the women of pleasure who resided there, "The retinue stretches haze-like," sang of the Lord of Kaga, When the million-koku daimyo of Kaga Kanazawa, Lord Maeda, passed through on sankin-kotai processions, his entourage would wind蜿蜒 for several ri until even its trailing members grew indistinct—yet he would invariably stay at this Oiwake post town. Whenever he lodged here, every last courtesan in the inns would be summoned to receive their gratuities. It was at this Kagi-ya inn in Oiwake that Jinjurou and Sumie stayed, "Stay with us! Stay with us! Cheap rates! Tasty meals! Fine bedding! Pretty maids! This inn's got it all!" clamored the voices of soliciting women who called to travelers and tugged at sleeves in that sparrow-gray dusk. They were led to a second-floor room facing the street.

Sumie removed her travel attire, relaxed a little, then slid open the shoji just a crack to gaze out at the bustling street below. Palanquins came and went while packhorses plodded past, an endless stream of travelers flowing through in unbroken succession. The jingle of bells and horse drivers' chants mingled with the haunting notes of a shakuhachi played by a wandering komusō monk. Then through the crowd came a young samurai wearing a deep sedge hat, his traveling clothes dusted with road grit. "Ah—!" The involuntary cry escaped Sumie's lips as she threw open the shoji panel wider and leaned out over the sill to peer at the passing warrior.

It was because the set of his shoulders and his gait resembled those of her lover Shuidō.

Just as she was trying to get a better look, an inn maid ran out and grabbed the samurai’s sleeve. A middle-aged woman—also wearing travel clothes and a woven sedge hat—had been walking alongside the samurai. She briskly stepped between them, pushed the inn maid aside, took the young samurai by one hand, and with a solicitous air marched resolutely forward. At that moment, the young samurai turned back and casually glanced toward the second floor where Sumie stood.

4 It was twilight, and within the shadow of his sedge hat, the samurai's face remained indistinct. (A woman accompanies him.) (It cannot be Lord Shuidō.) So it seemed to Sumie. That someone of Lord Shuidō's standing would travel to such a place with any woman but me—and with such careless ease—such a thing could never be. This was what she believed. Yet the undeniable truth remained: that samurai's bearing—so resembling Shuidō's—relentlessly pricked at Sumie's fervent heart where thoughts of him dwelled ceaselessly in its deepest recesses. Entranced still, she stood watching until long after their forms had vanished.

However, the samurai and woman pair blended into the travelers’ throng and soon vanished from sight. While drinking tea brought by a maid and keeping his travel journal, Jinjurou chose that moment to address Sumie.

“Lady Sumie, do have some tea.”

“Yes,” she replied, though her mind remained elsewhere. “Does the post town’s bustle trouble you as unusual?” “Yes,” she replied, though her mind remained elsewhere.

“What troubles you? You seem rather listless.” “…………” “As I thought—you must have grown weary.” “……” “You do not even offer a reply. Ah ha ha! ...That is precisely why this humble one suggested you should ride by horse or palanquin.”

“…………” “Shall we call for a masseur, perhaps?” “No… And yet… Lord Shuidō…”

She had inadvertently let the words slip out. “What?! Shuidō!” snarled Jinjurou, who until this moment had been addressing Sumie with gentle solicitude—his face calm, his words pleasant—but now abruptly flushed with bloodlust. Like a beast catching its enemy’s scent, he flared his three-white eyes into a glare of ferocious cruelty, concentrating all his hostility and predatory fury into their gaze. “Hmph, Shuidō! “……Hmph, Shuidō!” “So even at such travel inns along the road—you’ve been thinking of Shuidō in your heart, Lady Sumie?!” “Hmph… So that’s how it was? So that’s how it was!”

He shot a sharp glance toward the alcove. There lay the long and short swords. They were long and short swords that had already drunk the blood of several men and still remained unsated.

5

At a location several blocks away from Kagi-ya, there was an inn called Iwaya, and in one of its back rooms, Shuidō and Otsuma had taken lodging.

Shuidō had been secretly thinking about the woman who resembled Sumie—the one who had stood at the second-floor railing of an inn earlier. The night had grown quite late, and the boisterous voices of evening guests—the maids, clerks, and male staff—had now fallen silent, leaving only the soft murmur of a small waterfall cascading into the garden pond, and occasionally the voices of horse drivers crossing the mountain pass—

*“On Oiwake Aburaya’s hanging lantern—doesn’t it say ‘No Adultery Allowed’?”*

—were all that could be heard as they passed by singing such things.

In the corner of the room, spaced apart within two sets of laid-out bedding, both were already asleep. (I wonder if Otsuma has fallen asleep already?) He turned and looked. Otsuma lay with her chin buried in the quilt collar and eyes closed.

He turned his face and looked that way. With her chin buried in the collar of her bedding, Otsuma lay still with her eyes closed. Her high nose grew even more pronounced, her cheeks hollowed and flesh thinned, leaving her emaciated yet imbued with a ghastly allure. (She endured such hardship for my sake) Though the days from when they had become like a couple—though not quite husband and wife—sheltered at Benzo’s house until their departure on this journey to Kiso were few in number, Otsuma’s caution and care toward Shuidō—her efforts to avoid being discovered by Jinjurou or found by Inoshimatsu’s kin and underlings—were anything but ordinary.

That day—the day Otsuma first openly confessed her well-suited affections to Shuidō—Jinjurou had tailed them, discovered their house, and nearly forced his way inside, but upon being startled by Benzo’s gun, he fled. Recognizing the imminent danger, from then on Otsuma neither returned home nor met Jinjurou—let alone approached Inoshimatsu’s residence—instead concealing herself at Benzo’s house by Shuidō’s side without moving.

Thus both Otsuma and Shuidō remained unaware—unaware that on that night at Inoshimatsu’s place in Takahagi, Sumie had nearly had her chastity violated by the horse trader; unaware that Jinjurou had rescued Sumie, cut down several of Inoshimatsu’s underlings, and fled. However, from Benzo’s account alone, they had managed to learn that Inoshimatsu was heading to Kiso Fukushima with a large number of underlings, escorting the horse trader en route to Kiso’s final horse market of the season.

Otsuma told Shuidō about this. “Jinjurou guards the gambling dens—Inoshimatsu’s faction guards theirs too. “Since Inoshimatsu is heading to Kiso, Jinjurou will surely go there as well.”

Thus Otsuma added. “Then this humble one shall also go to Kiso…”

Shuidō declared with fervor that he would set out. “I shall accompany you as well.”

Thus, the two set out on their journey. (A woman who was, so to speak, half an enemy... Yet our connection was strange—how well she devoted herself to me.) While watching Otsuma’s sleeping face, he couldn’t help but think so. (Since the day she had so blatantly confessed her affections—when it became clear his heart would never waver and he would absolutely refuse her demands—Otsuma seemed to have learned her lesson, thereafter restraining any provocative words or actions toward him. She instead devoted herself with diligent kindness, almost like an elder sister mindful of their age difference. Yet reflecting on it now, he found her pitiable—someone who could not be treated carelessly...)

That was how it seemed to Shuidō. (Even so... that woman I saw earlier... she resembled Sumie... resembled Sumie...)

6 Even so, the notion that Sumie could be standing there forlornly all alone in such a place—at such an inn—was unimaginable. (If Otsuma hadn't shoved Tome aside, grabbed my hand so forcefully, and hurried us away at that time, I could've gotten a good look at that woman—could've known for certain whether she was Sumie or not.)

That he had been prevented from doing so was unbearably frustrating to Shuidō. (It must be Sumie after all!)

Suddenly, that thought came to Shuidō. (During the brawl on Kamigo Highway—he had heard—Sumie had belonged to Inoshimatsu’s faction, been carried off by horse drivers, and gone missing. Given her fierce temperament, had those horse drivers tried to disgrace her, she would have bitten her tongue and died first. If she still lived now, she must have remained a virgin—for not many days had passed since then—and likely stayed in that area trying to learn of his whereabouts. Thus she could imagine: Inoshimatsu heading to Kiso Fukushima’s final market with the horse trader; Jinjurou—who guarded Inoshimatsu’s gambling dens—also going there; and since Jinjurou would go, he himself would surely follow.) Therefore, her coming alone to such a place to meet him was not beyond possibility.

That was how it seemed to him.

(That inn must have been called Kagi-ya. The distance wasn't that great. I'll go see for myself.) An urgency so intense that neither arrow nor shield could withstand it seized Shuidō. (But what if Otsuma notices?) The very thought filled him with dread. (Since becoming these not-quite husband and wife in this unsatisfying arrangement, she's endured it all because I stopped speaking of Sumie since that day—never letting slip through word or deed that she still occupies my heart—simply accepting Otsuma's devoted care without protest. Were I careless enough to show I still love Sumie deeply, Otsuma would bare her true nature as that poisonous woman—harming me without hesitation! And should she learn Sumie's here? She'd hunt her down and torment her to death without mercy! She'd do at least that much.) This conviction gripped him.

(Before going to confirm Sumie’s presence, I must first verify whether Otsuma is truly asleep.) Shuidō quietly slipped out from the bedding, crawled on his knees toward Otsuma, and stretched his hand toward her nose. The regulated rhythm of Otsuma’s breathing brushed against Shuidō’s palm. She’s asleep—thank heavens.

He stood up and went toward where the clothes were.

The moment he did, “Where are you going?” a voice said.

Startled, Shuidō turned around.

Otsuma, who had opened her eyes, was half-emerged from the bedding while staring suspiciously at Shuidō’s face.

“N-no… Nowhere… The restroom… Just the restroom…”

“……” Otsuma nodded and closed her eyes.

And so, Shuidō left the room.

7

Although he had left the room and stood in the hallway, Shuidō was in his nightclothes; he could not slip out of the inn to walk the streets or reach Kagi-ya. Even if he could have gone, time would have passed; should he return later than required for his errand, Otsuma—who was already on constant guard against him slipping away—would grow anxious and come searching for him. Upon finding him gone, she would raise a commotion that might spark a confrontation. That would be disastrous.

Thereupon, Shuidō entered the restroom, soon emerged, returned to the room, and quietly slipped back into the bedding. Looking, Otsuma remained in the same position, seemingly asleep and at peace.

Still, Shuidō couldn’t stop being concerned about Sumie. (Alright, I’ll try once more.)

With his gaze still fixed on Otsuma, he stealthily slipped out of the bedding again. Otsuma was still asleep. He went toward where the clothes and both swords were placed. Fortunately, Otsuma did not wake up.

"(Thank goodness)," he murmured inwardly and was about to quickly change clothes when,

“Lord Shuidō, where are you going?” said Otsuma. She had been awake all along. With a look both wrathful and derisive—as if declaring “You may try to slip past this humble woman, but you’ll find no success”—Otsuma fixed her gaze unblinkingly upon Shuidō. “N-no... It’s nothing... Only... The cold—autumn nights in Shinshū bite so fiercely... I meant to layer more garments...”

Mumbling incoherently, flushed with embarrassment, disheartened, and resigned, Shuidō once again slipped back into the bedding. (It's no use anymore. I'll give up.)

Shuidō had resigned himself entirely. It was because he realized that with Otsuma—sharp-eyed even while feigning sleep—monitoring him like this, slipping out undetected would be utterly impossible.

(Alright alright, I’ll wake up early tomorrow morning and go to Kagi-ya under the pretext of taking a stroll.) Once he fixed on this plan, sleep suddenly overwhelmed him.

Shuidō soon fell into a deep sleep.

Instead, Otsuma had woken up completely and lay prone, lost in thought. Otsuma—who kept tobacco by her pillow even while sleeping—held the pipe between her lips and gazed through half-closed eyes at smoke drifting into the dim lamplight as she sank deep into contemplation. Until now, Shuidō had never once tried to outwit her and escape, as if he had fully resigned himself—so why tonight of all nights had he attempted to slip away twice! What did this mean?

No matter how she thought about it, she simply couldn’t make sense of it. (There must be some reason for this.) And yet—despite being this woman who called herself a female thief, pillow thief, swindler; one who could eavesdrop on others’ sleeping breaths, slip away undetected, steal possessions, even kill—Shuidō’s attitude of trying to outwit her and attempt to slip away (ignorant though he was of her nature) struck her as utterly comical. (He’s almost endearing.)

With the pipe still between her lips, Otsuma laughed and quietly glanced toward Shuidō. Shuidō lay peacefully facing the ceiling, his breathing steady and regular. He seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep.

The hour must have reached the hour of the ox. Inside and outside the mountain inn along the post road, all lay hushed and still. From a parlor two rooms away came the sound of snoring, while in the central courtyard—perhaps paulownia leaves stirred by early autumn’s night wind—something rustled down with lonesome cadence: basari, basari. These solitary noises alone caught the ear. The deep night at this highland lodging steeped itself in a desolation that would have pleased Master Bashō. (I’ve endured until today... I should proceed through proper means after all.)

Otsuma finally came to her senses.

Then, she threw down her pipe, turned her face toward the man, and rolled onto her side to sleep. At that moment, “Sumie!” Shuidō called out clearly, still asleep. “Sumie! “Sumie!” “Where are you?!” ……”

Otsuma’s head spun dizzily. (Damn!)

She jerked upright. (So he really was thinking about her! Damn it!) That woman! (Sumie...!) She fixed her eyes and glared at Shuidō’s sleeping face.

Shuidō was sleeping peacefully.

But was he perhaps dreaming of the woman he loved? His closed eyes twitched gently, and a smile played upon his closed lips.

8

Some time later, there was a woman leaving the outskirts of Oiwake-shuku, headed toward the fields.

A starry but moonless night, with a storm raging—its winds churning clouds that blotted out even the stars in their gloom! Along that night road, as if driven mad by something, she ran while muttering under her breath—no sooner had she started running than she stopped, and no sooner had she stopped than she ran again.

That woman was none other than Otsuma. Even in sleep, Shuidō could not forget his beloved Sumie—her name spilling from his lips in delirium. Knowing this truth of his heart, Otsuma nearly went mad with rage, disappointment, and jealousy; a murderous impulse arose—"What will you do about this?!"—but being a worldly woman seasoned by age and experience, she steadied herself. Determined to let the night wind cool her burning, throbbing head, she—a practiced female swindler—effortlessly slipped out of the inn undetected. And so she now walked.

Now, as Otsuma walked through the chilling highland winds of an autumn night, her heart found no peace—for the problem at hand was no ordinary problem. (Maybe I should set fire to the inn!) (Should I go kill someone?!) She even found herself thinking such things. Turning away from the highway and scattering the dew from the grass, Otsuma walked toward the fields.

Then from behind along the highway came an endless procession of horses bound for Kiso’s year-end horse market, shepherded by horse traders through the night. The lanterns they carried lit their path like scattered stars—a rare and beautiful sight. “Though autumn’s come and deer now cry, Why do crimson leaves refuse their dye?” “Surplus rice—how pitiful! Mino and Owari’s tear-drenched harvests full.”

The voices singing those horse handlers’ songs could be heard at a leisurely pace.

However, to Otsuma, such a sight was neither rare nor beautiful. And so she walked on in a daze.

It was around this time that Jinjurou, under the same state of mind, left the inn and came out toward the fields. Sumie thinking of Shuidō! Sumie who had spoken those words! He had seen that Sumie in the evening. You! What will you do about this?! At that very moment, Jinjurou tried to cut Sumie down with a single stroke. But he had barely managed to suppress it.

Now, when night came, the two went to bed.

Sumie slept in one corner of the room, Jinjurou in another.—Just as they had done until now, that night too the two slept in such a manner. But Jinjurou could not sleep. Anger, disappointment, and jealousy stirred his heart into a frenzy, set his head ablaze, and refused to grant him peaceful sleep. Looking over, Sumie too seemed unable to sleep—and indeed seemed gripped by terror—as she lay there bundled deep in the bedding, showing the slender nape of her neck toward him, sighing and trembling and squirming beneath the covers.

(In one decisive act…)

This thought surfaced again, but finding it both wretched and pitiable, he could not bring himself to act on it. (I’ll go get some night air.)

And so, he stealthily slipped out of the inn.

9

Jinjurou walked through dew-laden grass that clung to his feet, trampling it underfoot. A procession of horses passed along the highway. Avoiding them, he made his way through the grassy field. (If I slash someone down—anyone—this mind of mine might find some peace.) The thought drifted through him like smoke. (If only some wandering woman would come this way...) These savage impulses flickered like fireflies in his heart. Then—as though answering his desperate wish—a woman appeared ahead. Her stylish silhouette staggered under starlight, now running, now halting, lurching closer in disarray.

In that instant, Jinjurou thought: Got her! (Inn woman or traveler—it didn’t matter. The misfortune was hers for coming here!) ...)

He quickly hid in the shadow of a tree. Unaware of this—or perhaps indifferent—the woman attempted to pass by with a staggering gait. Jinjurou suddenly leaped out and, without a word, from behind...

“Ah!” The suddenness made the woman cry out in surprise, but... In the next instant, the two burst apart to the left and right. “You’re Otsuma!” “Mr. Jinjurou?!” Otsuma fled swiftly. “Stop!” He drew his sword and gave chase.

He had become a couple in name only with Sumie and set out on a journey from their shared residence. After that, Otsuma had almost entirely vanished from Jinjurou’s thoughts.

However, under such unexpected circumstances, he collided with the wretched Otsuma.

Highland Frenzy

1 She fell, “Murderer—!”

But she sprang back up, “Someone help—!” she cried and broke into a run. Still chasing after Otsuma—so flustered he had failed to land his strike—ashamed, utterly ashamed of himself, “You think I’ll let you flee?!” “Drop dead, you viper! You poisonous witch!” Jinjurou relentlessly pursued.

Falling and rising, evading blades, Otsuma ran and ran until she finally reached the highway.

Horses, horse traders, lanterns, torches—a procession bound for the horse market filled the highway as it passed through. Otsuma, the female street performer who rushed into their midst, “Help—! Good people, help!”

“What’s going on? What’s going on?” “I’m a young woman!” The horse traders erupted into an uproar. “The madman tried to take me captive… tried to kill me—and there he comes now!” In that instant, Jinjurou leaped in— “Don’t you dare run, you poisonous woman! You think I’d let you escape?!” the man trying to slash at him, “Save the woman!” “Kill the madman!” “There! Knock the drawn blade from his hand!” Swarming from all directions to deliberately encircle him, brandishing sticks and whips, the horse traders launched their attack on Jinjurou.

“You horse traders! What do you know to interfere? Reckless fools!”

Brandished sword!

A head flew off! "Agh—!" “He’s down!” “He’s our comrades’ enemy!” “Don’t let him escape!” “Take him down!” “You lunatic! You thief!” Ten, twenty, thirty men! They swarmed in, a seething mass. Stampeding horses! Lanterns and torches burning on the ground—WHOOSH—a pillar of flame erupted! Screams gave way to roars and bellows! The sound of bodies crashing down, voices roaring commands!

A herd of over a hundred horses, startled by the noise and frightened by the light, stampeded toward the fields and toward the inn. “The horses have broken loose—!” “Don’t let them get away! After them!” “Catch them!” “This is bad—!” “Murderer—!”

Jinjurou, nearly driven to madness, revealed his true nature as a sword demon and plunged into the swirling chaos of horses and horse traders, “Otsuma! “Where are you?! “You think I’d let you escape?!” he roared, darting right and left in his frantic search, hacking and slashing indiscriminately at obstructing horse traders and stampeding horses as he charged toward Oiwake-shuku! He ran! Just then, over thirty horse traders—wearing sedge hats and travel cloaks, each equipped with a long wakizashi, their legs securely bound—were solemnly escorting a palanquin from the direction of the inn while carrying straw-mat-wrapped money chests and horse gear. But startled by the stampeding herd of horses that had charged into their path, they veered off the highway and took position in the fields.

Having stayed too long at Ageo-shuku and growing anxious they would miss the final horse market at Kiso-Fukushima unless they traveled by night, Inoshimatsu from Takahagi and his adopted son had likewise taken to the night roads—guarding a horse tycoon in his hurried return. This was indeed their group.

2 "They let the horses loose! Those idiots!" It was Inoshimatsu who said this, standing beside the palanquin.

“Letting their own merchandise escape… What fortunate souls they are.” Inoue Kamon, who had opened the palanquin door to watch the commotion, sneered. “That’s why they’ll stay horse traders till they die—never climbing higher. “Ha ha ha!” he added. Then Jinjurou came charging. His vision blurred beyond distinction. Sword dripping with slain men’s blood, hair wild, robes disarrayed, bare shins stained crimson—in such guise he came running.

