Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

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

Suginami Noshinosuke left his inn and set out walking toward Ryōgoku. It was when he reached Hongo Plateau. There stood Lord Sakakibara Shikibu-no-shō's estate, with rows of tenement houses lining the street. Suddenly,

"Hyah!" "Yah!" came the sharp combat shout. (Hmm?)

And so, Noshinosuke stopped in his tracks. (That's quite a combat shout...) He then looked all around. The combat shout seemed to have come from inside the fence of one of the tenement houses. Fortunately, there was a knothole, so Noshinosuke 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 the open lawn cleared through the shrubbery and stood facing each other with wooden swords at the ready. (This isn't good) Noshinosuke thought.

(This is a hopeless mismatch.) The elderly warrior's stance was indeed commendable, yet fundamentally conventional—from his posture alone, his skill appeared at best equivalent to a licensed practitioner's level. By contrast, the middle-aged warrior's technique proved so decisively superior that even through the eyes of someone like Noshinosuke, who lacked rigorous martial training, it seemed terrifyingly advanced. Moreover, to Noshinosuke, this match between the two men somehow seemed not merely a comparison of skill, but rather—though they wielded wooden blades—a grudge-fueled duel to the death, and he found himself unable to dismiss that impression.

Plump cheeks, a sagging double chin—the elderly samurai's natural countenance should have been rounded and benevolent, yet veins of irritation twisted across his forehead, his eyes bloodshot with rage. In stark contrast, the middle-aged samurai wore scorn and hatred rather than anger across his narrow eyes, sharp thin nose, gaunt cheeks, and pallid complexion. While letting these features radiate disdain, he appeared intent on fully exacerbating the elderly samurai's anxiety—determined to torment him to the utmost—as he pressed forward inch by inch.

(Impressive!) The instant Noshinosuke thought this, the middle-aged samurai's wooden sword was drawn diagonally backward to the left, as if drawing water. It was unmistakably a feint. And the elderly samurai seemed to take the bait.

He took a step forward and brought his sword straight down. The middle-aged samurai twisted his body as if to parry a strike to the temple - mere pretense for a malicious feint - aiming at the elderly samurai's emaciated leg, fully aware a solid hit would shatter bone... In that perilous instant when he sought to deliver the crippling blow- "Huh, Dear Father!" came a woman's voice in a breathless tone.

On the veranda of the mansion standing directly ahead stood an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old girl. The subsequent events unfolded thus: the girl came running barefoot, the elderly samurai flashed his wooden sword, and the middle-aged samurai shouted "I yield!"—lowering his poised sword with a forced bitter smile as he rubbed his right arm with his left palm. Noshinosuke, too peering through the knothole in the fence, couldn't help but give a wry smile.

(The younger samurai shouldn't have been struck down. He deliberately conceded victory.) He couldn't help but think so. Noshinosuke looked at the girl. Like pomegranate buds, her small red lips lent her an air of youthful nobility.

2

"What’s this? You act so arrogantly despite your unskilled arms—" This admonishing voice of the old samurai reached Noshinosuke’s ears, so he shifted his gaze toward him. Keeping his daughter standing off to the side while facing the middle-aged samurai，the elderly samurai lectured： “Even if you possess considerable skill，remember this world holds masters and experts beyond measure—countless others who surpass you．You must not let arrogance take root．”

When he said this, the elderly samurai's voice grew calm and kindly, the anger vanished from his face. "First of all—with skills feeble enough to lose to an old man like me—there's nothing worth boasting about now, is there? Hmm? Sumie—that's how it stands, wouldn't you agree?" "Oh Father... surely we've had enough of such talk... Yet Master Jinjurō's technique strikes me as truly remarkable." The girl—her summer kimono with its long sleeves patterned in wisteria and irises making her appear positively matronly—spoke these mediating words while gazing at the middle-aged samurai with pity.

The middle-aged samurai's face bore nothing but contempt and arrogance. However, when told this by the daughter, he abruptly erased that expression, "This is most humbling... No—rather, my skills remain thoroughly amateurish, having truly had my right forearm strike taken by you just now." "...I shall take greater care in the future."