“It’s Jinjurou!” “It’s Jinjurou!” Sekine Kichiji spotted him with sharp eyes and let out a startled cry. “Oh, right! It’s Jinjurou!” Inoshimatsu had shouted this too, but now he remembered that night at his own estate—how Jinjurou had forgotten the favor of being sheltered, how he’d not only cut down his adopted son but also stolen the woman Sumie, that samurai daughter he’d offered to Inoue Kamon. “You bastard! Ungrateful wretch! Cut him down!” “Now!” Thud, thud, thud, thud! —

The underlings! They all drew their swords in unison and charged into the attack.

…… A silent horizontal slash! It was Jinjurou! Splurt—! A blood spray! He stood in the darkness. The stench gave them away! Metallic stench! "I got you now, you bastard!" “Watch out!” They had opened up and scattered, but now rejoined. Jinjurou, indiscriminate, leapt up and delivered a WHOOM—straight downward strike!

"Gyaaaah!" He collapsed, thrashing about wildly. Another underling was struck down. Abandoning them, he dashed toward the inn! "You, Otsuma—!" "You think I'd let you escape—?!"

“After him!” Inoshimatsu stamped his foot in frustration. “Finish them off! You lot—finish them off! Finish them off!” The entire group gave chase with a thunderous roar.

By now, the inn was in utter chaos. Horse! Horse! Horse!

Horse traders! Horse traders! Horse traders! Kicking down doors, rushing into alleys—through gaps opened by those startled by the commotion, horses charged in! Horse traders, trying to capture them, recklessly charged in! With a WHOOSH—flames erupted from one building.

“Fire!” The fire had finally broken out! Fanned by the intensifying night wind, flames roared skyward from another building that had seemingly caught fire from flying embers. “Wake up!”

“Fire!” “It’s an arson raid!” Houses threw open their storm shutters, and people scrambled outside. At the rock shelter, Shuidō opened his eyes; at the lockhouse, Sumie sat up.

The clerk was shouting up and down the stairs. “Esteemed guests, we are facing a grave situation! “The arson attack has commenced!” “Please make your preparations at once!” “Please take utmost care!”

In the inner chamber of Honjin Aburaya, Hemi Tashirō Yoshitoshi awoke and sat up.

3

Tashirō strained his ears to listen,

“Lady Genjo! Tōma! Tōma!” he called. And from the left neighboring room—

Genjo’s voice answered “Yes.”

“I am awake and prepared,” came the voice of disciple Tōma responding from the right neighboring room. “It appears a commotion has broken out at the inn. [...] Regardless, make your preparations and come to this room at once!” Soon after, Tōma and Genjo entered, having rigorously attired themselves.

In the meantime, Tashirō had also prepared himself, and the three of them were observing the situation.

At that moment, the clerk appeared,

“A herd of over a hundred horses bound for the Kiso-Fukushima horse market has broken loose and stampeded into the inn. Fires have broken out, and sword fights are underway—it’s utter chaos. Please take utmost care.”

With these words, he hurried off. “Whatever happens, let’s check on the inn.”

Tashirō took Genjo and Tōma with him and exited from Aburaya’s entrance to the gate.

What was the reason Tashirō had come to this place? In Genjo’s songs were phrases like “now changed to a thousand horses, five hundred horse handlers,” and such. There, Tashirō thought: The gold must be buried where such horse handlers lived—and no land but Kiso could harbor such men. In the Kiso Mountains dwelled Inoue Kamon—a horse trader so renowned across Japan they called him the Horse Tycoon. Could he be hiding it? Ah yes—speaking of the Horse Tycoon—reports had reached Tashirō that his disciple Inoshimatsu’s group was staying in Takahagi Village. Wanting to bring Genjo face-to-face with them and observe their interactions, he took her to Inoshimatsu’s residence there. But upon arriving, he learned they’d left that very day for Kiso with Inoue Kamon himself. Resolving to pursue them to Kiso, Tashirō set out with Tōma in tow. They should have crossed paths with the Horse Tycoon’s and Inoshimatsu’s parties en route—but Tashirō’s haste drove him to take backroads instead. This allowed him to reach this area sooner than expected; securing lodging while daylight lasted, he arrived slightly ahead of schedule. Meanwhile, Inoshimatsu and the Horse Tycoon’s group—pushing through the night toward Kiso-Fukushima without stopping to rest—passed by in darkness. Thus their paths only brushed against each other before diverging again.

Now, standing at the gate and looking out, the inn’s chaos defied all description and appeared beyond any hope of control. The crowd swirled in eddies as it poured down the highway, between them herds of horses galloped about, and above them sparks flew like pearlescent shards. “This is dangerous—we can’t stay here! To the fields! To the farmland!”

Having said this, Tashirō parted the crowd and pressed forward toward the fields. The two followed after him, but eventually became engulfed in the chaos and vanished from sight entirely. Sumie, who had woken up and sat up at the lockhouse, looked beside her only to find Jinjurou absent. (What happened?) she wondered, but his absence felt like a godsend; judging by his behavior that day, she might yet face untold ordeals.

(I should leave the inn and get outside, no matter what)

She prepared herself and went outside. (Lord Shuidō?) Even in such a situation, she thought.

4 If that samurai I glimpsed by daylight were indeed my beloved Lord Shuidō, he must be lodging somewhere within this inn—how I yearned to meet him! How I yearned! Her form, advancing with desperate resolve, soon became engulfed in the maelstrom.

Shuidō, who had awakened in the rock shelter, found himself in nearly the same situation as Sumie.

When he looked beside him, Otsuma was not there. He rejoiced at this heaven-sent blessing. It was precisely out of obligation that we had lived together until now, but my hope had always been to part ways.

Otsuma was nowhere to be seen. (Now's my chance—I'll slip away.)

Having prepared himself, he went outside. (The woman I saw on the second floor of the lockhouse—it might be my adopted sister Sumie. In any case, I should go search for her.)

He set off in that direction, but—a maelstrom of people, horses, and fire! Engulfed by the chaos, he vanished completely from sight.

Shouts, screams, the whinnies of horses! The sound of destruction, the panicked footsteps of those fleeing? A roaring tempest swirled and swirled, the blaze of the fire scattering sparks! The inn became a wave of people, a stampede of horses, a baptism of water, a feast of death—a symphony of voices and sounds! Amidst it all raged utter madness—the true nature of a blood-maddened demon. Jinjurou ran and slashed, slashed and ran, darting in and out as he ravaged every corner of the inn. Now he would find Otsuma and cut her down! Having emerged from that mental state, he now saw the Oiwake Inn plunged into a thoroughfare of terror for his sake—this very situation guided his perverse demonic nature toward ecstasy. He cut men, cut women, cut horses, cut children—and the more he cut, the more the inn was gripped by terror and chaos. This was so delightfully fascinating to him that he couldn’t contain himself.

Drenched in blood—face and limbs crimson-mottled and ghastly, his topknot torn away and hair wildly disheveled—it was this Jinjurou who cut down an old man amidst the crowd. Ignoring the screams, he pressed forward, shoving through the throng from the opposite direction when he saw a young woman approaching. “Sumie——!” he cried out involuntarily.

That was because it was Sumie. “Lord Jinjurou?!” she cried, but his visage was far too horrifying! Moreover, as she was trying to escape from Jinjurou and leave, she swerved away from his side and attempted to melt into the crowd. “You dare flee?! Ungrateful wench!” Jinjurou, having seen through her true feelings due to Sumie’s attitude, found his affection overflowing into a hundredfold hatred! Assailed by this surge of emotion, he resolved to sever all lingering attachments once and for all! The demonic nature that urged “Kill her!” now laid bare—what unspeakable brutality!

“Drop dead!” he roared, raising his sword high overhead as he gave chase—but between them surged a wave of the crowd! But he pushed through and cut his way past them, and as he closed in from the side, “Know your fate—!” he cut. But, fortunately at that very moment, a horse came galloping up, kicked down two or three people, and plunged between the two of them.

A scream of “Waaah!” rose from the crowd! Two or three more people were kicked down, and Sumie—caught in the wake of those falling—tumbled heavily to the ground. “Miss! Dangerous! Dangerous!” came the repeated cry as someone helped her up—a samurai in traveling attire. “Y-you... You’re Lord Shuidō—!” “Y-y-you... You’re Sumie—!”

5

That samurai who had helped her up was none other than her beloved, beloved Shuidō. “Lord Shuidō—!” Without a shred of shame or pretense, jostled and jostled by the crowd, Sumie clung to him and embraced him. “Sumie! “Sumie!” “Suuuumie!!”

Before he knew it, tears streamed down his cheeks. Shedding tears and clinging back, Shuidō was in a near-trance state, “It’s you... It’s really you—Sumie!” “...I saw you during the day at the railing on the second floor of the lockhouse.” “...Even after all that—you’re unharmed!” “...We were separated—not knowing—not knowing life from death—I agonized... yet here you stand whole...”

But at that moment, piercing through the crowd’s screams and the clamor of the streets— “Well now—if it isn’t Shigisawa Shuidō! Surely you haven’t forgotten this Jinjurou! ……By rights, I should be the one you strike down! Though this humble one has been fleeing and hiding—now I seek you in reverse, resolved to deliver a counterblow! ……Having found you—my life’s ambition fulfilled! Don’t run, Shuidō!” came the shouted voice. “What? Jinjurou? You mean Jinjurou?”

Even in such circumstances—for Shigisawa Shuidō, facing Jinjurou, his father’s killer—there could be no negligence! Far from it—this was an enemy he could not suffer to live, a feud beyond reconciliation! (Where?) He looked in the direction from which the voice had come. Though driven apart by horses and the crowd and now over a dozen *ken* away, he could unmistakably see Jinjurou’s figure.

But, oh! What a sight he was—terrifying, dreadful, steeped in an ominous aura, like a demon incarnate! Wildly disheveled hair! Entire body drenched in blood!

He shuddered—but what was there for Shuidō to be surprised at? What was there to fear? “Sister! Sumie! A gift from heaven—I have found our enemy Jinjurou! Let us avenge father’s Asura-like delusion—now we shall settle it once and for all! Onward, onward—!” he cried, drawing his sword and charging single-mindedly through the crowd. “Ah, Brother! Brotherrr—!” She shouted, but Sumie’s mind was in turmoil! Of course he was her father’s killer! He was an enemy who must be slain—yet also the benefactor who had saved her life and preserved her honor when she should have been violated! ...Jinjurou... Jinjurou! (I can’t kill him! I can’t kill him!)

(I cannot kill him!) (I cannot kill him!) “Brotherrr—! Brotherrr—!”

All the while came a CRASH—!

Thud, thud—! Thud, thud—! The echoes roared, surging and receding—a raging tidal wave of frenzied men and horses!

The inn was bedlam! The inn was bedlam. “Jinjurou—! Fight me properly!” “Fight me properly!” “Come here, Shuidō—! A counterblow!”

Attacker and defender pressed into a single ken! Clang! Clang of steel! They clashed—one exchange, hrah—! “W-w-w-waa—!” A scream! A scream!

No, no, no—not Shuidō, not Jinjurou—the crowd, the crowd! The crowd charged through the midst of the two locked in combat—unafraid, heedless—they ran and dashed and ran! Driven apart by those people, trying to approach but unable to draw near again, their anxious hearts in vain as they pushed against each other—to the right and left, front and back—gradually, gradually, farther and farther away! “Jinjurou—! Don’t you run away!” “What do you mean I’m running—?! “Shuidō, come—!”

“Brotherrr—!” “Sister—!” “Lady Sumie!” “Lady Sumie!” “Lady Sumie—!”

6

While surveying Oiwake-shuku's frenzied state from afar, a group was entering that very post town.

Clad in travel cloaks with straw sandals and gaiters, their long auxiliary swords thrust through their sashes, the group wore sedge hats. Some carried horse boxes and money chests wrapped in straw mats—clearly identifiable as a gambling syndicate’s retinue—yet among them walked two samurai. They were a company of over thirty people—Akiyama Yōsuke; Sugi Naminosuke; Rinzō of Akabane and his adopted followers—who had come to attend the gambling den at the year-end horse market in Kiso-Fukushima, as was well-known.

The year-end horse market had a set duration. If they didn’t make it in time, there would be no point. Thus, it wasn’t just Inoshimatsu and Rinzō passing through this inn on that day; all gambling bosses from Bushū and Kōshū intending to attend the horse market were required to pass through this inn around that time.

Why had Yōsuke and his group come?

Genjo had been taken by Hemi Tashirō. Since then, Yōsuke had kept close watch on Tashirō's movements and Genjo's whereabouts. Then came word through rumors that the two had set out together toward Kiso. ("Then we too shall pursue them.")

It so happened that Rinzō was also going.

Thus it was decided that they would travel together, and so it was that they had come in company.

The group had been walking solemnly, but when they looked ahead, Oiwake-shuku appeared to be ablaze with flames leaping up and cries of distress ringing out sharply.

And then—men and women fleeing in a continuous stream! When they heard the voices cursing in unison, “It’s an arson attack—!”

“The horses have escaped—!”

“A hundred—two hundred—three hundred horses—!” “They’re clashing—!” “It’s arson—!” Hearing this, Yōsuke halted. “Rinzō, Rinzō—wait a moment!”

“Hey, Master, this is bad, ain’t it?” “This is truly dire—we can’t proceed recklessly.” “Exactly, Master—we can’t go charging in!”

“Let’s avoid the inn and take to the fields.” “Let’s do that! Hey, you lot—proceed as planned! Get off the highway!” “Right!” With that, they veered off the highway, trampled through dew-laden grass, emerged into the fields, and proceeded solemnly onward. Advancing steadily, Rinzō’s group glared sideways at Jigoku Inn and finally reached the outskirts of the post town. And then, this area too was in considerable chaos with evacuees, and runaway horses occasionally came galloping through. The light from the fire, of course, reached them, making it almost as bright as daytime.

By that light, when they looked ahead, a gang of gamblers had gathered and were watching the situation at the inn. (Ah—some gambling boss must have taken refuge over there.) (We ought to exchange greetings.)

It was the code of itinerant gamblers.

“Tōsaku! Tōsaku!” Rinzō called out. “Hey Boss, what’s goin’ on?” “See that gang over there? Don’t know whose syndicate they are, but I’ll go pay my respects.” “Right-o!” Tōsaku took off running but came sprinting back moments later. “Boss! Trouble—it’s Inoshimatsu’s crew!” “The hell? Inoshimatsu?” “Damn right—it’s him!”

Veins bulged on his forehead in an instant. "Master! Master! Master Akiyama!" "What?" Yōsuke turned around. "That group you see over there—they say it's Inoshimatsu from Takahagi."

“Inoshimatsu?” “Hmm… Oh, so it’s him.”

Yōsuke glared toward them.

7 “Rinzō!” Yōsuke called out. “You may hold a grudge against Inoshimatsu，but you mustn’t strike here.” “Why, Master? Why can’t we move?” “Why do you ask? Because this is precisely why.” “The inn lies in chaos—fire and runaway horses—with all its people suffering.” “When others endure such trials, itinerant gamblers who trade on manhood should forbear private quarrels born of spite.”

“Hmm… Well, when you put it that way, I can’t argue.” “But if they come attacking?” “Ah! Then it’s a fight forced upon us—sparks raining down! Drive them back without hesitation!” “Right then, let’s prepare! …Hey bastards! You heard him! If Inoshimatsu’s side makes the first move, that’s our chance—show no mercy! Crush them completely!” “…Till then, hold your positions!” “Stay calm! Stay calm!”

“Got it,” Akabo’s gang quieted their clamor and took up positions.

And already on Inoshimatsu’s side as well, the distant group of gamblers realized they were Akabo’s gang. The one who had said "Boss" was one of the sworn underlings—that Minekichi Kantsuki.

“That bastard Tōsaku—Rinzō’s sworn underling—came here and turned right back around, didn’t he?”

It was Inoshimatsu who had grunted “Hmm,” having already emerged from the palanquin earlier. He had his men set up a camp stool, sat upon it, and now stood beside the horse magnate Inoue Kamon—who had been watching the fire—while he too observed the spreading flames.

“Hmm. Did you spot Tōsaku?”

“They’re over there, I tell ya—it’s Rinzō. Rinzō and his sworn underlings, I tell ya.” “I’ve had my eye on that.” “Well then—what’ll we do?” “What’s this ‘what’ll we do’? If they lay a finger on us, you meet ’em head-on and smash ’em to bits. Till then, we keep our mouths shut and stay put.” “On Ageo Highway, it was Rinzō who challenged you to a duel. This time, we oughta be the ones callin’ ’em out—”

“Lord Kamon is present. ...We’re escorting an amateur guest—fighting’s out of the question. You got that?” “I see… This makes sense. ...Then we’ll keep quiet.”

At this moment, two samurai in traveling attire and a similarly dressed woman—a party of three—emerged from the direction of the inn into the field, their figures vividly illuminated by the fire’s light, and began walking toward Inoshimatsu.

The one who keenly spotted them was Yōsuke.

“Mr. Sugi,” Yōsuke called out.

“Take a good look at that samurai.” Naminosuke looked. “Master, that’s Master Hemi.” “That must be so. I saw it the same way.” “Master, the woman is Ms. Genjo.” “Seems so. I saw it that way too. …Right.” With that, Akiyama Yōsuke stepped forward briskly and called out: “Ah, so it is Master Hemi Tashirō who has arrived here, I take it. “Kindly wait a moment.”

Indeed, that samurai was Tashirō, who had fled from Honjin Aburaya into the field—parting the crowds, avoiding runaway horses, accompanied by Genjo and Tōma—and upon being called out, he stopped in his tracks and turned around.

8 “Well, well! If it isn’t Master Akiyama.” Having said this, Hemi Tashirō subtly furrowed his perplexed brows. “What an unexpected place to meet.” “No,” Yōsuke replied with a bitter smile, “For this unworthy one, this encounter was no coincidence—it was something I had planned.” “Planned? And what might that entail?” “To put it plainly—this Yōsuke came chasing after you because—” “Chased after me? …And why would that be?” “To take Lady Genjo into our custody.”

“…………” “On the day of our wooden sword match at your lordship’s residence, I believe I informed you then.” “That I would reclaim Lady Genjo.” “...Furthermore, I believe I mentioned at that time that we should have a match with live blades at a later date.…”

“…………” “Now—the time has come for a live blade duel! Should this humble one prevail, there shall be no refusal—I shall take Lady Genjo into my custody!” “…………” “Furthermore, I reiterate on this occasion—should this humble one emerge victorious, Rinzō of Akaho—who stands here in my company alongside Kenji—shall make Inoshimatsu submit as Kantō’s foremost gambling boss!” “Should this unworthy one prevail, Inoshimatsu of Takahagi—who now before us leads his own subordinates and lies encamped there—shall have Rinzō of Akaho serve beneath him as Kenji within Kantō’s paramount gambling syndicate…”

“Let it be done—that is certain!” “Then live blades!”

“A duel with live blades!” “Have at you!” “Have at you!” With a swish—the two great swordsmen leaped back over three ken, but as they simultaneously sent their blades into their sheaths, the fire’s glow now rendered the area brighter than daylight, tinged with gold into red—a blazing crimson flame hell! In the midst of this, they stilled their two glittering blades with a hushed silence and assumed a mutual Seigan stance.

Witnessing this from afar, it was Rinzō and Inoshimatsu who were shocked, (If Master—if fellow Masters cross blades for our sake, our men will be destroyed!) We can’t hold back anymore! Staying reserved is impossible now! Both men shared the same resolve—the same resolve became words, “Alright, you lot—no more delays! Charge into Inoshimatsu’s ranks and take his head!” “Alright, you bastards—charge into Akaho!” “Take down Rinzō! Take him down!”

A thunderous war cry erupted—!

Seething, both armies charged forward. Live steel! A flash! Screams! Angry shouts! The sound of bodies falling! Figures fleeing and pursuing, pursuing and fleeing!

The battleground had descended into utter chaos—and now the inn itself erupted into pandemonium! The chaos escalated beyond pandemonium into a blazing hell of screams. Unable to endure the fire's searing heat, they surged toward open fields—toward farmlands... farmlands upon farmlands—like a tidal wave crashing down: 100, 200, 300, 400! Old and young, men and women—even livestock—had fled out to this farmland.

Jostled and jostled by the human tide, Sumie and Otsuma swam their way through. Then, in a ghastly specter’s voice, “Lady Sumie—wait!” “You—Otsuma! I’ll let you escape!” Jinjurou’s voice shouted.

9

Sumie and Otsuma both looked back. A demon of lust, a hungry ghost of obsession, a murderous fiend—Jinjurou, now transformed into an oni, parted the human tide and came running toward the two women.

The bloody sword glinted above the surging crowd, catching the firelight. (If I am captured by Jinjurou, my life will not be spared.)

Otsuma ran frantically, screaming, (If Lord Jinjurou captures me, this humble woman’s body and chastity will…)

With this thought, Sumie too ran headlong onward. “I beg of you, please help me!” Sumie—still running wildly—spotted a lone palanquin and dashed toward it while crying out. “I’ll save you! Into the palanquin!” An unidentified voice shouted. “Gratitude later! Explanations later!”

With these words, Sumie slipped into the palanquin like a cornered bird. “Get the palanquin moving!” someone shouted again. The palanquin swayed unsteadily as it was lifted into the air and carried off toward the highway, followed closely by a long-haired, ruddy-faced man—a figure reminiscent of the demon king Shuten-dōji—who ran after it with a sly grin. It was Inoue Kamon, the wealthy horse trader, who had tried to claim Sumie for himself at Inoshimatsu’s residence but had been thwarted by Jinjurou, failing to achieve his desire.

“Stop that palanquin—I won’t let you escape!” “Wait! Wait! Wait—!” Jinjurou gave chase, but “Hey, this bastard Jinjurou! “You’ve shown your face again! This time we’ll finish you!” Inoshimatsu’s foster sons shouted in unison as they swarmed around Jinjurou. Meanwhile, Otsuma seized that opening and ran and ran—ran until her breath gave out and she collapsed to the ground.

And there stood a samurai with sword at his side, perplexed by the surging crowd as he dodged left and right. "Recognizing you as a samurai, I beg you—save me!" Even as she pleaded, Otsuma clung to the samurai's sleeve. "Who are you? No matter! When someone entreats me for aid, I shall save them regardless! Come!" he commanded—and this samurai was none other than Hemi Tashirō Yoshitoshi, who had crossed blades with Akiyama Yōsuke and been separated from his opponent by the surging crowd at the very moment they were to exchange mortal blows.

“Tōma, Tōma, come here!”

“Yes, Master! I am here!” “Where is Lady Genjo? Lady Genjo?” “Lady Genjo was swept away by the crowd… her whereabouts unknown, utterly unknown…” “A pity! …Yet it cannot be helped—Tōma, come!” He raised his sword and roared at the obstructing crowd. “Make way! If you don’t make way, I’ll cut you down!” Startled by the glint of swords, through the crowd that had parted—aimlessly in one direction and then another—the three ran and ran and ran.

But even so, driven by lingering attachment, “Lady Genjoo—! Lady Genjoo—!” he called out. While hearing those calls—Genjo had long been under Yōsuke’s care and held him dear—though she bore no ill will toward Hemi Tashirō after receiving courteous treatment from him too, her affection for Yōsuke burned even fiercer by comparison. She pushed through the crowd toward him now, running with single-minded desperation.

"Master Akiyama!" she finally drew near, knelt on the ground, and clung to his legs.

10 “Lady Genjo—!” exclaimed Akiyama Yōsuke, inadvertently dropping to his knees on the ground.

“You’re here! You made it! You’ve come! Mr. Sugi! Mr. Sugi!” he called out in a trembling voice brimming with joy as he embraced Genjo. “I won’t let you escape again! You’re not going anywhere! Mr. Sugi! Mr. Sugi! Take Lady Genjo to Rinzō! ...Tend to her there!” “Oh—Lady Genjo—! You’ve come!” Naminosuke came running up, his voice rising with emotion as he called out, “Let’s go, Lady Genjo—this way, this way! ...And Master should accompany us as well.”

“No no—I’ll deal with Hemi Tashirō!”—

“In this chaos, this commotion… We’ve lost sight of the boss…” “Can’t you spot them? …Then let’s go.” Amidst this swirling chaos of humanity, the one rampaging like an Asura was Jinjurou—stripped of Sumie, having lost Otsuma, surrounded by Inoshimatsu’s foster sons, and being hacked at from all sides. Having slain or maimed over a dozen men while sustaining several shallow wounds himself, even Jinjurou’s legendary endurance had finally crumbled! At this critical juncture—his vision swimming, footing faltering as he staggered—Inoshimatsu’s swarm of foster sons seized their chance, closing in from every direction with slashing blades.

Parrying, dodging, fending them off—to be cut down by these men would be an unbearable disgrace. Retreat somewhere—anywhere! Retreat, retreat, retreat now! When he finally emerged from the whirlpool of the crowd, escaped Inoshimatsu’s pursuing foster sons, and staggered his way to the dew-drenched meadow at the edge of the thicket, his spirit had been utterly drained. Am I going to fall?! I won't fall! I won't fall! I won't fall! But he collapsed onto the grass and lost consciousness. Jinjurou had lost consciousness.

The distant glow of the fire reached even here, casting shadows to illuminate his face—pale as a corpse’s.

The hellish scene lay in the distance, but here it was desolate and devoid of people; autumn's tranquility remained unbroken, and the chirping of insects filled the air.

And then, having escaped the hellish battlefield to this place as well, a single samurai—equally exhausted and utterly spent—came trudging along, using his sword as a cane. "Oh, a dead man? How pitiful," he murmured, then stood beside Jinjurou. But suddenly he leapt up—leapt up, leapt up—and cried out: "Jinjurou—! So it was you!" "Shigisawa Shuidō has come!" "Heaven’s gift—this time I won’t let you escape!" "Get up and fight!" "Face me!"

The samurai was Shigisawa Shuidō.

“Get up, get up Mizushina Jinjurou! The accumulated grudges—now I shall settle them! …Get up! Stand up! Mizushina Jinjurou!” He swung his sword overhead—a single strike if he were to rise! ...he assumed a stance to strike him down, but Jinjurou did not move. A doubt arose—was he dead? He reached out and touched his forehead. He was unconscious—yet there was a trace of warmth. Alright—then now’s the time!

He took hold of the raised sword again and pulled it close to thrust at his chest—but something deep within stayed his hand. (Back when you lay unconscious in Takahagi forest, wasn't it Jinjurou's mistress Otsuma who saved you? To cut down someone whose true nature remains unknown—even an enemy—is coward's work. First revive them, then...) (That's right.) Shuidō sat on the grass and took medicine from his case.

Gratitude and Vengeance Coexisting

1

Kiso Fukushima’s closing horse market.—

This naturally did not exist in modern times. In modern times, Kiso's horse markets consist of only two: the Nakami Market held in September and the Oketsuge Market conducted around Hangeshō—the summer solstice period in early July. The closing horse market had been held until around the end of the Tenpō era, though it was considerably inferior compared to the previous two markets. By that time, the mountainous Kiso region had grown bitterly cold, even taking on a wintry aspect, leaving few people about. Yet this was the renowned Fukushima Horse Market! It remained no meager affair—some five hundred head of horses had gathered, festival stalls were erected, crowds of street performers came flocking in, while gambling bosses from various provinces arrived with their foster sons in tow, setting up makeshift huts to open betting parlors.

As for the gambling bosses who had gathered on this occasion— Shirako no Kototsugu, Ichiyanagi no Gen’emon, Hirozawa no Hyōemon, Ejiri no Wasuke, Myōgi no Raizō, Koganei no Hansuke, Mikoshi no San’emon, Kajikazawa no Tōbei, Miho Matsu Genzō, Fujioka no Keisuke—and others—were among them, joined by Takahagi no Inoshimatsu and Akai no Rinzō. Flanked by mountains with the Kiso River running through its center, Kiso Fukushima—a post town narrow as an obi sash—was overseen by Yamamura Jinbee: a senior retainer of the Owari clan’s leading family, holding a stipend of over 5,800 *koku*, who served as both checkpoint keeper and magistrate to inspect travelers ascending and descending the route. And so, travelers heading to this Fukushima had no choice but to stay for one night, perhaps two or three, or even seven to ten days during extended periods, causing the inns to prosper immensely. There was an inn called Owariya.

And there—what a bold signboard had been erected! "Akiyama Yōsuke in residence." This was Yōsuke's way of doing things. Wherever he went, he would mark his whereabouts and announce his presence to all—declaring that enemies should come to strike him down and admirers should come seeking him out. This was the stance he proclaimed. At Mikawa-ya—an inn situated two blocks from Owariya—Hemi Tashirō lodged quietly; being an unassuming and mild-mannered man, he kept his presence discreet without posting any nameplate.

And so, the day of the horse market arrived.

Horse traders, townspeople, crowds of spectators, horse buyers, horse sellers, male and female street performers, gambling bosses with their foster sons, inn guards keeping watch for emergencies, checkpoint samurai, traveling men and women—people, people, people swarmed through the inns; at every gate and along every thoroughfare, countless horses were tethered for sale—neighing, kicking the ground, biting and rearing at each other—while dogs barked at the sight—voices, voices, voices clamored noisily under bright sunlight during this fine weather; sideshow tents drew large audiences, and gambling dens thrived with bustling activity.

Outside Fukushima's bustling prosperity, at the post town of Narai lying a considerable distance away, two samurai arrived at an inn called Yamagata-ya. They were Jinjurou and Shuidō.

They took two moderately spacious rooms in the back, adjacent to each other, and stayed. The two had come by palanquin, but when Jinjurou emerged from it, "What an extraordinary guest," murmured the inn staff—so startled were they—as Jinjurou appeared haggard, with bandages wrapped around several limbs, gruesomely vivid proof that he was both an invalid and a wounded man. After having the dinner tray cleared, Shuidō went to Jinjurou’s room.

“How about it, Jinjurou? How are you feeling?” “No good... Can’t manage... Can’t get up.” Jinjurou—who lay on spread bedding with his head on a pillow, faintly groaning—clenched his teeth regretfully as he spoke.

“In this state, I can’t cross blades with you.” 2 “Very well. Rest thoroughly.” Shuidō said that and looked at him with feigned sympathy. “We’ll duel when you’ve healed.” “But consider this—” Jinjurou said. “Why not slay me as I lie here?” “Had I meant to kill you thusly, I’d have cut you down that night.” “I should have finished you then.” “That would’ve been butchering carrion.” “Still—it would’ve fulfilled the vendetta.”

“An inglorious vendetta?” “Nah—had one splendidly dueled and slain you, proclaimed it as such—not a soul would doubt it. It’d be deemed an honorable vendetta; one’s rise in station beyond question.” “My heart won’t permit it—my conscience.” “I see… That must be the case. That’s just the kind of conscientious man you are.” “Living with you—seeing your true nature—I find you unexpectedly principled. It somewhat astonishes me.” “Nah—I’m a villain through and through.”

“You’re undoubtedly a villain. But in the depths of a villain’s heart, there lies a single strong speck of good intent. Or so you seem to think.” “Hmm... Is that so—maybe it is. No—if that’s how you see me, then I’ve truly fulfilled my deepest wish. ...I did just one good thing. ...I mean to tell you all about it someday...” “Then tell me now. What is it?” “No—it’s still not something I can say. Not until I understand your true nature better—and until you understand mine better too—no, not until you truly understand—would you believe me even if I told you.”

“Actually…” Shuidō said in a solemn voice, “Actually… I too have something I must make you hear—something I need to tell you.” “But this too—not until you’ve come to know more about what sort of man I am—” “Hmm… Strange—our stories mirror each other. ……But I’ve never once doubted what manner of man you are.” “You’re nothing like someone such as myself.” “This isn’t flattery—you’re a man of true worth.”

“You’re no different—you’ve got your redeeming qualities.”

The two remained silent for a time. It was a room in an inn along the Kiso Highway—the sliding doors worn, the paper screens worn, the tatami mats worn, the ceiling worn, water stains here and there from leaks—and under the dim lantern light, all these objects took on a sinister appearance. Disheveled topknot, pale face—Jinjurou’s countenance protruded from the collar of the bedding. It was sufficient to evoke images of monster paintings. “Hey,” Jinjurou said in a sentimental voice, “You and I were blood relatives, huh.”

……

Shuidō wordlessly nodded. “So you and I were distant cousins after all.” ……

“So even if we become enemies…” “……”

“So this is how we can live together like this, huh.”

“That’s right,” Shuidō also said sentimentally. “That’s right—though it’s faint, there’s no denying we’re connected by blood.” Here, the two fell silent once more.

The light of the andon lamp dimmed. A clove must have caught on the wick. “Cold,” Jinjurou muttered. “The autumn nights in Kiso… Cold, hmm?… You’d be in trouble if you caught a cold. I’ll cover you with my bedding.”

Having said this, Shuidō rose and went to his room.

3

During the great brawl at Oiwake Inn, Shuidō spotted Jinjurou, who had fallen at that moment, and tried to strike him down, but he couldn't cut down a man who had lost consciousness. When he revived him, Jinjurou had countless injuries and had lost the willpower to stand up.

However, he resigned himself, sat down on the grass, extended his neck, and meekly prepared to be struck down.

This, instead, led Shuidō’s heart toward sympathy and compassion, rendering him unable to strike the killing blow.

And so he even decided to nurse him. He brought him to an inn and had a doctor examine him. Even so—why would someone take such a wounded man to Fukushima of all places?

It was because Jinjurou had said this. “Inoue Kamon, that horse magnate, had joined gambler Inoshimatsu’s gang and been part of that night’s brawl. It was there Lady Sumie fled. Then Kamon made her board a palanquin and sent them rushing toward Fukushima. That Kamon bastard had been obsessed with Lady Sumie long before. If we don’t hurry to get her back, regrets will come too late. ……There are complicated reasons here—circumstances too tangled to explain. And I know why, through certain… arrangements. But it’s hard to speak of now. Just trust me. Believe what I say. Then let’s go to Kiso together and take back Lady Sumie.”

Thus, the two set out on their journey. Shuidō himself found it strange that he had caught sight of Sumie at Oiwake Inn. He had heard about the horse magnate Inoue Kamon from the innkeeper at Ageo Post Station. However, regarding the relationship between Sumie and Kamon—why Kamon had put her in a palanquin and abducted her—he had been unable to ascertain anything.

Jinjurou appeared to know. He appeared to know the details of the situation.

However, Jinjurou showed no inclination to elaborate further for reasons unknown, so he found himself unable to press the matter.

That said, if Sumie had been taken by Kamon under such circumstances, they had to rush to Kiso and take her back.

Thus, they set out on their journey. The two departed Yamagataya the following day, boarded a travel palanquin, and had it make its way toward Fukushima.

They approached Torii Pass.

This place was a famous historic battlefield and a land of scenic beauty, one that even Bashō had composed haiku about. A pass where we rest above the larks—ah. The group called Kiso's Five Trees—Chinese junipers, hinoki cypresses, umbrella pines, sawara cypresses, and Podocarpus—grew in such thick, verdant profusion that some areas remained dark even at noon, while others suddenly opened up to reveal sunlit farmland spread abruptly beneath one's gaze.

Because the ascent was quite steep, the palanquin bearers frequently wiped their sweat.

Shuidō was concerned about Jinjurou’s condition.

He hoped that traversing such terrain in this cramped palanquin wouldn’t cause him to suddenly take a turn for the worse.

So he occasionally halted the palanquin to let both the passenger and bearers rest. It was when they reached the middle of the pass, “Palanquin bearers—halt for a moment.” Jinjurou said abruptly.

“Hey Shuidō, let’s look at the scenery.” “Very well,” said Shuidō as he stepped down from the palanquin. “Can you walk, Jinjurou?” “I’ll manage. I can walk bit by bit.”

Jinjurou went ahead and walked toward the forest.

4

During the Meiō era, Kiso Yoshimoto fought against the Ogasawara clan, and upon achieving victory in battle, they erected ornamental gate pillars and named it Torii Pass.

The forest where that torii stood. The interior lay in dim half-light, sunlight filtering through in patches to cast mottled patterns across the grass—a gloom thick as twilight. There the two walked onward. Crimson maples burned like fire amidst lacquer trees and cedars, their dazzling beauty overwhelming—yet when they reached this spectacle,

A piercing cry tore through the air as a gleaming blade sliced through the dappled sunlight!

"Ah!" Shuidō!

With a cry, he barely managed to leap back and parry! He’d reverted to his true villainous nature! Behold—despite his injuries, Jinjurou raised his sword high overhead, spread his bandaged legs wide in stance, eyes bulging fiercely as he half-hid his pupils beneath drooping lids, the whites below his irises glaring prominently. Fixing Shuidō with a piercing stare, he advanced step by relentless step. Killing intent! Clang! Like a demon! Overwhelmed by the fighting spirit and crushed by the killing intent, Shuidō’s mind nearly boiled over. Unable to utter a sound, he was forced back—grinding inch by inch—retreating step by step.

The interval!

Quiet yet terrifying—a moment at the boundary between life and death passed.

And then, an acidic smile rose to Jinjurou’s lips. “You’re no good, Shuidō—not even worth considering. “This way, I could never be defeated.” “……” “Your character’s admirable enough,” he said, “but your swordsmanship is worthless.” “……” “Sheathe your sword. I’ll sheathe mine too.”

Jinjurou stepped down a few steps and sheathed his sword.

The two spread grass and sat down side by side. Small birds flitted from tree to tree, raising their voices in song. "Shuido, train harder." "Yeah," Shuido laughed bashfully, "Yeah, I'll train then." "I'll teach you sometimes."

“Yeah, you teach me.” “The ‘Reverse Wheel’ I created—without inventing a way to break this technique, you can’t defeat me.” “There’s no way I could manage that.” “Breaking the ‘Reverse Wheel’—” “Then you don’t mean to kill me?” “I will kill you!” “I swear I’ll kill you!” Shuidō declared in a fierce voice and glared at Jinjurou with sharp eyes. As Jinjurou met his gaze, “Then kill me! Go on—kill me!” “I too intend to be slain by you.” “…But for that—the ‘Reverse Wheel’…”

Shuidō looked down and let out a sigh.

The two remained silent for some time.

Along the bright mountain pass outside the forest, two or three travelers passed through, and the faint sound of bells attached to packhorses drifted through the air. “Shall I show you the ‘Reverse Wheel’?”

After a moment，Jinjurou said． “Hmm，just show me how you use it anyway．” “Stand． Then get into your stance．”

As he spoke, Jinjurou stood up. At that, Shuidō also stood up and assumed his sword stance as instructed. Then, Jinjurou once more slowly and smoothly drew the sword he had sheathed, before calmly settling into a middle stance.

5 “Ready?” Jinjurou said—and in that instant, his sword was drawn diagonally to the left, as though pulling water: quietly, fluidly, yet with a clinging persistence meant to bewilder, sliding forth with a whisper. What temptation! Even as he resolved not to be drawn in, not to advance—as though magnetic force resided in that sword tip and he himself were but an iron fragment—Shuidō involuntarily took a step forward. Jinjurou’s sword whipped back. Ha— Shuidō gasped. In an instant, like a tidal wave surging in—the Great Lower Cut! The sword whipped back in reverse!

Brilliantly, it plunged deep into the torso.

“Gah!” “Nah, I’m not going to cut you.” By now, Jinjurou had already leaped back two ken away and laughed as he said: “What do you say, Shuidō? Shall we go another round?” “No, that’s enough… I thought I was done for.” Shuidō wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

Once again, the two sat down side by side.

“What do you say, Shuidō? Can you break it?” “Putting aside breaking it… I can’t even defend against it…” “If you can defend against it, that’s the same as breaking it.” “Yeah, I suppose that’s true.”

“What part terrifies you?” “The first move—when it glides smoothly to the left diagonal…” “That move with the hooking hand’s draw?” “I can’t help being drawn back by that one.” “What about the next move—the *Kuruma no Kaeshi* from the Yagyū-ryū?” “When you hit me with that one, it makes my heart leap.” “The final move: the Great Lower Cut! This is the true Reverse Wheel—what do you make of it?” “Merely terrifying, merely fierce—you must resign yourself to being swept along.”

“I’ve explained everything in detail—so, have you devised any countermeasures?” “…………” Silently, Shuidō was thinking.

Then, Jinjurou muttered as if to himself.