“Yes yes, that’s commendable. Take care not to grow arrogant in future years, and apply yourself ever more diligently to your studies.” “Well now—having you respond like that, I’ve become thoroughly pleased.” “...Well then, let us have some tea!” “...Jinjurō, come here. Sumie, come here.” Having seemingly reverted to his kindly old man nature, the elderly samurai discarded his wooden sword and began walking toward the mansion after saying this. “Now then, Jinjurō-sama, please come along.” He replied “Yes,” but the samurai called Jinjurō-sama simply kept staring at Sumie’s face as though something weighed on his conscience—as though about to say something—making no move to start walking.

“Lady Sumie. “…Lady Sumie.”

“Yes, what might that be?” “Do you deign to think my Kōgen Ittō-ryū is inferior to your honored father’s Shinkage-ryū?” “No… but… for someone like me…” “Do you mean to say you don’t understand?” “I do not understand.” “What you fail to comprehend extends beyond swordsmanship… to matters of a man’s… a man’s romantic sentiments…”

“……”

A look of bewilderment appeared in Sumie’s eyes. “If I wished to strike down someone like Uncle, not even a single strike’s effort would be required. “…Not striking and instead being struck… Lady Sumie—it was for your sake.” “…………”

At that moment, from the mansion's veranda,

“Come here! You there! What are you doing?”

The old samurai called out and clapped his hands. "I've cut the yōkan!" "Come on, come on." "Yes," she said, turning her back to Jinjurō, and Sumie hurried off in that direction. "A bit painful," he said, rubbing his right hand, "That senile old fool... Hmph, hmph... What does he... But I've shown mercy to Sumie... With this hand..." While muttering under his breath, the young samurai called Jinjurō slowly walked toward the mansion.

3

(What a bizarre duel that was.)

Noshinosuke walked toward Ryōgoku while thinking such things.

(Still, she was quite a beautiful girl)

He let these thoughts flicker through a corner of his mind and released a solitary chuckle. He remained twenty-three years old - unmarried and masterless.

He came from a family of ronin dating back to his father's generation; his father, named Noshinobu, had been a retainer of Takashima in Shinshū but became a ronin due to certain circumstances, moving to Edo with his entire family. Possessing financial acumen and the thriftiness characteristic of Shinshū natives, he secretly engaged in moneylending and similar ventures. Before incurring significant resentment, he amassed considerable savings, purchased residences, mediated neighborhood affairs, and—though technically a samurai—lived practically as a townsman. Just as his reputation had greatly improved, he died suddenly about five years prior. His wife lived approximately three more years, seeing her eldest daughter married into a reputable merchant household—the family having rejected samurai suitors—specifically a kimono wholesaler. Having secured this arrangement with relief, she too passed away abruptly, leaving only their eldest son Noshinosuke behind. Naturally, he assumed the family headship and took on the role of young protagonist, which brings us to the present; however, while this Noshinosuke was no fool, neither did he appear to be the exceptional talent who would suddenly elevate the family name. He had studied Ittō-ryū swordsmanship but remained far from attaining certification, and though he pursued scholarly studies under Hayashi Nobumitsu, a Confucian scholar of the time, he fell well short of establishing himself as an academic.

However, lately Noshinosuke came to think that he absolutely wanted to experience something earth-shatteringly grand—something that would strike him to the core. It seemed reasonable to interpret that he began seeking strong stimulation because his lukewarm life had continued.

Wearing a hakama-less kimono and carrying wax-coated slender swords at his side, he walked along a town street where indigo-dyed shop curtains bearing cryptic emblems fluttered beneath eaves, snapping a white fan against his chest. After paying respects at Sensō-ji Temple in Asakusa and tossing coins into the offering box, he wandered through Okuzan’s backstreets until reaching Higashi-Ryōgoku’s bustling district just as the sun dipped low.

Concerning the Female Performer

1

Crossing Ryōgoku Bridge toward Honjo brought one to Edo's foremost entertainment district, where along Hosokōji Street clustered dubious sideshow booths—an aged fox brought from Tamba, kappa exhibits, Dutch spectacles, and such—all skillfully catering to the tastes of low-class spectators like stationed samurai and wide-eyed country visitors. There were storytelling halls, water performances, spinning top acts—all such things had established regular venues.