“No technique exists in isolation. “No principle stands independent... The *Reverse Wheel* follows this truth. “If you isolate and study only the *Reverse Wheel* itself, you’ll never break it. ...What matters lies before and after! “…Under what circumstances should one deploy the *Reverse Wheel*? “…How do you maneuver yourself into position before executing it? “…Study this process. …This contextual study is essential.”

Here, Jinjurou fell silent.

Shuidō listened with rapt attention. Even though Jinjurou told him so, Shuidō couldn’t grasp the meaning. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the meaning of those words—but when they took concrete form, he could scarcely grasp what would happen or what he ought to do.

And so, he had remained silent for a long time. "How do you suppose Lady Sumie is faring?"

It was after a considerable interval had passed that Jinjurou began to speak, in a manner that seemed to yearn intensely.

Startled by the bizarre tone of voice, Shuidō instinctively stared at Jinjurou.

Then, a flush of blood flared across Jinjurou’s cheeks.

_What’s this about?_ Shuidō wondered. But what immediately came to mind was that Jinjurou had been in love with Sumie for some time. _Is he still in love with her?_

This thought left him with an unpleasant feeling. At the same time—Jinjurou's mistress? Otsuma came to mind.

The words spilled out abruptly. “How do you suppose Otsuma is faring?”

“What? Otsuma?” Jinjurou stared at Shuidō in surprise.

6

“Otsuma!” “Hmph! Poisonous hag!” “There aren’t many women like that.”

Eventually, Jinjurou spat out. At the night grassland of Oiwake-shuku, they had an ill-omened encounter. ――It was because they had recalled that incident.

“Hmm… Is that so?” said Shuidō, though he didn’t actually think so. Her persistent, clinging affection—the endless devotion she had shown him—had felt like a nuisance, even something base, when they were together. Yet now that they were apart, he found himself longing for it with nostalgia. (But if Jinjurou were to learn that Otsuma and I had lived together as husband and wife in all but name—what would he think?)

No matter how much he tried to explain away their lack of marital relations, a young woman and young man had been living together. How could they have led a chaste life? Jinjurou would surely think there had been physical intimacy—that was how it appeared to Shuidō.

It was due to this distaste that Shuidō had kept it concealed from Jinjurou until now. That said, he would have to reveal it eventually—which was why he had told Jinjurou at the Narai inn that there were things he wanted him to hear, things he needed to say.

Mizushina Jinjurou himself was now seized by similar thoughts.

He had lived with Sumie in a relationship akin to marriage without being husband and wife, and had even continued their journey in such a manner. But even if he were to confess everything, how could Shuidō possibly believe there had been no physical intimacy between them? Shuidō would surely assume he had resorted to violence to have his way. He could not confess! He could not confess!

And so, he still had not confessed, but since he would have to speak eventually, it weighed heavily on his conscience.

And so at this Narai inn too, he had told Shuidō there were things he wanted him to hear—things he needed to say.

The two men remained silent for a while. They had exchanged but a few words each regarding Sumie and Otsuma, and now made no further attempt to speak of them.

This was because they were both avoiding broaching the subject.

Though he had come to Kiso-Fukushima, Hemi Tashirō held no interest in or attachment to the horse market itself; his sole obsession lay in obtaining the buried great treasure.

“Lady Otsuma,” Hemi Tashirow said with a gentle smile in the inn’s guest room.

“Shall we venture into Kiso’s hinterlands—to Nishino-go?” “Oh yes! I’ll gladly accompany you!” Otsuma replied with evident delight. “You possess both valor and wit. Your company promises to enliven the journey.” “My lord! Such sweet flattery!” “Tōma—you’re coming too.”

“Yes, I shall accompany you.”

In this manner, Tashirō departed from the inn at Fukushima, taking the two along. They set out to explore the scenery of Kiso’s hinterlands. Though he had told them this, the truth was that in the hinterlands of Nishino-go resided Inoue Kamon, the wealthy horse trader. There might be a great treasure there. If there was one, they would take it—that was their purpose in going. When they crossed the Kisogawa River, from the moment they reached its far bank, the steep mountain path began.

Since it was a journey with no need to hurry, the three proceeded leisurely.

Horse Tycoon’s Estate

1

It was on that same day that, in the back room of the Tabaeya inn, Akiyama Yōsuke addressed Genjo and Naminosuke: “Now we depart. Hurry and prepare! We’re heading to Nishino-go—to Nishino-go!” He urged them on as he spoke. Since retrieving Genjo and coming with her to Fukushima, Yōsuke had heard such things from her own lips: “I have gradually remembered. Vast forests, great ravines, a large mansion, countless horses—a place where there was an old man like Shuten-dōji. It seems that place was in the hinterlands of Fukushima.”

Moreover, ever since arriving in Fukushima, he had had Rinzō’s subordinates constantly monitor Hemi Tashirō’s movements, and just now a notification had arrived. Hemi Tashirō had departed for Nishino-go taking two attendants with him. That was why he urged them on in this manner.

The three left the inn.

(In Nishino-go, there was said to be a man known as a horse tycoon—a wealthy individual named Inoue Kamon—who had entrenched himself there with about a thousand horses.) (That might be the old man like Shuten-dōji that Genjo had spoken of.)

Yōsuke thought such things. Now, the three walked on.

Nishino-go spanned what are today Mitsutake Village and Kaiden Village—a vast region encompassing the Kurokawa River basin flowing into the Kisogawa River, dotted with small settlements like Kaidaira, Furuya-shiki, Mabashi, and Higezawato. Within its bounds lay great forests, deep ravines, waterfalls, and marshes, while deep in its hinterlands stood Inoue Kamon’s imposing mansion, fortress-like in its grandeur.

By today’s pace of travel, one could reach Nishino-go from Fukushima in a single day, but in the Bunsei era, it required two days.

The ascending path was steep, yet autumn in Kiso's hinterlands—true to its legendary reputation—unfolded with peerless beauty: trees blazed crimson, grasses yellowed, fruits reddened, small birds sang incessantly, and the sky cleared to a purity reminiscent of jasper, all combining into a scene worthy of awe. Across this landscape grazed horses—sometimes five, sometimes ten in a group—who, upon spotting people, would gallop over with nostalgic eagerness to nuzzle their muzzles against them. "I'm starting to remember."

Genjo said cheerfully. "I do believe I passed through such a place before—being carried and rocked in a mountain palanquin." "Is that so? That is most fortunate... It appears you are gradually recovering your past memories, Lady Genjo." With that, Yōsuke also rejoiced. Walking along the difficult path, the three proceeded deeper into the interior.

That day too ended, and night came.

Around that time, Yōsuke’s party was staying at a woodcutter’s house. In such lands, there were no inns; travelers would request lodging from woodcutters or farmers and stay in their homes. Gathered around a large hearth, Yōsuke spoke with the woodcutter’s family. “Is Lord Inoue Kamon’s mansion in Nishino-go—that of the horse tycoon—truly as grand as they say?” “Well, it’s truly something—they say it’s ten chō from when you enter the gate until you reach the main house’s entrance.”

“That is truly something remarkable.” “Are you going to Lord Kamon’s mansion?” “Indeed. I intend to go tomorrow.” “At that place, they delight their guests—they’ll let you stay ten days, even twenty.”

2 “Given that it’s the tycoon’s estate, that would be so.” “No matter how many days they may stay, they never once see the master’s face… returning without ever having seen him… Such things are said to be commonplace.” “My, my—that’s truly something remarkable indeed.”

The following day, the party departed from the woodcutter’s house, and by that evening, Yōsuke and his companions became guests at Inoue Kamon’s household.

They had become guests in one of the several detached houses built to accommodate visitors. Inoue Kamon’s mansion proved more magnificent than any rumor could suggest—its operations so grand in scale that even Yōsuke found himself awestruck. It stood as a model example of what might be called the great family system. People would broadly speak of “Inoue Kamon of Nishino-go,” but upon seeing it firsthand, his mansion was better described as lying several *ri* beyond Nishino-go—virtually a separate territory bordering Hida Province—with his estate extending from that land all the way back to Nishino-go itself.

A mountain daimyo!

Exactly so.

Encompassing what must have been three ri in circumference, this vast domain was fortified by stone walls, earthen ramparts, and towering trees that together formed a natural fortress wall—indeed, it was precisely a fortress wall. Within lay countless houses and fields, hills and groves, forests and rivers, marshes and farmland. There were dwellings for farmers and woodcutters alike, while in open spaces street performers had even pitched tents to stage their spectacles. And yet, amidst all this, that particular enclave stood solemnly as Kamon’s mansion.

In other words, it was both Kamon’s mansion and a village—one could even say it was a fortress city. Horses, deer, rabbits, foxes, cows, monkeys, and others lived in the groves, forests, hills, and fields. There were stables everywhere. Even beggars had taken up residence there. Where on earth was Kamon’s main residence located? It was nearly impossible to discern its whereabouts.

However, the mansion was located deep within this enclave at the northernmost point, with stone walls and a gate belonging to the estate itself. This was the gate from which the woodcutter had told Yōsuke, "From when you enter the gate until you reach the main house's entrance, they say it's ten chō." This measurement began precisely at this gate. Yet the mansion's grand structure and organization—this estate said to span three ri in circumference—were hardly unique, for even in this seventeenth year of Shōwa (1942), one could find considerable numbers of such estates in certain regions of Hida's or Shinano's hinterlands. They would build eight or nine houses—new branch families and the like—in a single location, forming an entire village from these households alone. United as a community, they constructed shared facilities like harvest storehouses and bathhouses, gathering at the main family's residence during festivals, funerals, weddings, or coming-of-age ceremonies to drink sake and share meals.

Shirakawa-go and other such places remain so even today.

And so, the Kamon family was also like that—but being truly splendid and grand, one could only be astonished. With Kamon, head of the main family, at its apex—branch families and new branch families, branch families of branch families, new branch families of new branch families—those branch families and new branch families—that is to say, close relatives and distant kin, along with the servants of such people—this enclave was formed by these people and households, and was self-sufficient. The house where Yōsuke and his companions were staying was a single-story building within the gates of the main Inoue Kamon family.

Now, that night was a moonlit night. Illuminated by that moonlight, two travel palanquins entered.

3 The house where the two palanquins had arrived was also one meant for lodging guests, but it was a distance of some ten chō away from where Yōsuke and his companions were staying.

Shuidō and Jinjurou emerged from the palanquin. And then they disappeared into the house. When one came to such a grand mansion operating under the extended family system, guests of every kind would arrive—guests of the master, couples’ guests, guests of the steward, guests of servants, guests of branch families, guests of new branch families—and there were even those who came under pretexts such as touring the mansion or receiving the charity of a single night’s lodging and meal. Depending on the type and standing of the guest, even those who were ostensibly the master’s guests might never meet him—a substitute might receive them instead—while conversely, if the mood struck him, he might unexpectedly meet even a servant’s guest. It was all remarkably freeform and intricate, but what commanded admiration was that Inoue Kamon never turned away any guest, no matter how humble. It was likely due to his surplus of wealth, but it was his penchant for hosting guests that drove such behavior.

Yōsuke had something on his mind, “Wishing to view your renowned mansion, and being a masterless samurai engaged in martial arts training, I humbly request to stay for several days and provide instruction to your retainers...” Under this pretext, they took up lodging, while Jinjurou and Shuidō— “We are traveling samurai, but our companion was attacked and injured by several ruffians nearby. We humbly request to stay for several days to administer treatment.”

Thus, under such a pretext had they taken up lodging. At Inoshimatsu’s residence, Jinjurou had not only come to know Kamon thoroughly but had even attacked him. Due to these circumstances, he absolutely could not meet Kamon. For him, even having his face seen would spell disaster. Thus, his face was swathed entirely in bandages as though injured.

Hemi Tashirō strode boldly—

“I am Hemi Tashirō, a country samurai of Bushū Ogawa. Having heard of your esteemed reputation and desiring an audience, I have come to pay my respects.” On that same day, Hemi Tashirō boldly declared himself at the main entrance and was courteously ushered into the main residence, while Otsuma and Tōma were also granted entry.

Now, it was a fine moonlit night.

Yōsuke stepped out into the night air with Genjo and Naminosuke in tow. He had ventured forth intending to survey the general layout of Kamon’s sprawling estate. Through a wooded thicket stood grand residences scattered like islands in a dark sea—sparsely placed and all tightly shuttered against the late hour, not a single glimmer escaping their sealed windows. As the trio advanced along the path, two samurai came into view ahead.

They were likely guests staying at this house. Thinking this, Yōsuke paid it no mind. Yet moved by human curiosity—since he too was a guest of this estate, and those two men ahead appeared to be fellow guests—he found himself wanting to speak to them, and so began following their path at a leisurely pace. Passing through the thicket and walking roughly five or six chō as they went past the fronts and sides of several mansions—when, brushing against the moonlit sky, an exceptionally prominent mansion came into view, surrounded by its own earthen walls and boasting its own grand gate, standing imposingly ahead.

_This must be Kamon’s residence_, he thought. _So to speak, the main keep. No—it’s utterly vast._

Yōsuke was utterly overwhelmed.

4 The two samurai-like guests walking ahead—likely marveling at the mansion’s vastness—paused for a while to gaze at it, then turned along the earthen wall to the right. Yōsuke and the others also turned to the right. Then, the two samurai stood before a section of the earthen wall, whispering something for a moment before placing their hands on it and nimbly leaping inside. "Huh?" "Hmm?"

As they spoke, Yōsuke and Naminosuke both raised their voices. "Master, they're acting strange, don't you think?" "Guests? More like burglars." The two men exchanged glances. Then Genjo of O-kumi—who had remained silent until now, either fervently scanning her surroundings or sinking into deep thought—suddenly spoke in a voice like one possessed: "Oh! This humble woman remembers now! This is undoubtedly the mansion! The very mansion where this humble woman was once delivered and made to endure horrors by that ogre-like old man! Yes—this is the place! ...If this is the mansion, then that hell—hellishly terrifying, hellishly cruel... *Where mountains of fodder rise and bottomless rivers flow through midstream caverns...* Which direction was that hell? ...Now I see! This humble woman will know at once! ...Yet still it eludes me—eludes me! ...There—that's where they violated this humble woman! There—where this humble woman lost consciousness!..."

Babbling all the while, Genjo pointed to the right and then to the left. The two samurai who had climbed over the earthen wall—they were none other than Shuidō and Jinjurou. They had ridden a palanquin from Torii Pass, headed into the mountains from Yabuhara, and on this day arrived at this mansion—the two of them.

The primary purpose of those two was to urgently retrieve Sumie, who had been abducted by Inoue Kamon.

If they were delayed and any harm came to Sumie's body—if her chastity were to be sullied—there would be no undoing it. Upon arriving at this mansion, paying no heed to their wounded bodies, Jinjurou for his part devised a plan to reclaim her, and Shuidō for his devised a plan as well—but no brilliant ideas came to mind. With matters having reached this point, there was nothing else to be done; they would infiltrate Kamon's main residence and resort to force to take her back. Thus it was that the two of them together stole inside. Having infiltrated and seen just how vast this main residence alone was, they could not help but be astonished.

Giant trees that appeared centuries old towered densely around the main residence, completely blocking the moonlight and plunging the surroundings into true darkness, letting only faint stripes of light spill through gaps in the branches. Stone lanterns stood here and there like guideposts, casting a faint glow only on their immediate surroundings. The main residence building—positioned at the far center of such a layout—stood armored with storm shutters, allowing not a single strand of lamplight to leak through.

Then came the sharp crack of wooden clappers. It seemed the night patrol was making their rounds. The two hid in the shadow of the grove.

The sound of wooden clappers grew nearer. Suddenly, they came to a halt,

“Hark! Who goes there?” A single bound! “Gah!” One swing! Desolate stillness! “Hey, Jinjurou—did you cut him down?” “No—a ridge strike. Killing him would’ve been too much trouble.” 5

Nevertheless, the two pressed onward. Then, from up ahead, figures who appeared to be a man and a woman seemed to approach while talking.

At that, the two hid in the shadow of the trees. The voices of the man and woman drew near, but when they reached a point several meters away, “You—go over there… Keep quiet. …Something’s off… Someone’s here…” After the man’s voice spoke these words, they remained silent for a while—but soon began approaching with calm footsteps.

“Hark! Who goes there?” challenged an authoritative voice. Neither Shuidō nor Jinjurou spoke a word, holding their breath and remaining perfectly still. “Are you bandits, or... No—you must be bandits." “I’ll let you escape. Leave at once.”

From the tone of his voice, there could be no doubt that this man was a samurai. Bringing his mouth close to Shuidō’s ear, Jinjurou whispered. “I’ll handle this. You stay back and watch… He seems a bit formidable.” “Hmm,” Shuidō nodded.

Jinjurou stealthily emerged. He already had his sword drawn.

Holding it overhead in the darkness, he advanced with measured steps, intending to cut him down in a single stroke. "You dare approach?" said the man ahead. "How pitiful... Had you any sense of self-preservation... You should have fled while you still had your life."

He remained utterly composed and unflappable.

Jinjurou advanced further. Of course, he offered no reply. “I see,” said the opposing samurai.

“You’re determined to come, no matter what? So be it. …Then come!” he said and fell silent. Whirlwind! Precisely! Mizushina Jinjurou! He charged in with a slash, roaring, “Split in two!” But like willow branches yielding to a spring breeze— In the instant he twisted his body with a fluid motion, the samurai parried sideways with his drawn sword!

Jinjurou narrowly leapt back, let out a heavy breath, and stiffened his posture. What peerless samurai swordsmanship! It possessed both dignity and depth—truly the work of a master.

"Hmm..." Jinjurou was both impressed and terrified— What the— If it's come to this, I'll go all out! With my sure-kill technique—the 'Reverse Wheel'... As if declaring Watch this!, he assumed a mid-level stance, grinding his feet against the dark earth as he pressed forward inch by inch. Yet just as before—like water receding—he fluidly drew his sword diagonally leftward, then immediately unleashed Yagyū's Wheel Return without pause before following through with a Great Underhand Cut! But— Clang! There came the ring of steel... His strike was splendidly parried and deflected, followed by the samurai's voice crying out.

“Reverse Wheel!” “So it’s you—Jinjurou! Mizushina Jinjurou!” “I am Hemi Tashirō!” “Would you raise your blade against your own master? You vile traitor!” “Ah! …Damn it!” “Shuidō, run!” Passing through the trees in reckless desperation, Jinjurou fled, and Shuidō followed suit, disappearing into the darkness.

"Oh! Mr. Jinjurou! And Mr. Shuidō!"

Immediately, a woman’s surprised voice could be heard from behind Hemi Tashirō. “Do you know them, Lady Otsuma?” “Yes… No… But even so…” “Even so... Hmm, even so... How was that dreadful evil blade... the 'Reverse Wheel'... defeated?”

Tashirō muttered and sank into thought. (Even so,) Otsuma thought. (Why on earth were Jinjurou and Mr. Shuidō together?)

6

Otsuma couldn’t help but find it strange that Shuidō and Jinjurou—sworn enemies—were together. (Mr. Shuidō... could this be a case of mistaken identity?) If that were the case, it meant nothing at all. In this world, there exist people who share the same name.

It must be a case of mistaken identity—it must be! Yet thinking this only made Otsuma feel lonelier—for she found herself wishing that this Mr. Shuidō before her now was indeed the Shuidō she longed for, that he might stay close by her side. What terrified her was Jinjurou’s presence. (If we meet, he’ll kill me for sure.) The memory of being hunted down and nearly slain during the brawl at Oiwake Inn now washed over her like an icy wave.

Tashirō clapped his hands once.

“I’ve got it! “It was dark—that’s why it worked.” “That’s how the ‘Reverse Wheel’ was broken.” “Then in daylight?” “Then how to break it in daylight?”

He sank deep into thought.

“What—” After a brief pause, Tashirō said. “Wha— Oh! So that’s it! It was something like this! So it was such an obvious principle after all! Alright—I’ve got it! With this, I’ve broken it! Jinjurou’s ‘Reverse Wheel’—through my hands, it’s been utterly crushed!”

He had been invited into the main house but had yet to meet Kamon. Bored and intending to at least glimpse the night garden, Tashirō casually stepped outside, taking Otsuma with him. It was through this accidental occurrence that he effortlessly shattered the "Reverse Wheel"—the wicked blade he had long struggled to defeat. He discovered the trick of the method. (That was a good deed—a windfall!)