Having come before the spinning top show booth, Noshinosuke paused his steps briefly.

After seeming to deliberate for a while, he paid the admission fee and entered. He wasn’t so tasteless as to enter such a place and gawk open-mouthed at spinning top tricks, but he had once formed an unusual bond with a woman here—a former Female Performer who had briefly captivated Ryōgoku with her beauty and skill, known by her real name Okumi and stage name Genjo—leading to a romance of his own peculiar fashion. However, about a year ago, that woman had suddenly disappeared. There were rumors that she had eloped with some disgraced retainer of ill repute, or that her wicked adoptive mother had sold her off as a concubine to a foreigner in Nagasaki—but regardless of the gossip, she had vanished without a trace. Noshinosuke had developed an oddly intense attachment to the woman; when she first disappeared, he even felt somewhat lonely. But since she was gone, he had resolved—"What need was there to watch spinning top performances now?"—and from that time onward never attended them again. Yet today, within his heart, nostalgic feelings sprouted anew. And so, he passed through the entrance.

Both the box seats and earthen floor area were quite crowded. On the stage stood two resplendent peony lanterns, behind which hung a seasonally appropriate Eight Bridges scene. Before this arrangement, a young Female Performer—dressed in her customary attire of pale purple noshi-patterned furisode, a kamishimo embroidered with gold and silver threads, and lacquered zori—skillfully manipulated her ropes. “Why, that’s Genjo!” In surprise, Noshinosuke shouted under his breath. The Female Performer was none other than Genjo Okumi.

An oval face, a high forehead, a delicate mouth, almond-shaped eyes—it was undoubtedly Genjo. Though perhaps it was his imagination, she appeared to have grown thinner and more frail compared to a year before. (It appears she has returned to this venue.) A surge of affection welled up within him. (I want to meet her and hear how she’s been.) At that moment, Genjo, in a voice that was time-honored yet somewhat feeble, “A top lives as a living top,” she intoned in rhythmic proclamation. “The rope lives as a living rope and moves. ...The trial spin’s returning top yearns even when parted from its rope, flipping over to come flying back.” With a sharp “Yah!” her right furisode sleeve swirled like a vortex. Instantly the rope unraveled midair, releasing a spinning top—appearing five sun in diameter with black lacquer adorned in gold maki-e patterns, silver core rod, and crimson spirals carved around its body—that roared upward. For a moment it seemed to hover weightlessly, then as though possessed by a living spirit, began pursuing the mouse-gray rope woven from silk, hemp and hair—already being drawn back by Genjo—in a seemingly sentient arc.

With that, Genjo extended her right hand.

The spinning top came to rest in her palm. She deftly turned her palm over. Remaining inverted and adhering to her palm, the spinning top rotated fiercely. A burst of applause erupted from the spectators. But in that single instant, the spinning top plopped from her palm, and Genjo stared fixedly at a particular spot in the seating area as if in a daze.

2

Fear showed on her face.

(What’s wrong with her?) he wondered in surprise, following Genjo’s gaze with his own eyes. (Ah!) He too was startled. There in the box seats among the spectators was Jinjurō—the middle-aged swordsman who had faced off against an elderly samurai in Lord Sakakibara Shikibu-no-shō’s row house garden—glaring at the stage. This wasn’t merely Noshinosuke’s imagination—Jinjurō’s eyes and Genjo’s seemed locked in mutual glare, suggesting she had dropped the spinning top and fallen into that dazed state precisely because she recognized Jinjurō’s presence.

(Between those two... there must be something going on.) It couldn’t help but seem that way. “Even Kōbō Daishi errs with his brush, even masters’ hands let water leak—this Genjo Tayu who dropped the living top begs your repeated indulgence for redos…” Having picked up the spinning top from the floor and declared in a trembling veiled voice—as if to mask her embarrassment—Genjo resumed her act almost immediately thereafter. Whether this mishap instead lent her charm or not, the spectators showed no surge of excitement.

After that, without any particular failures, Genjo manipulated the spinning top with complete mastery, as vividly as she had in days of old. When a spinning top was thrown into one of the lanterns, like a peony unfurling its petals, the lantern opened its paper walls in all four directions, exposing a hundred-me candle and spraying water from the tip of its flame. Immediately after, from another lantern, a spinning top spontaneously whirled upward, and the moment Genjo returned it to her hand, that other lantern also opened its paper walls and sprayed water. When Genjo, having completed this final feat, vanished leisurely from the stage, the spectators sent up applause.

Noshinosuke exited the hut and made his way toward the back gate.

“Long time no see, old man.”

To the old man at the gate, Noshinosuke called out in this manner. “Yes,” said the gatekeeper old man. “Why Lord Suginami! What a rare visit.” “You’re looking well—it’s been a year.” “You seem to be in good health as well, sir.” “Genjo seems to have returned and is performing now.” “You’re well-informed, sir—it’s only been since very recently.” “I’d like to see Genjo for a moment.” “Please, this way,” he said, aligning the sandals. He handed over a few coins and slipped into his sandals.

“Miss Genjo’s room is at the very back.”

“I see,” Noshinosuke said as he walked on.

He passed through the musty, dimly lit backstage cluttered with piled-up painted backdrops and large props, walked past rooms with noren curtains hanging at their entrances, and came to a stop before the innermost room. He lifted the long noren curtain and entered. While leaning against the costume trunk and not even attempting to remove her formal kamishimo overgarment, Genjo sat utterly exhausted. “Okumi, it’s me,” Noshinosuke said. With that, Genjo opened her eyes—which had been closed—into narrow slits with apparent weariness, “Lord Noshinosuke... I was aware.”

Having said that, she closed her eyes again. It could equally be said she appeared weakened or cold—an attitude of utter detachment. Remaining standing without sitting down, as he gazed at Genjo—this former lover of his in such a state—Noshinosuke felt surprise, loneliness, and no small measure of anger rise within him.

3 “You knew?” “What do you know about...?” “That you were seated in the box seats.” she said with her eyes still closed. “So you were watching from the stage?” “Yes,” Genjo opened her eyes. “Lord Noshinosuke was present—that’s what I thought as I watched.”

“Hmm,” Noshinosuke grunted through his nose. “Is that all? Hmm… Okumi?” “…………” “We’re meeting for the first time in a year. Lord Noshinosuke was present—was that all you thought as you watched?” Though he knew it sounded somewhat petty, he couldn’t help but say it.

To be sure, their past relationship had not been one of those deep, intense, blazing bonds—the kind where lovers vow to become husband and wife in life or death. However, both parties had liked and loved each other. There was no doubt it had been love—and yet they had neither quarreled nor parted through mutual agreement; the romance had persisted. Yes, it had persisted. And yet the woman had not uttered a single word—not a word about parting ways or severing ties—before vanishing without a trace, having made no contact until today. Well then—now they had met. And so it was—such coldness.

For Noshinosuke—he couldn't help but voice his grumbling and cutting remarks—could he?

And with that, he glared at her intently. “And besides, even if your feelings toward me have cooled, why couldn’t you at least tell me to sit down?” Indeed, Noshinosuke was still standing. At this, perhaps Genjo also felt apologetic,

“Please,” she said, pushing forward a yuzen cushion scattered with water droplet patterns.

He sat down but remained unsatisfied; still, Noshinosuke stared intently at Genjo’s face with a cold glare.

Genjo closed her eyes once more and leaned against the costume chest. The rims of her eyes were lightly shadowed, grooves had formed on either side of her nostrils, and upon looking closer, she appeared unexpectedly haggard—exhausted as though afflicted by illness. (It seemed she had endured great hardship.)

When he thought this, Noshinosuke's feelings softened, and a compassionate affection for the woman warmly flowed through his chest.

“Okumi, where have you been all this time?” “On journeys... journeys... journeys to various places.” “Were you earning your keep through these travels?”

“No… but… yes—on journeys…” Her words were muddled and ambiguous. “Where did you travel… which regions?” “I can’t say any particular place… just here and there.” “Hmm... Forming a troupe?”

“No… alone… but sometimes… I did form a troupe.” Once again, her words remained evasive.

“Even so—why didn’t you tell me you were leaving on a journey?” “…………” Genjo did not respond.