He could not help but think so.

In the opulent inner room, Kamon sat before Sumie and was speaking in a nitpicking tone on this very night. “Shall I call this a strange twist of fate, or perhaps an unusual encounter? That we met in Takahagi, met again at Oiwake Inn, and now you have come all the way to my room where we can converse at leisure—it is quite peculiar, is it not?” He spoke in a relentlessly nitpicking manner. The mere fact that Kōhōgen’s magnificent six-panel folding screen depicting Tiger Ravine Three Laughers was casually propped in a corner of the room spoke volumes about its opulence.

The seating area was completely covered with bear pelts, and the inlays on the sliding door handles were crafted from gold and mother-of-pearl. "That said regarding Takahagi—I must humbly apologize for the unconscionable rudeness displayed there." "Ha! Ha! Such unconscionable rudeness!" "...Though in truth, that was never my true intent." "For however much I may be a country rustic, why would I seriously contemplate such acts against a lady?" "That was entirely the work of Lord Inoshimatsu's followers from Takahagi." "I merely found myself circumstantially inclined to partake in that hospitality." "But even that consideration proved utterly thoughtless!" "I therefore offer my profound apologies." "I beseech your gracious forgiveness... With this, our past accounts stand settled." "We shall now discuss future arrangements." "...Though before our consultation, there remains one matter I must mention..."

7

Here, Kamon took a draw of tobacco. He clamped the thick, long silver pipe—so hefty it seemed cumbersome to hold—between his thick, large lips and took a hearty drag, then puffed out thick plumes of smoke from between those same lips. It could only be thought of as a toad facing the sky, spewing mist. “To put it plainly—once I, as a man, resolve to do something, I see it through without fail!” After taking a satisfying puff of tobacco with evident relish, Kamon spoke those words in a thick, viscous tone.

Indeed, Kamon said in a thick, viscous tone.

However, this thick, viscous tone was no ordinary manner of speech—it revealed the ferocious, daring nature of a horse trader chieftain, a half-barbarian, in a way that chilled the blood. “Now then, as for what I intend to do here and now—after thoroughly convincing you, who call yourself Lady Sumie, I shall make you obey my will!” “...That is how it shall be!” Having said this, Kamon shook his long hair hanging over his shoulders with a flourish, snapped his drooping elephantine eyes wide open, and fixed his gaze on Sumie.

Sumie gasped— Sumie had long since steeled herself with both resignation and resolve.

When I think about it, my life has been so full of twists of fate! ...She couldn't help but feel that way.

On Kamigo Highway, I met my parent’s enemy. I tried to strike him down, but was kidnapped by horse traders and gamblers. As a result, I was about to be offered as a human sacrifice to the leader of the horse traders. I was rescued by the enemy. By my parent’s enemy—Jinjurou! ……Even this much—what a series of bizarre twists of fate! Moreover, beyond that, I had been treated with kindness and consideration by my parent’s enemy, even embarking on a journey to live together. A married life without being married! What else could it be but twists of fate?

That commotion at Oiwake Inn! I had met and parted with Lord Shuidō—my sworn brother, my lover, my betrothed—in but an instant!

What else could it be but twists of fate! Then I was captured by Kamon.

And now, this is what I’ve been reduced to! I can no longer deny that my life is woven through with cruel twists of fate. (Let come what may—let it be as it will.) I have no choice but to resign myself to this. (But should the time come when this loathsome horse trader leader defiles my body, I will bite through my tongue and die!) She had thus steeled her resolve. Though she appeared as pitiful and wretched as a butterfly marked by a toad—nay, cruelly so—her mind stood crystal-clear, serene and unshaken, even invigoratingly pure.

A brief silence hung between the two. “How about it, Lady Sumie?” Kamon began in an unctuous tone. “Would you not grant this pitiful old man’s wish?” “...Ah, but when one becomes aged like myself, he can no longer hope to attract young beauties.” “Though crude, I shall employ monetary means to bend you to my will.” “...I perceive you’re a proper samurai daughter—not one to become some kept woman of my ilk. This I comprehend full well.” “...Precisely why—were our positions reversed—I’d desire to claim you as mine.” “...Thus I entreat you.” “...Take mercy on this senile wretch as virtuous charity. ...In exchange, whatever your heart desires—if gold can procure it—I shall obediently provide.”

Again, he snapped a sharp puff of tobacco.

8 “I shall not comply,” Sumie said.

Sumie, who had been enduring silently and listening all this time, now spoke clearly for the first time. “To obey Your Lordship’s will—I shall never, ever comply!”

Though her words were few, her resolute bearing and ice-calm countenance manifested an immovable spirit as she spoke, overwhelming her opponent.

“Hmm,” Kamon growled. He had assumed this woman—being the model of a chaste woman—would not yield to ordinary persuasion; yet through her present response and demeanor, he instantly perceived she was far more resolute than imagined. Abruptly, Kamon’s demeanor shifted.

His demeanor transformed into something eerie, cruel, insidiously persistent—a demonic visage. And yet his words grew ever softer, “In that case—most regrettable—we must request Your Ladyship’s temporary visit to an… unconventional location… We simply must insist upon your attendance… Once you have gone there and returned—then we shall have a leisurely discussion anew.”

And then, he snapped another sharp puff of tobacco and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. “How should I put this… The place Your Ladyship is about to visit—how should I put this…” “…In any case, it is a most disagreeable place… No matter how stubborn a mule one may be, once thrown into that place, they emerge reborn—docile as lambs… The weak-willed go mad… The weaker still take their own lives posthaste. …Ah yes, some time ago, there was this performer—Lady Genjo of O-kumi—equally headstrong. When she was sent there, she too ended up in a… similar state, let us say… And now, it seems Your Ladyship must also pay a visit… Yes, it seems you must.”

“Where could I possibly be going?” Sumie said coldly.

She had already prepared herself for death. There was nothing she feared. Pain! But even that lasts only as long as I draw breath! Once I'm dead, there will be no pain.

Sumie was coldly composed and desolate. Kamon clapped his hands briskly. Then, the maid waiting in the next room slid open the sliding door softly.

“Tell Gonkurou we have a woman to send off. Have him prepare the red lanterns.”

The maid nodded and closed the sliding door. It was not long after that when Genjo's voice—"Ah—!"—startled Yōsuke and Naminosuke. At this time, the three were still wandering around the perimeter of Kamon's main residence. "They're moving! Oh, the red lanterns!" Genjo shouted while pointing.

Extreme terror filled that voice. "There! There! The fires that send people away! To Hell—no, to Living Hell! ...To the Living Hell where I was sent! Oh no! Someone else will be done in tonight as well! ...How pitiful! How pitiful! Yes—this humble woman too was illuminated by red lanterns like that, tied to a horse—a bare horse—and sent there!"

9

“After them!”

Yōsuke declared resolutely.

“Let’s retrieve whoever they’re sending away!” “Let’s do it!” Naminosuke said. The blood-red Odawara lanterns pierced sharply through the night’s darkness—now hidden among dense groves, now visible—swaying like unnatural fruit as they moved toward the hillside, their path starkly apparent.

The three of them gave chase. However, upon approaching the group and observing them, they realized that a reckless frontal assault would be perilous with little chance of success. For there was a bare horse with a person—whether man or woman unclear—bound to it, draped with an oilcloth over the top, and surrounding this human-and-horse pair walked over a dozen rough men shouldering firearms, bows, spears, and other weapons as escorts. (We can’t match projectile weapons.) The three all thought this.

All three of them thought the same. Then, Yōsuke said to Naminosuke, “We’ll follow them stealthily all the way and confirm their destination.” “When a good opportunity presents itself, we’ll cut through them and rescue the victim.” He whispered this close to his ear. “That would be most agreeable.” Naminosuke also said so.

In Inoue Kamon’s opulent main house room after sending Sumie off to Living Hell, Hemi Tashirō sat in formal seiza.

He had sent the woman he desired to Living Hell. Not a trace of such demeanor remained as Kamon, in high spirits, smiled amiably and immersed himself in casual conversation with Tashirō. Hemi Tashirō was—though styled a private scholar—a man of stature treated with deference as an honored guest by Matsudaira Yamato-no-kami, the territorial lord; moreover, he served as the swordsmanship instructor to Inoshimatsu of Takahagi, whom he himself favored. Even the haughty Kamon had no choice but to receive him with utmost courtesy.

After their conversation had ranged through topics from horse breeding to historic landmarks and provincial customs, Tashirō spoke casually when a lull finally came. "In Chichibu District's Ogawa Village, beneath the hinoki cypress roots in Lord Hemi's garden—it's said there once was... and so goes the old song passed down in Chichibu. According to legend, this verse refers to gold buried by Minamoto no Yoriyoshi and his son Yoshiie when returning from their Oshu campaign. Yet its final lines—*'Now transformed into a thousand horses, five hundred horses of horse breeders—*...and such—suggest this gold remains preserved by those very horse masters."

“A moment,” Kamon said abruptly. Then he smiled sarcastically— “Ah! So Lord Hemi has deigned to visit this estate to obtain that gold?” “To speak plainly—precisely so. For none but you could be the great horse breeder of fifteen hundred steeds.”

“As you say. However—if that be the case—I find it somewhat regrettable.” “Why would that be, pray tell?” “Why would that be?” “Why do you ask? Is it not as you say? Since I am preserving such an immense amount of gold, I shall never ever hand it over to anyone.” “That goes without saying—but this humble one has a slightly different perspective regarding that matter…”

10 “A different idea of yours? What might that idea be, pray tell?” “If you are indeed preserving that gold in reality, why would this humble one seek to take it from you? However… if even you do not know the gold’s precise location and are secretly searching for it—” “I see, that is quite reasonable. If that is the case, have you come here deigning to join forces with me, Lord Tashirō, to seek it out?” “Indeed, that is roughly the case.”

“This case grows more intriguing by the moment.” “But… what am I to say?”

Kamon fell silent at this point. An oddly suffocating air of seriousness hung between the two men. Eventually, Kamon began to speak haltingly. "The horse breeder mentioned in the song is indeed myself." "As the song states, there was indeed an era when that gold existed within my estate and territory... It was precisely because that gold existed that we achieved such absurd prosperity, allowing us to maintain this vast domain as we do now." "For without it, horse breeders such as ourselves—no matter how diligently we might have toiled—could not possibly have achieved what we have today... Thus, I humbly offer my gratitude to those ancestors of mine who skillfully utilized that gold to amass our fortune."

“If I may infer from your words… it would seem the gold is no longer in your possession today…” “Well… whether that be so or not… I find myself rather indisposed to say…” “This is absurd—utterly ambiguous!” “Oh yes, most ambiguous indeed, my lord!” “Allow me to reorient our inquiry.” “The final verse of that song states: *‘A mountain of fodder and a bottomless river—within a rocky cavern at midstream.’* Such lyrics exist—and this humble one believes the gold likely lies buried there. Does such terrain exist within your domain…?”

“Oh yes... it does indeed exist... my lord.” “Then you shall guide me there at once—” “Denied!”

“Why?” “You’ll lose your life!” “No life, you say?” “Because it’s the Living Hell!” ………… “Ah-hah-hah! Hell! Hell! That place is the terrifying Living Hell! If you go there, you’ll lose your life! Even if you survived, you’d go mad! Ah-hah-hah! You’d go mad! But tonight as well—poor thing—a woman was sent. Indeed, indeed—to that Living Hell!” Having said this, Kamon wore an expression worthy of the legendary Shuten-dōji of Mount Ōe—said to have drunk the fresh blood of maidens and devoured their flesh—and glared fiercely at Tashirō.

Even Tashirō, struck by Kamon's yōkai-like expression and demeanor, found himself speechless and fell silent. Once more, a suffocating atmosphere pressed down upon the room and its occupants. After a moment, Inoue Kamon spoke these cryptic words: "That gold had previously been buried—as sung in that ballad—at the roots of the hinoki tree in Lord Hemi's garden in Ogawa Village, Chichibu District—that is to say, within your garden. It must have been interred there... Perhaps that gold may yet return to Lord Hemi's garden..."

11

“What nonsense,” Tashirō laughed. “If that gold lies buried within my residence even now, why would you go to such lengths as coming to a place like this…”

“No, no,” Kamon said. “There exist multiple households of Lord Hemi.” “…………” “Among the renowned and relatively nearby locations... there are the Hemi Three Houses of Owari......” “Ah! The Hemi Three Houses!” In Nagoya one house, in Inuyama one house, in Chita one house—three houses in total, all related by kinship—there existed great magnates who bore the Hemi surname, collectively known as the Hemi Three Houses of Owari, held by society in both special esteem and suspicion. The wealthy are respected because they are rich! While this was only natural, what exactly was the nature of this suspicion?

When speaking of Owari's great merchants and magnates—beginning with Hanai Kan'emon, the ninety-eight households of Kiyosu-go-shu, and twelve other families such as Kosaka Shinzaemon who received stipends from the Owari clan—all these people associated intimately and interacted closely. Yet the Hemi Three Houses alone did not associate with them, keeping exclusively to their own three households. While other wealthy families maintained various official dealings with the Owari clan—holding titles like Purveyors, Three Houses Faction, Tax-Exempt Landholders, Kitchen Purveyors, Ten Men, and so forth—the Hemi Three Houses alone had no dealings whatsoever with the Owari clan.

This was precisely what invited suspicion. "Ah! The Hemi Three Houses!" Tashirō exclaimed, his eyes widening. "Regarding their household traditions—this humble one has long heard rumors from afar and suspected there existed mysterious magnates among them. But are you suggesting those Hemi Three Houses bear some connection to the buried gold?" "Whether such a connection exists or not—the precise truth of the matter—I myself cannot state at present... Indeed, since I cannot state it immediately, I would entreat you, Lord, having graced us with your visit, to kindly prolong your stay here for some time, that we might discuss the matter at leisure."

Here too, Kamon spoke ambiguously.

Kamon’s evasive attitude—like having something stuck between his back teeth—was intensely disagreeable to Tashirō, but judging that pressing further would yield no answers, he resolved to postpone the matter for another day.

Illuminating the path with red lanterns, having tied Sumie to a bareback horse, Gonkurou and his men—who guarded her—proceeded in silence along the mountain road. Yōsuke and his men followed after them. Had they come over two ri? At that moment, suddenly ahead of them, the flames of red lanterns of the same crimson hue came into view, scattered here and there. (Hm?) Yōsuke and his men were struck by suspicion.

Yet Gonkurou and his group showed no surprise or alarm—as if prearranged—and facing those flames, held their lanterns aloft to wave them. From ahead came answering waves in return. When their fire had closed to within less than a dozen ken of the distant one, even through the night's darkness, the scene ahead began to take dim shape before Yōsuke and his men.

Ahead, there seemed to be a valley. A river seemed to flow through the valley. Across the valley, a sheer cliff of rock—resembling a folding screen—towered vertically into the sky. At the cliff's peak, there was a moon, and by its light, the cliff's shoulders could be seen glittering silver. Living Hell

1 Then Genjo, who until that moment had been silently following Yōsuke and his group, cried out in a terrified voice as though haunted by nightmares.

“Living Hell is there—the bottom of the valley! Going there would be disastrous! You’d either kill yourself or go mad! ……Ah! How pitiful, how pitiful—the person on horseback! ……Ooooh! We must save that person!”

“Let’s do it!” Yōsuke declared in a fierce yet hushed voice. “Cut through them and save the victims!” “Master, let’s do it!” Naminosuke responded. But in that instant, the people who had been protecting the victims and walking encircling the bareback horse—Gonkurou’s underlings—all stopped in unison, turned around, and aimed the muzzles of their matchlocks this way.

They aimed them toward Yōsuke and his men.

“Damnation!” “They’ve marked us!” “No avoiding it now!”

—the moment Yōsuke shouted that—

Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom—the sound of matchlocks resounded through the night valley, their echoes lingering as bang, bang, bang, bang, bang—sparks erupted from their muzzles, splitting the darkness of night. And then— The horse let out a terrified neigh! Behold! That very bareback horse—with the victim still bound to it—now galloped headlong toward the valley mouth! "Ah! Ah! Ah! It's too late!" "That person has been driven to Living Hell too!" "Like this humble woman!" "Like this humble woman of old!"

Genjo shouted and stamped her feet in frustration.

Boldly! The horse plunged down toward the valley bottom like an avalanche. The matchlocks had by no means been fired to acknowledge Yōsuke and his men or to cut them down.

It had been fired to startle the horse and send it—along with the victim—plunging into the valley’s depths. It was nothing but blanks. All fell silent!

Everything fell utterly silent. And then, Gonkurou and his group—now without horses or victims, empty-handed—were seen by Yōsuke and his men swinging their red lanterns idly in the air as they turned back the way they had come.

Passing by Yōsuke and his men—who were hiding in the shadows to see them off—after that group had departed, the surroundings fell into utter desolation. And then, Yōsuke said to Naminosuke.

“We’ve finally failed to save the victim, but this too is fate’s doing—there’s no help for it. …But since that can’t be helped, let us behold the sight of Living Hell.”

"That would be most agreeable."

“Lady Genjo, you should come as well.” “This humble woman declines.” It was from a heart fearing that facing that place would make her vividly recall the terrifying past once more that Genjo spoke tremblingly. “Very well. Then you may wait there, Lady Genjo.” With those words, Yōsuke headed toward the valley’s lower entrance together with Naminosuke. Then those several red lanterns—which had earlier appeared and been swung in response to Gonkurou and his men’s red lanterns—now reemerged from what appeared to be a guardhouse built near the valley’s lower entrance, visible when looked upon.

“Who goes there? Hey! Don’t come any closer! Approach and we’ll cut you down without mercy!”

A voice came from within the red lanterns. The figures aiming matchlocks could be seen.

2

As the horse galloped down the slope, the rope that had bound her snapped, and Sumie was flung to the ground.

Following right after the horse, she tumbled down the valley slope toward the bottom.

How strange! The valley slope was soft and smooth—it scarcely seemed like earth at all! Thus Sumie came to rest at the valley bottom without sustaining even minor injuries. As the pitiable horse fell right before her eyes and passed by, it reached the bottom, stood up—likely from terror—and kept running forward while letting out a high-pitched neigh.

There was a river that glistened like silver foil under the moonlight. Indeed, there was a river ahead.

And then, it ran to the river. The horse jumped into the river. (Will it swim?) Sumie thought. Seeming shallow, it walked five steps, ten steps—over twenty steps in total. Strangely, as it walked, the horse gradually became smaller. And then, before long, it stopped walking. Its stature appeared to have grown remarkably shorter.

And then, the horse stretched its neck long, turned its face toward the moon that silently watched the tragedy, and let out several sorrowful neighs. Its size gradually diminished. Before long, the horse's figure finally vanished from the river's surface, and upon that water—which flowed dimly without a ripple, neither truly flowing nor still—only the moonlight now lay flatly shining, like sheets of silver plate. The river's breadth was immense.

And on the opposite bank stood a towering sheer cliff like a folding screen, steep and stretching long into the distance. Sumie shuddered with a sudden chill. (Why did the horse sink?) If the river had been deep, the horse would have swum across.

If that river had been shallow, the horse would have walked across.

And yet it sank. (Oh, the river is bottomless!)

Yes, that must be it. The water itself was shallow, but the bottom consisted of accumulated mud, immeasurably deep. And anyone who stepped there would be sucked into that mud and sink forevermore. Sumie shuddered with a sudden chill. (There's no escaping by crossing the river.)

Sumie staggered to her feet.

Then she looked up at the mountain slope she had tumbled down from.

The slope was truly gentle, with not a single clump of trees, not a single hill, not a single rock—there was nothing. The base appeared high and distant, not easily reachable, but ascending seemed effortless. Sumie began to climb the slope. Immediately her feet slipped smoothly, and she was driven back to the valley bottom in an instant. Oh? she thought as she climbed again. Just when she thought she had climbed a little over six feet, she slid back down to the valley bottom with astonishing smoothness and ease.

(Well, what on earth is happening?) Sumie couldn't help but find it strange. And so, she picked up some of the soil to examine it. It did not seem to be soil. Though parched and brittle, it appeared to be plant stems and leaves. The stems and leaves of plants had been exposed to wind, rain, frost, and snow over many long years, turning into fine grains of sand! That was how it appeared.

Such material thickly—and indeed, toweringly—blanketed the slope.—

And if someone were to step on it, their weight would cause it to crumble—crumbling endlessly without limit—sending them sliding back down!