Her eyelashes quivered, the corners of her lips twitched. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the gaudy patterns on the change of clothes hanging from the wardrobe. Two or three times, men and women who appeared to belong to the troupe lifted the entrance curtain and peered inside, but seeing the pair who seemed deep in conversation, they left without attempting to enter.

“Do you know a samurai called Jinjurō?” Changing the subject, Noshinosuke said.

And Genjo raised her head. 4

“Jinjurō!” “…Jinjurō!” “…Mizushina Jinjurō!” “…You—why are you involved with that man?!” Having said that, Genjo lunged forward from the costume chest. Terror and hatred were laid bare in eyes that had suddenly snapped wide open. Overwhelmed by her terrifying demeanor, Noshinosuke faltered back. “N-no—I was just… It was pure chance earlier… At Lord Sakakibara’s tenement… I happened upon a match… But since that man was in the gallery…”

“Is that truly all?”

Genjo said this as if relieved, then let her body go limp and leaned against the costume chest again.

She closed her eyes and fell silent, but soon began to murmur—not so much addressing Noshinosuke as herself—like delirious ramblings. “Jinjurō… Mizushina Jinjurō… What shall I call him—a demon? Ah… for that man’s sake… oh how… how… tormented and tormented this humble one has been!” “…Deceived, exploited, intimidated—tormented endlessly on my journeys… The one who reduced me to this… it’s that man.” “The one who made me like this—like this—!” “…Into a sick person, an idiot, a cripple!” “…Master, please save me!” “But no matter what becomes of me—I must do something about that man and remember—but please forgive me, for I cannot remember.”

Suddenly, Genjo began to speak in a melodic tone, as though singing. “The frost of Chichibu... Ogawa Village Hemisama niwa no Hinoki roots In times past, they say it existed Now it has changed to a thousand horses Five hundred horses tended by grooms”

……… ....

…… Fodder mountain huts Bottomless river midstream’s rock chamber’s “Hmm... What comes after that, I wonder?” “...Can’t remember… can’t remember.” “And then... where was that place?” “Mountains and valleys and forests and groves, rock shelters and basins and marshes and rivers—and there might have been a waterfall.” “There should have been a large mansion too.” “...And there should have been a terrifying old man just like Shuten-dōji… Can’t remember… can’t remember...”

Tilting her face upward and casting her eyes into space, beads of sweat forming on her forehead as if tracing some memory—as if trying to recall something—Genjo spoke deliriously.

Whether it could be called a dementia-like state preceding an epileptic seizure or not—Genjo’s face and figure appeared completely different from usual, as though she were another person. Noshinosuke shuddered as though haunted.

And then, suddenly pitching forward, Genjo collapsed onto the tatami mats. She seemed completely drained of all vitality.

“Okumi!” Startled, Noshinosuke scrambled closer and lifted her up. “Steady yourself! Keep your mind firm!”

At that moment, a voice called out from behind. "Is it Lady Genjo's usual affliction?"

Startled, Noshinosuke whirled around to look. A samurai of thirty-five or thirty-six stood there with furrowed brows—when had he arrived? 5

His forehead was broad, his eyebrows thick; his eyes—what one would call phoenix eyes—were noble and sharp yet held charm; his nose remained undeniably high-bridged but lacked severity due to its broad bridge; the deep philtrum spoke of virtue; his lips were neither thin nor thick. They were moderate but generously proportioned. His complexion was fair; his cheeks were full; his jawline was not angular but rounded. He stood around five shaku five or six sun (approximately 5'7") tall; his build was robust yet toned without excess fat. His hair was arranged in a full samurai topknot, the cord securing it a deep purple. He wore a black formal kimono with matching haori overgarment, fastened with a white Hakata obi. The long and short swords at his side—their hilts wrapped in white thread and blades nearly uncurved—were worn without hakama trousers, a deliberate choice that embodied his carefree, forthright, and refined nature. This aesthetic harmonized with his white Hakata obi, while the deep purple cords of his haori—matching those securing his topknot—lent an air of cultivated elegance.