(Then I can't climb up!) Sumie shuddered with a sudden chill again.

3

(Then I’ll try once more.)

Thinking this, Sumie began to climb again. Just then, a voice laughed mockingly from behind. Startled, Sumie looked back.

When and from where they had come—five or six people stood clustered together in a spot several ken away.

Since she was seeing them in moonlight, she couldn't make out the details clearly, but among them there appeared to be women, elderly people, and youths. What startled Sumie most was how emaciated these people were—they looked almost like withered trees, withered trees given human form and draped in tattered rags. They were gaunt in exactly that manner. Yes, they wore garments. But those garments were so shredded and torn that they had lost all shape.

The Shunkan of Kikaigashima from illustrated scrolls! People exactly like that were clustered there. "It’s no use, girl. You ain’t climbin’ up," one of them said in a parched voice—small and feeble like strangled reeds, an unpleasant sound. "That’s Haystack Mountain, y’hear? That slope you’re strainin’ to climb—that’s Haystack Mountain." "The slope of Haystack Mountain... Step on it—you’ll slip. Try footholdin’—you’ll slip." "Ain’t nobody ever climbed more’n two ken." "Useless—best quit."

“Ah-hah-hah” “Hee-hee-hee” “Hmph-hmph-hmph”

“Heh-heh-heh” They all burst into laughter in unison. It was laughter that sounded mocking yet despairing, sinister yet seemingly sympathetic—an eerie, loathsome cacophony.

Sumie encountered the departed spirits of hell! While feeling terror and eeriness akin to such thoughts—having until now believed herself utterly alone in this realm—the knowledge that others existed here filled her with indescribable relief, and she hurried toward them. “Though I know not who you may be, I am Inoue Kamon’s…” “I know, I know,” said one of the old men among them—a one-eyed old man—not even letting Sumie speak to the others,

“We’re just the same. By our terrible master—Lord Inoue Kamon—no, no, not ‘Lord’—he’s an ogre, a demon! That demon Kamon threw us into this Living Hell. We’re spirits with no hope of return.” “You’re the same as us, ain’t ya? That demon Kamon threw you down here too, didn’t ya?” “Look at ya—a pretty little thing, ain’t ya? I can pretty much guess why they threw you down here.” “…you probably didn’t listen to what Kamon told ya.” “……There was another woman like that before.” “……a woman called Genjo or some such……”

“Grandpa,” Sumie said, clinging to this thread of hope as she asked, “Where are we? What manner of place might this be?” “An execution ground! A dumping pit for people!” The one-eyed old man rasped. “A graveyard where they bury alive those who defy Kamon’s orders and useless cripples who’ve outlived their purpose.” “How utterly terrifying…” “Come along then—I’ll show you examples of just how terrifying this place truly is.”

The one-eyed old man started walking.

Then the remaining hungry ghosts and departed spirits—these gaki-like humans—followed listlessly behind, looking ready to collapse as they panted heavily while coming along. In the pale blue moonlight that seemed to deepen the night's clarity, the sight of these people walking onward formed a perfect tableau of hell's torments.

And then, they came to a lone tree.

A young man was hanging.

4 He had hanged himself and died.

The one-eyed old man explained. "He was a visitor who came here about twenty days back." "That young bastard carried on with Kamon's favorite chambermaid—enraged that demon Kamon, so he got tossed in here." "He missed the woman and wanted to escape, ranting like a madman at first. But once he realized there was no way out, the fool suddenly clammed up." "And then this morning, he went and hanged himself." "......Folks hanging themselves, drowning in the river—one every five days, another every ten. Nobody finds it strange anymore." "That's why hundreds of men and women lie rotting in that bottomless river...... Look there—the base of that rock!" "See? A pile of bleached bones." "Them's bundles from those who hanged themselves or bit through their tongues and croaked."

Sure enough, when she looked, she could see in the distance—illuminated by moonlight at the base of a massive boulder—a pale white mass accumulated there.

“Grandpa,” Sumie said, trembling. “What do you eat to survive?” “Horse meat—from dead horses.... They toss it down to us sometimes.” “From the lower entrance of the valley, the guards above—” “Dead horse meat…?” “……That’s your food?” “There’s no rice or wheat.” “There’s no vegetables or pickles either.” “……When it comes to water, there’s only the thickly murky, mud-like water from that river.” “……That’s why they can’t live long.” “They die within a month or two…… Though among them, there are those who get used to it and live for three or five years.” “……Someone like me… I’m one of those.……”

“Where is everyone? Where does everyone live?” “In the caves... in the caves. ……Over there. Let’s go see.”

The old man took the lead, and Sumie and the others proceeded forward.

Human bones and horse bones—and what appeared to be similar remains—could be seen scattered ash-gray among tree roots and at the bases of rocks.

And then, ahead—illuminated by moonlight—a hill-like shape came into view.

It was indeed a hill.

It was a small hill formed of rock, soil, moss, and shrubs, with an entrance about twice the height of a person and a long depth. When they finally reached the front of it, from the hill's main entrance—for this hill was in fact a rock cavern with an entrance at its face—there swarmed forth a crowd of skeletons: skeleton-like emaciated men and women, old men and crones, boys and girls, bubbling up like foam.

And then they all shouted in unison. “Another visitor’s come!” “One of ours?” “Did you bring any food?” “Strip those clothes off!” “Tear ’em right off!” “A young woman!” “A pretty one!” “She’ll be filthy soon enough.” “Nah—she’ll hang herself and die before a fortnight’s passed.”

Then the one-eyed old man barked out a scolding shout. "Shut your traps, you bastards! Keep quiet!" "This visitor here ain't quite like the others before." "Don't any of you dare lay fingers on her!"

5

The one-eyed old man appeared to be an authority figure. He appeared to be an authority figure among their group. With just that single utterance from him, their commotion subsided.

“Go on inside and see for yourselves. Step inside the house and see for yourselves.” Having said this, the old man led Sumie into the cavern.

Upon entering, the first thing that struck her was an indescribable stench. The stench of filth, animal hides, rotten flesh, and tattered rags—various foul odors merged into a single unspeakable miasma that rushed into her nostrils, making Sumie feel she might vomit.

The cavern was cold. It was freezing cold. It was dark, low, and narrow as well.

Fires were burning here and there. The residents were making bonfires. Gathering around them or lying at the base of the rock walls, there were surprisingly many people.

At this moment, the sound of two or three people humming in hoarse voices reached her ears.

Chichibu District, Ogawa Village

Lord Hemi's garden, at the base of the hinoki cypress 'Tis said there was once Now transformed into a thousand horses Five hundred horses and their grooms Kiso's horse owners and mountain lords The mountain's inner depths too are distant, Mountains of fodder and bottomless depths The rock cavern in the river's midst, Confined within the sacred cupboard, it is said. Shifting and changing is our way Life exists yet form does not, Form is originally earth, water, and fire Passing through three realms to return to the source Life exists yet form does not,

That was a song of this sort. “Old man,” Sumie said. “What is that song?” “It’s a song everyone sings… Nothing special around these parts… Just something to pass the time… An old tune from way back, probably doesn’t mean a thing.” “Is this cavern very deep?” “They say it’s deep—they say it’s deep—but no one’s ever gone there. No one’s ever gone there… But I alone went quite deep into it. But I turned back halfway through… Whether you’d call it terrifying or awe-inspiring, divine or something else entirely—I just couldn’t shake this strange feeling and ended up turning back in the end… There are human pillars standing there, I tell you… They’re skeletons—real skeletons! Ones that’ve kept their original form entirely. And there they are—lined up all in a row along both sides of the rock walls, ain’t they? I tell you!”

Villain's Reckoning

1

Jinjurou walked silently along the mountain path.

Shuidō followed from behind, but he too walked in silence without uttering a word. They exited Kamon’s great estate grounds and began walking aimlessly.

Jinjurou could not tell which direction he was heading.

He could think of nothing but the fact that his Reverse Wheel technique had been broken by his master, Hemi Tashirō.

Though the moon was out, the mountain path had giant trees—ancient trees and thickets—that covered the sky and darkened the surroundings, blocking the moonlight; because of this, the two figures were nearly invisible from afar.

A considerable amount of time had passed. (Why would Master Hemi be in such a place?)

This matter had been weighing on his mind, but more than that—the fact that his own creation, the Reverse Wheel technique he had been so confident was undefeatable, had been broken—this alone filled him with anxiety, terror, and desolation. Before being expelled, there had been several occasions at Tashirō’s dojo where he had faced Tashirō using the Reverse Wheel technique, and each time Jinjurou had either emerged victorious or ended in a mutual strike!

Yet on this very night of all nights, it had been brilliantly countered. (If Master had truly meant to strike then—if he'd stepped in and cut—I would've been cleaved in two.) (If the Reverse Wheel gets broken, I've got almost no chance of winning. If Master goes on teaching that technique to others afterward, I'll be utterly helpless.) This was what terrified him.

Or was it that my skill had been duller than usual at that moment? I did use the Reverse Wheel, but perhaps my execution lacked refinement, causing it to be temporarily countered? If that were true, then there was still reassurance.) "(Then……)" Jinjurou thought with cruel deliberation.

(If I take someone—anyone—and fully prepare and refine the Reverse Wheel technique on them, and if I can cut them down!) (If I can cut them down!) That'll build my confidence!

He thought. (Hmm... Should I cut somebody down?) (Who?) he wondered—and in that instant, Shuidō’s name flashed through his mind. Right—I’ll cut this one down!

The villain’s true nature had revived. (When I thought about it, Shuidō had been an extremely dangerous companion. He’d been someone targeting me as an enemy. And someday, because of this man, I was supposed to be killed... Would I be killed? What nonsense! ...What kind of man was I... To think I once considered letting myself be killed by him someday— ...And the human heart is a thing that changes. Just as hearts change, so does mine. ...And that Shuidō bastard might change his mind—wait for my sleeping breath—might well slit my throat. Right—I’ll finish him off here and now, severing the root of this disaster.)

Jinjurou sharply turned around.

“Shuidō! Hey, Shigisawa Shuidō!”

“What is it?” Shuidō stopped in his tracks.

“In this darkness，this humble one will demonstrate the ‘Reverse Wheel’ technique once more.”

2 “There’s no need for that,” Shuidō said. When one harbors a scheme in their heart, it naturally manifests in their tone; for Jinjurou’s words carried an ominous resonance unlike his usual speech. It was because he found this terrifying.……

Jinjurou pressed insistently.

“Day and night are naturally different. In the darkness… I’ll show you the ‘Reverse Wheel.’ So draw your sword.” (I’ll show him—deceive him into thinking I’ll teach it, make him prepare thoroughly, trap him with the Reverse Wheel, and kill him to prevent future troubles.)

This was Jinjurou’s true intention.

“I see,” Shuidō inadvertently said. “Day and night are naturally different—in darkness… Indeed! You’d do well to learn this Reverse Wheel properly.” “By all means—draw your sword.”

With that, Jinjurou drew first. “Good… Drew mine… Now get ready.”

Shuidō said likewise and did exactly that. Both men assumed stances with drawn blades and faced each other in the darkness. "Shuidō, stay fully on guard.…… Don't consider this some mere match.…… Think of me as your father's enemy—which I undeniably am—and come at me earnestly, resolved to slay that enemy here and now."

“Right. Good.” “Let’s proceed with that intent.” “I also intend to come at you thinking—‘I’ll strike you down in return.’” “Right—come at me with that intent.” “In the darkness, the ‘Reverse Wheel’… might just slash into your left flank for real.” “…” “Because it’s dark… You never know what might happen…” “…” “I might really cut you down.”

“—”

“Because it’s dark… This humble one cannot see well.”

“...” “Then it becomes a counterstrike. “...Should you fall to my counterblade, bear no grudge.” “Here I come—!” Though delivered in a hushed tone, it was a razor-edged voice brimming with lethal intent— —that pierced Shuidō’s ears.

In that instant, Shuidō thought: Danger! (This was strange! This wasn’t like before! ......Was he really intending to cut him down?) Shuidō threw himself into it with full force.

He assumed a perfect middle stance with his sword and glared through the darkness at his opponent. In the darkness, he could see his opponent’s form standing there, black and fearsome, while the sword held in middle stance also appeared faintly pale. Shuidō’s eyes were fixated solely on that faintly pale blade. Interval!

As usual, a breath-stopping interval passed—one that seemed to drain life itself.

And then, the blade was drawn swiftly to the left diagonal, like water receding. Shuidō staggered forward.

In an instant, the sword twisted back slightly. “Ha!”

Instantly—

A “Kaaah!”—a thunderous battle cry, a voice mustering every ounce of strength—came from nowhere. “Ah!” Shuidō buckled his knees and collapsed to the ground with a thud,

“Umu,” Jinjurou reeled and took two or three faltering steps backward. And in the next instant, he slipped through the shadowy grove and was already dashing toward the foot of the mountain.

3

It was Yōsuke who called out.

When they tried to see the sights of Living Hell and approached the lower entrance of the valley, they were intercepted by guards who then aimed their muskets at them. They were no match for projectile weapons.

There, they turned back to avoid them. They had traveled about a league when... An indescribable aura of killing intent and swordplay was sensed.

(Someone was trying to kill someone.)

Masters possess a different sense. Masters skilled in gambling—those true experts in their craft—can discern the pips on dice through a covered pot.

Masters of swordsmanship naturally perceive any murderous intent directed toward themselves—such things are obvious to them—and even when such threats are not aimed at their own persons, they can still sense nearby acts of slaughter and bloodshed.

It was this that Yōsuke had sensed.

Crush the attacker and save the victim. This was what Yōsuke thought in that instant. At the same moment he thought this, reflexively—

He roared—"Kaaah!" From a dozen ken away came the rustling sound of someone slipping through trees as they fled. (He fled,) Yōsuke instantly thought. "M-Master...! Wh-What happened...?!" Just as Shuidō's hips gave way from the battle cry and he collapsed heavily to the ground, Sugi Naminosuke—whose own hips had similarly buckled from the cry, sending him sprawling behind Yōsuke—let out a shriek. "Mr. Sugi! What disgraceful posture!"

“Wh-what... s-such... a state... M-Master... f-for you to say that...” “Ahahahaha, rise. Rise.” “I encountered sheer terror.”

As he spoke, Naminosuke stood up. “What on earth has happened?” “Wh—at? I merely dispelled some malevolent energy.” “Hah! So it was malevolent energy? But... what do you mean by ‘malevolent energy’?” “But... what do you mean by ‘malevolent energy’?” “Enough for now—I’ll explain in due time... In any case, I’ve dispelled the malevolent energy for you.” “……Just stay still for a while.”

And so, he remained standing perfectly still. Before long came footsteps—someone was running down toward the foothills.

“Hah... So the other one fled too.” “Master! What do you mean? Someone fled?” “One man sought to kill another... I thwarted it. The would-be killer fled first—the one marked for death followed moments later.” “But in such utter darkness—how could you perceive this, Master?” “With eyes and ears truly awake, such things reveal themselves—be it in blackest night or deepest slumber.”

Shuidō was running frantically.

By fear, anxiety, and a kind of anger, his mind was agitated. If only he had possessed a bit more composure and sought out the master of that terrifying battle cry who had saved him from peril—he could have encountered Akiyama Yōsuke, the master of chivalrous swordsmanship with whom he had ties!

4 But for Shuidō, there had been no such luxury of composure. (That bastard Jinjurou—he'd changed his mind. He'd truly reverted to being a villain. He'd tried to kill me. Otherwise that timing—that murderous intent would never have manifested! Still—that sharp "Kaaah!" that saved my life in that instant—who on earth had shouted it?) Even as he ran, these thoughts churned. (At any rate, I can't keep living with Jinjurou. ...Then I can't return to Inoue Kamon the horse tycoon's guest quarters either. ...What should I do? What should I do?)

He kept running headlong as he thought this.

(That battle cry—Kaaah!—) ……A battle cry utterly unlike any ordinary human's! ……I thought my life would be cut short.

While thinking this, Jinjurou too kept running and running and running toward the foothills, recklessly. (But I've failed to execute the Reverse Wheel Technique again with this!) Another failure! Another failure! (Ugh... Another failure of the Reverse Wheel Technique!)

This could only be described as a fatal blow for him—and indeed, it was another fatal blow in truth. (If it’s broken, then let it shatter—whoever they are, anyone at all—I’ll cut them down one after another…… I’ll vent this pent-up rage.)

He ran and ran.

It was on this night that the territory of Inoue Kamon—a den of hypocrisy—was thrown into chaos.

A young woman holding an infant wandered through the territory late at night, searching for her wayward husband. Someone passed by like a demon.

“Aah—!” The woman screamed. She was already dead. The dog had gone somewhere. An old farmer leaned on his cane as he passed through, trying to spot it. “Kuro! Kuro! Come here!”

He kept calling out as he passed through.

Someone slithered past his side. A flash! A sword flash!

“W-w-w-w-wa—!” The old farmer collapsed and stopped moving.

They were cut down over there and cut down here. People rushed outdoors.

Gambling Den Rampage

1

Kamon was by no means a man of virtue, nor was he an exceptional administrator; he was merely in the position of family patriarch, traditionally exploiting that status to oppress, rule autocratically, and intimidate. Thus, the subjugated people had long secretly harbored discontent and dissatisfaction in their hearts. The realm was thrown into chaos by these people through invaders, and seizing that opportunity, they erupted. A group over there, a group here, a group in the alleyway, a group in the vacant lot, a unit in the grove, a unit in the woods—they gathered everywhere, arguing, brawling, and grappling.

Without attempting to ascertain why, who, for what purpose, or what manner of disturbance had been caused, driven by vague terror, vague fury, and vague impatience, those of the same faction banded together to assault the heretics, those of the same party united to attack rival factions, hurling abuse, making demands, and clamoring in uproar.

“Rescue the people of Living Hell!”

“Waaah—!” Dozens of people raised their battle cry and pressed toward the foothills. “Lord Kamon, quit this land!” “Waaah—!” Dozens ran recklessly toward the mansion. “You drive your people too harshly!” “Harboring useless guests is your error!” “Expel the lodgers!” “Waaah—!” The mob coalesced and swarmed toward the guesthouses, raising a tumult.

Screams! Groans! Cries! Angry shouts!

The guests too panicked and left their houses to mingle with the crowd. Akiyama Yōsuke, Naminosuke, Genjo, and Shuidō were all among them.

Kamon too seemed panicked and terrified. He stood at the entrance, utterly bewildered.

At that moment, Tashirō appeared. “Lord Hemi, what should we do?” “Do you have any means to quell this?” “Now that people’s spirits have reached such a fever pitch…” “Would it not be advisable to retreat temporarily?” Otsuma and Tōma stood by his side, looking frightened and trembling. Bamboo war horns sounded, battle gongs clanged, and soon even the reports of arquebuses rang out. The closed main gate was on the verge of being broken down.

Guarding the palanquin carrying four people—Kamon, Tashirō, Otsuma, and Tōma—Kamon’s dozen-plus retainers ran out from the riot-torn domain along the back mountains toward Fukushima. This occurred not long after.

It was now the afternoon of the next day. Rinzō’s adopted underling Tōsaku casually stepped out of his own gambling den and turned his steps toward Inoshimatsu’s gambling den.

Inoshimatsu’s gambling den was located in Upper Tier, and this night it was packed with guests.

2

Tōsaku was drunk. And he had not forgotten how, when he had tried to rescue Sumie from peril on the Kamigo Highway, Inoshimatsu’s underling Hachigorō and his men had beaten him down. He had been thinking—Someday I’ll pay them back for that grudge. Now he came to Fukushima.

Inoshimatsu’s gang was holding a grand gambling den in Upper Tier.

“Since all these big-shot bosses from across the provinces are gathered here, it’d be different if Inoshimatsu’s side threw the first punch—but we can't go starting nothin' ourselves.” Though his boss Rinzō had warned him against it, Hachigorō was there at Inoshimatsu’s den—that bastard wasn’t getting away—and with a belly full of liquid courage, Tōsaku headed straight for Inoshimatsu’s gambling den. He slipped inside, hands tucked in his sleeves, planting himself behind the guests as his eyes swept the room like drawn blades.

Long straw mats had been spread across the wooden floor—with this at the center, the guests were lined up in rows and waiting. Inoshimatsu was nowhere to be seen, but as substitute manager, his top foster son Mineyoshi sat in the position of honor with a long wakizashi bearing silver fittings at his side, overseeing the betting boxes. The dice-shaker—that is, the one shaking the dice cup—was none other than Hachigorō, who wore nothing but a bleached loincloth and tended to the dice with remarkable vigor. Before the knees of the guest who kept winning, chips were piled up like a mountain, and this man grinned from ear to ear.

Horse handlers, mountain handlers, local magnates—no matter which group one looked at, all the guests were upstanding individuals, with not a single suspicious character among them. Tōsaku did not try to place bets himself; instead, he kept standing there staring, intent on finding some pretext to start a fight. From the moment Tōsaku entered—What an unpleasant bastard has shown up here— Both Mineyoshi and Hachigorō had thought this, but they couldn’t very well tell him to leave—Don’t provoke him, don’t touch him—just leave him be. Having thought this, they exchanged glances to signal each other and continued the game without a word.

Then, suddenly, Tōsaku shouted. “Hold it! This game’s rigged!” Simultaneously leaping out, he grabbed the gambling mat and tore it off with a violent tug. “Bastard!” Hachigorō leapt up. “It’s a raid—!” the guests shouted, leaping to their feet and stampeding in chaos. 3 “What’s this about a rigged game, you bastard!”

In an instant, Hachigorō lunged at him.

With a solid smack, Tōsaku expertly landed one blow on his cheek, but— “It’s rigged—! It’s rigged—!” “…The dice-shaker at Ino’s gambling den in Takahagi—Hachigorō’s rigging the game!” “…Honored guests, it’s rigged—!” he shouted. “Tōsaku!” Unable to contain his fury any longer, Mineyoshi bellowed. He grabbed his long wakizashi, stood up, and stomped forward. “Look here—you’re Akabane’s Tōsaku! Not like I don’t recognize your face.” “I don’t want to make a scene here, but when the Takahagi gang gets accused of rigging at the gambling den, it’s downright impossible to swallow.” “Go on, tell me! Where’s the rigging?!”

“What’re you sayin’?! It’s rigged—! If the dice’re rigged, then the mat’s rigged too! The whole Takahagi gang’s rigged—!” Though Tōsaku had shouted this, he hadn’t actually discovered any rigging to justify his outburst. He’d simply wanted to cause a disturbance—to stir up trouble and teach Hachigorō a lesson—and had instigated this gambling den raid with that sole intent. Thus, when confronted by Mineyoshi, he naturally couldn’t produce any evidence of rigging.

He just kept shouting, "It’s rigged—! It’s rigged—!"

“Bastard!” Mineyoshi grew even angrier, “So you’ve come to wreck our gambling den and steal its money!” Here, he sneered venomously. “I’ve heard Akabane’s Rinzō has a reputation among his men as a thorough boss—unusual for his youth—but it seems he doesn’t even give his underlings pocket money, leaving them penniless.” “The underling’s come to rob our den!” “You think the Takahagi gang would let trash like you ruin our business?!” “Everyone—gang up on this bastard and drive him off!”

At the shouted command, Hachigorō and five or six fellow Takahagi gang underlings swarmed around Tōsaku, beating him with fists, kicking him, and dragging him about. “Kill him! Kill him! Come on, kill him!” “The boss’ll take care of the remains!” “Kill him! Kill him! Come on, kill him!” Tōsaku lay spread-eagled on the ground, overwhelmed by their numbers and powerless to resist, yet still blustering loudly. The Takahagi underlings dragged that guy outside and flung him out.

“So Tōsaku caused trouble at Ino’s gambling den and got himself beaten by the whole gang, huh?”

Akabane no Rinzō, who had been drinking in the back of the restaurant, heard this—or rather, heard this report from his underling—and grabbed his long wakizashi. “We can’t just sit around! Everyone, come on!”

Taking the underlings who had been surrounding him, he ran off toward his own gambling den.

4 Inoshimatsu of Takahagi had been drinking with four or five underlings in a restaurant’s private room, but when an underling’s report informed him of the incident, his complexion changed. “If they’d accused us of rigging without cause, we’d have beaten them senseless..." “…But the opponent was trouble.” “He’s connected to Akabane’s Rinzō—someone we’ve long held grudges against.” “…This won’t settle peacefully.” “…Regardless, withdraw to the inn.”

So they returned to the inn. Rinzō first went to the gambling den, promptly administered first aid to the injured Tōsaku, had him carried back to the inn on a plank, then returned to the inn himself. “Even if Tōsaku’s approach was wrong, being accused of coming to steal the gambling den’s cash—that’s intolerable! And with all our existing grudges against those Takahagi gang bastards... Let’s wipe them out now!” They began preparing for an assault.

The news reached Inoshimatsu’s side. “Now that it’s come to this, there’s no choice—we’ll launch our own raid on them first.” They gathered bamboo spears, long wakizashi, and even guns, and the Takahagi gang also began their preparations.

The ones who were surprised were the other loan bosses—Hannosuke of Koganei, Wasuke of Ejiri, Tōbei of Kajikazawa, Genzō of Miho no Matsu, and nearly all other loan bosses. They gathered at one inn and discussed strategies for mediation.

As a result, Hannosuke of Koganei set out for Inoshimatsu’s side, and Tōbei of Kajikazawa went to Rinzō’s side, arranging to explain the matter separately. “Even though Mr. Tōsaku from Akabane’s gang caused drunken mischief by accusing your gambling den of rigging—something that must’ve infuriated Takahagi—the good weather holds and the horse market thrives. Thanks to that, our gambling dens prosper too, and we’ve been saying how auspicious, how auspicious this all is. But if a feud were to break out with Akabane now, who knows how disastrous it’d be for everyone at the horse market.” “That horse market has only one day left—tomorrow.” “...So we ask you to endure the unendurable here—to honor our request and settle this peacefully.” When Hannosuke finished speaking to Inoshimatsu, Tōbei then addressed Rinzō...

“Mr. Tōsaku’s drunken gambling den raid-like mischief was likely just high-spirited behavior. But when the Takahagi gang accused Akabane of sending him to steal their cash, we can’t stay silent either. Still, with the horse market ending tomorrow—just one day left—we earnestly ask you to settle this peacefully.” “Because if a feud erupts, all the merchants and everyone at the inn will suffer.”

Having said this, he tried to conclude the matter. Neither Rinzō nor Inoshimatsu were stubborn men. Confronted with these arguments, they found themselves unable to press through with private combat. "Very well, we shall entrust this to you," they said. Yet Rinzō kept thinking: Sooner or later, Inoshimatsu and I cannot coexist. Before long, we must inevitably stake our lives in decisive combat. Each day we delayed would only bring more misery to both of us. This chance should settle things... So long as we don't trouble others, any method becomes permissible.

Thereupon, he drafted a challenge letter and secretly had it delivered to Inoshimatsu.

It was a challenge letter proposing that, without involving others, just the two of them would settle the matter in a duel tonight on the wild plain of Kurokawa Crossing beyond the inn.

A reply came: "Understood."

5

Kurokawa Crossing was a densely wooded area located about half a ri from the inn, with hardly any houses around—only a single ferryman’s hut stood on the riverbank. Crossing there led to the opposite shore, and from there one could proceed to Nishino Village. Rinzō came to the ferryman’s hut. “Old man, bring out the boat.” “Oh, if it isn’t the Boss… Operating the ferry at night is strictly prohibited, but…” “I know that’s what they say, but…”

“To tell the truth, I’d just taken someone across moments ago. Rules are rules and shortcuts are shortcuts—aye aye, I’ll get you across as promised.” The old man brought out the boat, boarded Rinzō, and reached the opposite shore. “Another fellow like me’ll come wanting to cross. When he does, ferry him without a word.” “Would that be the boss from Takahagi?” “Well I’ll be damned! How’d you know?” “He crossed over just now and made the same request.”

“As expected of Inoshimatsu—crossing over first. Damn impressive.” “…Well then, old man—do this for me.” “Either me or Inoshimatsu’ll be headin’ back to the inn soon. Don’t return to t’other shore—keep the boat stopped an’ wait here on this bank.” “Aye, understood… But only one o’ you comin’ back?” “Yeah. Just one returnin’.” “The other’s embarkin’ on a long journey… The sort you don’t come back from.”

Having said this, Rinzō pressed onward.

Then, from the grove of mixed trees,

“So it’s Akabane… Been waiting,” came Inoshimatsu’s voice. “Takahagi, huh? My bad for the delay.”

“I only just arrived myself.”

In a bright spot where moonlight filtered through the trees, the two faced each other. “Now then, Takahagi…” Rinzō said. “This is our third duel—let’s settle it for good this time.” “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking… First on Kamio Highway, second on the wild plain beyond Oiwake Inn, and third here at Kurokawa Crossing…” “This time it’ll finally get settled.” “Third time’s the decider.” “If I die—hey Takahagi—my turf, my boys… You take care of all of ’em.”

“Understood. I’ll take care of ’em.” “In return, when I die…”

“I’ll take care of everything.” “I can say I don’t have any regrets.” “This tangled mess between us’ll finally get settled clean tonight—just thinking about it feels damn good.” “Till now there were always people around putting restrictions on our duels—but tonight it’s just us two for real. Let’s go all out and have at each other proper!” “Alright then—shall we begin?” “Let’s do this! Come at me, Takahagi Inoshimatsu!” “Blade’s drawn—come get me, Rinzō!” Kogen Ittō-ryū versus Shinkage-ryū! Two evenly matched gambling bosses!

Both assumed identical middle stances—middle guard against middle guard! They were two men who had formally studied swordsmanship under Hemi Tashirō and Akiyama Yōsuke—top-tier swordsmen of their era—as their masters. From their posture to their breath control, all was flawlessly precise and sharp. Yet perhaps owing to his youth, Rinzō of Akabane—impatient to decide the match in one strike—began edging forward as if grinding against his opponent’s blade, but just as he prepared to lunge— A human groan—“Ugh…”—drifted from nowhere.

Convergence of Grudges and Favors

1

(Huh?) Rinzō felt a flicker of suspicion.

(Even though I'd thought there was no one else besides us two, to hear a human groan—what was this?!)

His focus having slipped, his stance naturally collapsed. Seizing this opening, Inoshimatsu struck at the torso like a sudden tempest. “Not so fast!” Rinzō roared, leaping back at the last instant to regain his posture and reset his stance.

There was not a fraction of an opening left.

The two measured each other's breathing, maintaining a distance of six feet as they glared motionlessly at one another. Then another groan sounded. (Hm?) This time it was Takahagi Inoshimatsu who grew suspicious, his attention wavering just enough to create an opening in his stance. (Now!) With his trademark two-handed thrust, Rinzō lunged forward like a battle arrow. The first metallic clang rang out—Inoshimatsu having parried Rinzō's blade leftward before twisting it right—and in the clash's aftermath, though their positions had shifted slightly, both still held middle guard against middle guard, all falling deathly quiet again.

But where was that groan coming from? Several yards away from the two men lay a large boulder covered by thickets and shrubs. Behind it had collapsed a samurai—and from this samurai came the groans. Bathed in the pale moonlight, the samurai’s disheveled hair, tattered garments, and wounded limbs made it clear this was Mizushina Jinjurou. Having narrowly escaped with his life from the turmoil in Kamon’s territory and finally managed to walk this far, he had collapsed from injuries to his limbs and exhaustion of his mind.

On the other side of the boulder, Rinzō and Inoshimatsu were crossing blades in combat—though he knew being spotted would spell disaster and any sound was forbidden, he couldn’t suppress a groan. Those who had fled Kamon’s domain seemed numerous indeed, for far beyond this spot along the midslopes of Mount Suyama and Mount Akiyama, torchlights flickered like scattered stars toward Fukushima. (Why were Rinzō and Inoshimatsu crossing blades in such a place?)

Of course, Jinjurou couldn’t make sense of it—his mind was too unsettled and his body too weakened for him to dwell on such matters. (And yet those strange and eerie twists of events in Inoue Kamon’s domain!) (How could he even describe them?) Though a villain through and through, even he would shudder at these memories; yet in his distraught state, Jinjurou found himself unable to calmly reflect upon them.

(I can't die in a place like this! Hurry to the village! Hurry to Fukushima!) He had been fixated solely on this thought, lying supine as he continued emitting groans since earlier. By now, to both Rinzō and Inoshimatsu, these moans had ceased to matter.

They regulated their approaching breaths and, intent on deciding the outcome in one swift strike, inched forward with measured steps. However, once again at this very moment, an unexpected obstacle arose.

From between the grove of mixed trees, several torchlights shone through, and over a dozen people surrounding four palanquins suddenly appeared.

2

It was Inoue Kamon’s group; those riding in the four palanquins were Kamon, Hemi Tashirō, Otsuma, and Tōma. “Ah! Master Hemi!”

Inoshimatsu involuntarily exclaimed and, rounding the boulder, ran several yards. This was absolutely not an act of fleeing; rather, it stemmed from overwhelming shame at being seen in such a state—wielding a drawn sword—by Hemi Tashirō, his own swordsmanship master who strictly admonished against unnecessary displays of martial prowess and wanton bloodshed, especially in a place like this.

But he immediately reconsidered, stopping in his tracks with a bitter smile.

“Isn’t that Inoshimatsu over there?”

Having apparently spotted him first, Tashirō called out from inside the palanquin. "Halt the palanquins for a moment." Tashirō emerged from the halted palanquin and began approaching Inoshimatsu. "What are you doing brandishing a drawn sword?" As he spoke, he glared sharply at Rinzō of Akabane—who stood next to Inoshimatsu, also brandishing a drawn sword and wearing a bitter smile— "You are Lord Rinzō of Akabane Village, I presume." Since Inoshimatsu had run several yards, Rinzō—who had followed him for the same distance and stopped when Inoshimatsu did—bowed his head upon being addressed thus.

“Is that Lord Hemi? To encounter you in such an unexpected place—I am utterly overwhelmed with humility.” Since it was none other than their acquaintance Hemi Tashirō, Rinzō spoke with a sullen look. Tashirō, for his part, had seen Rinzō’s face before and recognized it. Moreover, he knew that Inoshimatsu of Takahagi—his own kendo disciple—had a rival. And from the scene before him, he felt a profound resonance within.

“Inoshimatsu,” he said sharply. “A duel? That it is!” “…………” Inoshimatsu bowed his head. “Inoshimatsu!” Tashirō said again.

“A duel! “So be it! But once blades clash—what good could possibly remain?” “…”

"A duel! A duel... Well, the result would be one of us dead! That's right—one would be killed! Without truly compelling reasons, one shouldn't engage in duels." "......" "What's your reason? Speak up." "Yes," Inoshimatsu replied solemnly. "There is among Rinzō's subordinates here a man called Tōsaku. Since this individual came to my gambling den and committed violent disorder, my men could not contain their fury and all joined to beat him..."

“So the gambling den disturbance is the cause, then?” “Yes, that may be so.” “If we all beat down Tōsaku, then this quarrel stands even between us.”

“Well, that may be so…” “Then why are you two going out of your way to duel here again?” “The grudge of a subordinate falls upon those who lead…” “So you’re saying the grudge falls upon the boss?” “Not only that—Rinzō and I have been worse than sworn enemies since long before this…” 3 “I have heard such rumors as well, but isn’t the cause of your discord ultimately nothing more than territorial disputes and power struggles?”

“Yes, that may be so—but for us itinerant gamblers, what we call territory holds great importance...” “By whose authority did you establish something like territories?”

“…………” "The land belongs to the authorities and feudal lords—how dare you gamblers presume to declare your own spheres of influence and territories?" “…………” “What business exactly do you people claim to be in?” “…………” “You may call yourselves ‘men of leisure,’ but aren’t you just lawless scoundrels—gambling without official sanction, slipping through the legal net to eke out lives in the shadows!”

“…………” “Given your station, you ought to conduct all matters peacefully, refrain from bloodshed, and live with prudence! And you call that a duel?!” “Inoshimatsu... You studied kendo under me.” “I received your instruction.” “Then you are my disciple.” “It goes without saying.” “Reform yourself!” Tashirō said fiercely. “I shall execute this unworthy disciple with my own hands!”

Then Rinzō, who had been silently listening to Tashirō's words up to this point, slowly sheathed his drawn blade and stepped resolutely before Tashirō to speak.

“Master Hemi, I humbly beseech you—execute me as well.”

He smoothly extended his neck.

“...?”

Tashirō simply stared at Rinzō.

“It is this Rinzō who has reduced Master’s prized disciple Lord Inoshimatsu to unworthiness.” “…………” “If even Rinzō refrains from instigating conflict, then the mild-mannered Lord Inoshimatsu of Takahagi would never engage in duels.” “…………” “I humbly beseech you to execute me as well.” Tashirō was intently gazing at Rinzō’s earnest face, but— “Truly worthy of a man—such noble resolve! “Tashirō is thoroughly impressed… Therefore, Tashirō has a request to make.” “...Lord Rinzō, please reconcile with Inoshimatsu...”

“…………” “To think that in the same region of Chichibu, two such splendid men cannot coexist without conflict—how truly regrettable! If you fight, both tigers will be wounded. You must reconcile and unite your strength.” “My lord…” Rinzō bowed his head. “Your words are most reasonable—they pierce this Rinzō to the core. Were it not for Takahagi’s refusal, I would gladly seek reconciliation—” “I, Akabō’s own, accept as well!” Inoshimatsu declared resolutely, his voice brimming with joy.

“Let’s wash away our past entanglements and reconcile—the two of us becoming friends!”

At that moment, a voice called out from the shadow of the trees. “This Yōsuke is in full agreement!”

Akiyama Yōsuke emerged from the shadow of the trees.

4

And then, following after him came Naminosuke and Genjo.

All of them had escaped the maelstrom of great chaos within Inoue Kamon's territory and made their way down here. And so Yōsuke stood in the shade of the trees, observing how Tashirō was handling matters. "I approve of reconciling Inoshimatsu and Rinzō. Moreover, it would be proper for the conflict between Lord Hemi and this humble one to likewise find resolution through reconciliation."

The magnanimous Yōsuke laughed as he said this. “Oh! To encounter Lord Akiyama in such an unexpected place—the reconciliation between Lord Rinzō and Inoshimatsu, and the reconciliation between your lordship and this humble one’s martial arts rivalry! With your gracious approval of both matters, Hemi Tashirō is most satisfied.” Tashirō also said with evident delight.

“Even so, Lord Akiyama—what business brings you to such a place?” “That is something this humble one might ask you—what purpose brings Lord Hemi to grace such a place?” “In truth, I had been residing at Lord Inoue Kamon’s estate when…” “How extraordinary—for this unworthy one had likewise been lodging at Lord Inoue Kamon’s estate…”

“Ah, indeed—this humble one was entirely unaware and could not have the honor of meeting you in that place. I deeply regret this.” “And yet—this recent commotion! Therefore I withdrew and came here.” “In truth, the same applies to this humble one.” At this moment, Kamon exited the palanquin and once again greeted Yōsuke. “There’s no use remaining here. Let us withdraw to Fukushima for now.” When Tashirō said this, the group unanimously agreed.

After the group had departed from this place, it once again became a tranquil, uninhabited realm of deep woods and moonlight.

However, behind the rocks, Jinjurou was groaning in agony from his wounds.

Because he had been behind the large rock, he had gone undetected by both Tashirō and Yōsuke—a circumstance he found fortunate—but though he had caught sight of Otsuma and Genjo, being unable to do anything about it struck him as regrettable.

"There’s no use staying here." With this thought, he stood up.

“It hurts! It hurts!” Jinjurou cried out, immediately collapsing and clutching at his right knee. “Ah… The knee bone’s shattered.”

Eventually, autumn arrived.

In the castle town of the Owari house—foremost among the Three Tokugawa Branch Houses—even in Nagoya, cherry leaves began to scatter, enticed by the wind.

Around this time, a moon-viewing banquet was held at the estate of Ishikawara Higashi Ichinojo—a lord with a fief yielding ten thousand koku—and senior retainers and young samurai of his household were invited to the mansion. Takekoshi Tajima, Watanabe Hansaemon, Hiraiwa Tosho, Naruse Kenmotsu, and other high-ranking samurai were seated together with their lord Higashi Ichinojo, quietly enjoying refined conversations about times past with utmost decorum, while the young samurai—for their part—in a separate chamber slightly removed from them, carried on as if in unrestrained revelry, indulging in boisterous laughter, wild boasts, and tales of women, supernatural beings, and gambling exploits.

Then Saeki Kanroku—a twenty-eight or twenty-nine-year-old samurai— “Have you heard rumors about Street Slashing?” he said, looking around at the group.

At the moon-viewing banquet,

1

“What kind of Street Slashing?” asked the samurai named Maeida Shūzen. “It is said that a lame samurai with a staff shaped like a temple bell striker commits Street Slashings.”

"I am aware of that rumor." "They say his swordsmanship is most peculiar." "He swiftly turns it into a wheel motion and immediately follows with a forceful spinning torso slash—or so they say."

This story came to an end here.

Sakazuki cups circulated and tokkuri sake flasks were carried in as handsome young samurai attendants gracefully managed the seating arrangements, moving through the gathering. “This humble one sought a new Osafune blade at Bizen-ya’s shopfront days ago, yet in these peaceful times cannot perform test cuts. Its sharpness remains unknown to this day—a most vexing circumstance.” So declared the samurai named Kawakami Kajirō, surveying the group with drunken eyes.

“Your lordship has also acquired a new blade? In truth, this humble one sought one as well...a Sōshū-made piece they say it is, yet its sharpness remains unknown.”

The one who had said this was a twenty-five- or twenty-six-year-old samurai named Furusou Uchū. “Hah! If you want to test its sharpness,” said the samurai named Kanda Shinsuke—leaning against a pillar with his flushed face illuminated by lamplight, appearing unpleasantly drunk—“you might go to Ōzone’s fields nearby and cut down some beggar to find out.” “Lately, ill-natured beggars seem to have multiplied in the castle town—one should cut them down whenever the opportunity arises.” “Truly, this is an excellent plan indeed.”

“If they’re beggars, then cutting them down should be acceptable,” two or three samurai chimed in agreement. However, this conversation too came to an end, and the talk shifted to women. “This humble one has met with a dreadful misfortune,”

Seto Kin'ya, a twenty-two or twenty-three-year-old samurai, began speaking with a wry smile. "A few nights ago—it was night—while I was walking through the precincts of Osu, a young woman came upon me. Given the nature of that area, I surmised she might be a streetwalker. When I approached and lightly took her hand, she twisted it back, and this humble one immediately fell—it seems I was thrown by the woman." The group burst into raucous laughter.

“We all know men knock women down—but getting floored by a woman? That’s backwards!” “There’s the heart of a charmer for you, eh?” “What—that woman know jujutsu or something?”

“Indeed,” said the samurai named Kin’ya. “She had the appearance of a daughter from a fallen samurai family—or so it seemed. Her attire was soiled, but her face and figure were beautiful and refined.” At this moment, Kawakami Kajirō and Furusou Uchū whispered to each other and then murmured into Kanda Shinsuke’s ear. Then Shinsuke grinned faintly, nodded two or three times, and stood up. Immediately after, Kajirō and Uchū rose and slipped stealthily out of the room. None among the group—engrossed in their chatter—had noticed this save for Akiyama Yōsuke alone, who had been dozing against the pillar with intermittent nods. At that moment, he abruptly lifted his gaze, watched the three depart, and furrowed his brows with a scrutinizing look.

However, he merely furrowed his brows—neither calling out nor rising to leave—and soon closed his eyes again, resuming his peaceful doze.

2

Why was Yōsuke in such a place?

As soon as the Fukushima horse market concluded successfully, Akao Rinzō and Takahagi Inoshimatsu reconciled, grew close, and returned together to their hometown. Therefore, Yōsuke sent his disciple Naminosuke back to Edo with Genjo, and came to Nagoya alone himself. This was because Isahaya Kanbee, a senior retainer of the Owari House, was an acquaintance of Yōsuke’s, and since he had gone to the trouble of coming as far as Fukushima, he decided to make a long-overdue visit to Nagoya to meet with Lord Isahaya and tour the castle town—and so he set out there.

Akiyama Yōsuke’s formidable reputation as a swordsman was known even within the Owari Domain, so tonight he had been invited to the Ishikawara residence alongside Kanbee. Initially, Yōsuke had been mingling with senior retainers and exchanging pleasantries in a separate room, but for someone of his free-spirited nature, the atmosphere of such formal gatherings felt unbearably stifling. And so he quietly slipped away, making his way to this room where the young samurai were gathered. As he listened to their chatter, he gradually began dozing off.

The night deepened further, yet the banquet showed no signs of concluding, and the people's fervor only intensified.

Then, the young samurai named Furusou Uchū, who had left the room earlier, returned with a pallid face.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” “You look pale!” “Where have you been all this time?” the young samurai asked in unison.

“I have committed a most shameful act.”

Uchū said with a trembling mouth. "Believing we might test the new blade's sharpness, I went with Mr. Kawakami and Mr. Kandaichi to the beggar huts in Ōzone. There, from beneath the straw matting of one hut, a gleaming blade flashed out—and that valiant Mr. Kandaichi had his leg severed." "What? Mr. Kandaichi by a beggar...?!" The young samurai were struck dumb.

This was because Kanda Shinsuke was a martial artist held in considerable esteem within Owari Domain—renowned as a skilled practitioner among its swordsmen. “Therefore—this humble one and Mr.Kawakami having escorted Mr.Kanda to his residence—Mr.Kawakami remained there while this humble one alone has returned…” said Furusou Uchū with evident shame.

The group said nothing. Since their colleague had been cut down, they ought naturally to go forth and exact revenge—yet given that the opponent was supposedly not even a samurai but a beggar from the beggar huts, defeating him would bring no glory, while conversely, should they themselves be defeated—and the opponent appeared formidably strong—being defeated would constitute the utmost disgrace.

And so they remained silent. At that moment, Yōsuke nimbly stood up.

And then he left the room. Bathing in the light of the full moon, Akiyama Yōsuke walked toward Ōzone with quiet steps.

This area was still part of the samurai residential district—a place of hushed stillness even by day—but now in the deepened night, it grew utterly desolate: no footsteps of passersby echoed, no figures of walkers appeared.

Siblings Who Doubt Each Other

1

On this night, in a room of a farmhouse in Ōzone, siblings were talking.

It was Shuidō and Sumie. To explain how Sumie—who had been cast into that Living Hell within horse magnate Inoue Kamon's domain—came to be here: that night, rioters surged toward the cliff above the Living Hell and lowered many ropes to rescue those trapped within. Clutching those lifelines, the people of hell were hauled up from the valley. Sumie had been among them. Then, caught in the riot's turbulent currents and wandering lost through Kamon's territory, she miraculously encountered her sworn brother Shuidō.

The joy they felt in that moment! While recounting their pasts and giving thanks for their miraculous reunion, they escaped Inoue Kamon's domain and first reached the Fukushima inn. There, they asked after Jinjurou's whereabouts. He appeared to have gone to Nagoya's castle town. Thus the siblings came to Nagoya together, whereupon arriving there, Shuidō and Sumie temporarily stayed at an inn and sought news of Jinjurou. Yet the castle town proved too expansive, and they failed to learn his location.

The accumulated hardships had left both Shuidō and Sumie utterly exhausted in body. Rest became imperative. With their travel funds gradually dwindling, they vacated their inn in the castle town, rented a detached farmhouse on the outskirts, moved there to cook their own meals, and resolved to search for their enemy's whereabouts while recuperating. Through the incessant chirping of insects drifted occasional whispers of falling leaves, bearing autumn's loneliness into the dim, aged room illuminated by a feeble lamplight.

“Brother, how are you feeling?”

Sumie asked with a worried look. “Hmm, not well at all.” Shuidō had been ill of late. That said, it wasn’t an illness of the heart or lungs or any such organ—he was suffering from a melancholic disorder. (Sumie had traveled with Mizushina Jinjurou—lodging together all this time!)

This matter was the cause of his melancholy. When they had spoken of their pasts, Sumie told Shuidō about this—that though they had traveled together sharing lodgings, she vehemently insisted that regarding her body—her chastity—there had been no deficiency. Thereupon, Shuidō too candidly confessed that he had traveled together with Otsuma while sharing lodgings, and explained—so as to put Sumie’s mind at ease—that physically, there had been no shortcomings whatsoever.

Having endured countless hardships, Shuidō and Sumie—reunited after so long—rejoiced in their meeting and forgave each other’s questionable past lives without suspicion.

But when that joy eventually faded and they returned to peaceful lives, they began to doubt one another regarding this matter. Though called siblings, they were adoptive siblings who were ultimately to become husband and wife—betrothed to each other.

And so, Mizushina Jinjurou's killing of her father Shōemon must have resulted from his improper longing for Sumie.

She had traveled with that Jinjurou—just the two of them staying together all along!

Shuidō could not help but be tormented. 2 Just as Shuidō was tormented, Sumie too could not help but be tormented.

(Since he had stayed at the same inn with that lecherous woman Otsuma and traveled for several days, it couldn’t have ended without consequence.) (She had to conclude there had been intimacy between them.) She could not help but be tormented. The only way to dispel such feelings between them—those painful emotions—was for Jinjurou and Otsuma to appear and prove with their own mouths that no such relationship had existed.

However, though they were two, they were enemies of Shuidō and his allies, and their whereabouts remained unknown. Consequently, there was no opportunity for their tormented feelings to dissolve. "Lady Sumie," Shuidō said with formal detachment, his voice cold. "For years we've endured countless hardships trying to kill Father's enemy Jinjurou—yet still he lives. Perhaps this means the gods and buddhas have forsaken us both... No matter how we search in the future, Jinjurou's whereabouts will remain unknown... may never be known... To me, this is a regret beyond bearing—but for you, Lady Sumie, it may prove better this way... Ah ha ha! Better indeed!"

“…………”

Sumie did not respond and hung her head. (It seems he’s being sarcastic again…… I won’t say anything more.)

She resolved to remain silent. “Lady Sumie,” Shuidō continued spitefully. “I find it utterly perplexing… You traveled alongside Father’s enemy Jinjurou all that time—yet never once raised your blade to strike him down.”

“…………” “Even as a weak woman, having shared the same room all this time, you should have had opportunities to catch him in his sleep and strike him down… Since you overlooked those chances and did not kill him, there must have been a reason you could not…” “…………” “I am wretched!” Shuidō suddenly shouted in a frenzied, bloodshot voice. “To think I must wed you—a man who lay with our enemy!” “You!” Sumie’s face paled, her body trembling violently as she shouted back, as though she could no longer contain her fury.

“As I have told you time and again, I traveled with Jinjurou because at Inoshimatsu’s house in Takahagi, Chichibu—when that wealthy horse trader Inoue Kamon nearly defiled me—Jinjurou saved me… A debt remains a debt, and vengeance remains vengeance! How could I let Father’s enemy violate this body?… That I let Jinjurou escape during our journey was out of obligation for his rescue… Yet even so—to be doubted by you, my betrothed—leaves me no reason to live!” “I’ll die! I’ll die! This humble woman will die!”

She suddenly grabbed the sword and drew it.

3 Shuidō, startled, extended his arm and wrested the bare blade away.

Sumie pressed her forehead to the tatami and did nothing but weep bitterly.

After quietly sheathing the bare blade and pushing it out of reach, Shuidō crossed his arms and sank into thought. This was the torment of hell. Enduring this torment was all because of Mizushina Jinjurou. His thoughts cycled back to this point again. He had to find out where that bastard was hiding and cut him down as soon as possible. The travel funds were nearly depleted.

This too was excruciatingly painful.

His chest tightened, and even a headache began to throb.

Suddenly, Shuidō stood up, opened the shoji, opened the storm shutters, stood on the veranda, and looked outside. Separated by a bamboo fence too low to even require a stride, the opposite side was all fields, and the moonlight shone upon the crops like quicksilver.

Yet to the right stood part of the sprawling mansion—resembling a lower residence befitting a senior hatamoto of the Nagoya Ikeni family among the three Ikeni households—imposingly black and severe, blocking the moonlight so that the entire area appeared dark. (In such places there must be money hoarded away until it rots.) Suddenly struck by this thought, Shuidō gazed in that direction.

Akiyama Yōsuke passed through the residential district and was walking toward Ōsone.

That a beggar-like figure had emerged from beneath a shack and severed the leg of a highly skilled swordsman from the Owari domain with a single strike—this fact struck Yōsuke as profoundly strange. He became convinced this beggar must be a fallen samurai of some renown, and he burned to uncover the man’s true identity. Being a martial artist himself, driven by both scholarly curiosity and personal interest, he had slipped away from a banquet to come walking here in hopes of meeting this beggar.

And he arrived at Ōsone. Scattered farmhouses dotted the landscape, with nothing beyond but vast cultivated fields—save for the colossal mansion of the Nagoya Ikeni family that loomed over the entire area as if to dominate it, standing tall and severe in the moonlight, black against the silvery glow. Sturdy earthen walls surrounded it on all sides, their inner plantings grown thick enough to harbor nocturnal birds whose occasional cries drifted down through the night. Passing by the mansion's flank, Yōsuke pressed onward.

Then, far ahead, he saw shacks scattered about, lined up in a shabby manner. Yōsuke proceeded toward them.

However, he suddenly stopped in his tracks,

“Hmm,” he muttered and stared intently.

From the shacks, a dozen figures burst forth like startled grasshoppers, coalesced into a group, and walked this way.

Somehow sensing something amiss, he concealed himself behind a stack of straw and waited for a time. Led by a rōnin wearing a woven sedge hat and leaning on a crutch-shaped cane, a group of beggars approached. The Crutch-Cane Warrior

1

The group of beggars walked toward Ikeni Mansion while talking among themselves. "The swordsmanship of our Master," one beggar exclaimed admiringly, "who emerged from beneath the straw mat and with a single strike severed the leg of that Owari Domain samurai who'd come for a test cut—truly awe-inspiring!" "That was mere child's play," the crutch-cane warrior remarked nonchalantly. "Back when my legs were whole," he said with deep emotion, "whether five men or ten, I would cut them all down."

Yōsuke remained silent, listening to their conversation from behind the stack of straw, but once they had passed by, he followed after them. (So the one-legged samurai using a crutch-shaped cane was the one who had cut down the Owari Domain samurai from beneath the straw mat with a single strike.)

This was why he thought so.

The group of beggars came to a halt before the back gate of Ikeni Mansion.

Inside the enormous inner storehouse of Ikeni Mansion, two people were talking.

One was the horse magnate Inoue Kamon, and the other was Hemi Tashirō. Before their eyes lay several enormous Chinese chests reinforced with rivets and iron rings, and filling these were gold ingots, silver plates, and other utensils and weaponry of precious metals.

Converted to Showa-period values, it could have amounted to several million ryō. "I see," Tashirō said with a sigh. "A fortune surpassing even legend." "Indeed," Kamon nodded. "The portion held by the Nagoya Ikeni family alone amounts to this much... In addition, treasures of this magnitude are stored with the Chita Ikeni and Inuyama Ikeni families as well." "Since it is you, Lord Inoue Kamon, who governs those three families—"

“Yes, for generations, the Inoue Kamon have governed,” “...and to preserve this secret, the three Ikeni families had avoided contact with the outside world by family code.” “That may be a prudent method,” [he] remarked, “but to keep such vast treasure dormant...” “Indeed, indeed,” Kamon responded. “I humbly deem our current preservation methods unwise... Moreover, having now disclosed the treasure’s location to your lordship, we earnestly wish to request your continued guidance in devising plans for its utilization.”

“Very well. I shall be glad to assist in any way necessary.”

Nevertheless, why were these two at a place like the Ikeni family?

It was simply that following that incident, Kamon, Tashirō, and the others had fled to Kiso Fukushima, then together came to Nagoya, and since Inoue Kamon himself was the true master of the three Ikeni families, they had all first entered the Nagoya Ikeni mansion.

2

At that moment, an uproar erupted from the direction of the main house. Kamon and Tashirō exchanged glances before exiting the storehouse, shutting its door behind them, and sprinting toward the commotion. What met their eyes was a grave crisis unfolding. A horde of beggars brandishing weapons - commanded by a rōnin leaning on a crutch-shaped cane - sought to plunder the household's valuables while its retainers desperately held them back. The warrior who had cast aside his woven sedge hat revealed himself as none other than Mizushina Jinjurou. With his right hand, Jinjurou clutched Otsuma by the collar.

Within Inoue Kamon's domain, he caused a disturbance but was injured and disabled. He sustained an injury to his left leg. He went to Fukushima, then to Nagoya. With no means to sustain himself, he was finally reduced to begging. The reason he incited his fellow beggars and attacked the Ikeni household that night was to obtain funds. But when they broke into the Ikeni residence, his former mistress Otsuma—the very woman who had betrayed him—unexpectedly appeared.

With a furious “Damn you!” he seized her. Just then, Kamon and Tashirō came rushing in.

“Jinjurou!”

“Ah, Master Hemi!” Jinjurou was startled; grabbing Otsuma under one arm, he flung aside his crutch-cane and broke into a run. “Wait! Jinjurou!” The beggars intercepted Tashirō as he gave chase. “How dare you interfere!” As Tashirō, enraged, drew his sword, someone struck down a beggar from behind. That was Akiyama Yōsuke. “Ah! You are Lord Akiyama!” “Ah! So this is Master Hemi!” “Lord Akiyama, what brings you here?”

“Having followed the beggars and that suspicious crippled samurai who had infiltrated this mansion together, I witnessed their intrusion, inferred their intent to raid it, and wishing to alert you, infiltrated the premises myself.” “That crippled samurai is none other than Jinjurou.”

“What? Jinjurou?” “Indeed it was.” “...So that bastard Jinjurou—where is he?” “He took the woman called Otsuma and fled mere moments ago.”

“Let us pursue him. We cannot let him escape.” “As you command! Let us pursue! He cannot have gone far!” Tashirō and Yōsuke started running. The beggars had already scattered and fled.

Jinjurou, clutching Otsuma, was now running through the farmland.

There were footsteps approaching from behind. (Somewhere to hide... He had to hide.)

Looking around, he saw a farmhouse with lamplight leaking out. (Alright, I’ll have them shelter me there.) Jinjurou ran that way.

One of the wooden shutters stood slightly open, through which a shadowy figure could be glimpsed. "I was set upon by ruffians. Grant me shelter awhile." "Very well," replied the man, shifting his stance to make space. His stratagem had succeeded.

And the lamplight shone faintly through the wooden shutters into the front yard. “Ah! You are Mizushina Jinjurou!” “Who’s there? Ah! It’s Shigisawa Shuidō!”

The one standing on the veranda was none other than Shigisawa Shuidō. By the lamplight shining into the garden, Shigisawa Shuidō recognized Jinjurou; with a shout, he grabbed his sword, leapt into the garden, and driven by pent-up resentment, slammed into him in a frenzy. “Gah!” Jinjurou fell to the ground.

He was holding Otsuma under one arm.

Moreover, one leg was maimed. His previously sound right leg had been slashed at the groin. In that instant, Sumie drew her sword and leapt from the veranda into the garden. “Lady Sumie!” Jinjurou cried out in a death-rasped voice. “Though I became infatuated with you... Yet when we journeyed together along the Kiso Highway, I never violated your body or honor—let this stand as proof that some shred of decency remained in Jinjurou’s heart! Now strike me down, Shuidō!” “But first—this woman!”

Releasing Otsuma with the same hand that had let her go, he drew his sword and slashed across her shoulder down to her chest. "Guh—!" With that cry, Otsuma collapsed and writhed. Yet beneath her death throes' breath, "Lord Shuidō... To meet you at life’s end is my greatest wish... Though we two journeyed together, we remained strangers to the last... Now I die as Lord Jinjurou’s wife... Slain by my husband." "Strike this humble one down, Shuidō! Now, do it splendidly!" "A noble resolve!" "Strike him down—Jinjurou!"

Under Shuidō’s descending blade, Jinjurou’s breath ceased, and leaning against him, Otsuma too died. Soon after, Hemi Tashirō and Akiyama Yōsuke came rushing to the spot.

Shuidō and Sumie held their wedding the following year, and as a happily married couple, they were envied by their colleagues in the Sakakibara household.

Tashirō and Yōsuke became close friends and consulted about matters such as the usage of Inoue Kamon’s great treasure. Genjo regained her true self and gained renown as a female performer, while Sugi Naminosuke, as her patron, looked after her in every way. Rinzō of Akai and Inoshimatsu of Takahagi had temporarily made peace, but as two heroes cannot coexist, they later came to oppose each other; however, that was an event for another day.