Such a samurai stood there. Realizing this, Noshinosuke involuntarily cried "Ah!", and no sooner had he released Genjo—whom he had been holding—than he slid back four or five shaku, 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 Castle with a domain yielding 350,000 koku; recipient of an imposing 500-koku stipend; son of Akiyama Yōzaemon, Shinkage-ryū swordsmanship instructor; a man of such chivalrous spirit that he aided gambler Akao Isogorō and became entangled in territorial disputes—ultimately being deliberately disowned to become a ronin; one who honed his skills in Edo, established a dojo at Negishi Goyō no Matsu, and taught Shinkage-ryū; aged thirty-five in his prime yet already a peerless master of Shinkage-ryū who stood equal to famed swordsmen like Togasaki Kumatarō of Shintō Munen-ryū, Henmi Tashirō of Kōgen Ittō-ryū, Asari Matashichirō of Ono-ha Ittō-ryū, and Chiba Shūsaku of Hokushin Ittō-ryū—this was the virtuoso Akiyama Yōsuke Masakatsu! The samurai was indeed that man.

Of course, Noshinosuke had never spoken with Akiyama Yōsuke before this moment, nor had he ever received instruction from him. However, being such a renowned swordsman, there was not a single samurai residing in Edo who did not know of Yōsuke—and in that sense, Noshinosuke too had observed him from afar on various occasions and thereby come to know him.

With Yōsuke having appeared before him, it was only natural that he assumed a formal posture.

When he saw Noshinosuke’s formal posture, Yōsuke instead looked pityingly, smiled and nodded, yet without saying anything further, approached the collapsed Genjo, knelt on one knee and reached out his hand, and while stroking her back, said: “Lady Genjo, it’s Yōsuke.” “Has the usual seizure come upon you?”

It seemed his voice had reached her; Genjo looked up at Yōsuke, but... “Master!” she cried, clinging to him suddenly. “Jinjurō! “Mizushina Jinjurō!” “Jinjurō…?” “What happened to him?” “He was in the stands!” “He’s been harassing me!” “…………”

Yōsuke's complexion abruptly changed. "He—the demon—has come to Edo?!" "Master!" "It's all right," Yōsuke said,

“This unworthy one is here—it’s all right.” “Yes… Master! ……But this unworthy one—! ……Terrifying—terrifying—terrifying!” “You mustn’t torment yourself. …You mustn’t let fear take hold. …Akiyama Yōsuke is here.”

Sword Demon and Sword Sage

1 "This is no place for me to linger"—with this thought, Noshinosuke left the room shortly thereafter.

He walked through the space where backdrops and large props were piled up, heading toward the back gate. Then, he shuddered involuntarily for no particular reason.

He looked around his surroundings. In a dimly lit spot beside the piled-up backdrops, Mizushina Jinjurō watched with piercing eyes.

“Ah—” Noshinosuke let out a voice—one he himself found foolish, or rather utterly cowardly, resembling terror—and found his feet rooted to the ground. Around the man called Jinjurō swirled something one might call killing intent or sinister aura—a shadowy presence that made those who approached shrink away.

――For an instant, it seemed that way.

(Foolishness,) he mocked himself, and Noshinosuke moved his feet.

Even so, when passing before Jinjurō and even after having passed by, he was terrified—the thought that he might be cut down unexpectedly would not leave him. Noshinosuke had been walking near Ochanomizu on his way back to his residence in Koishikawa Tomizaka-cho—well past the early night hours—for even after leaving Genjo's hut, matters of concern and unpleasant thoughts weighed on his mind; to dispel them, he had whiled away the time at his regular small restaurant.

What could have happened to Okumi? It certainly seemed to be an illness, but what kind of strange illness could it be? She appeared to be on very close terms with someone as famously renowned as Akiyama Yōsuke—where and how had that come about? That demon-like man called Mizushina Jinjurō—he too seemed deeply connected to both Okumi and Akiyama Yōsuke—what manner of relationship could that be? (Anyway—today had been a strange day.) Noshinosuke walked through Ochanomizu’s eerily desolate grounds—so quiet one might doubt this lay within Edo’s borders, with its thick groves and absence of dwellings—murmuring softly as he let the night breeze, now heavy with young leaves’ fragrance, cool his drink-flushed cheeks while turning these thoughts over in his mind.

The moon had risen late in the sky, but due to the thick growth of trees, only scattered patches of filtered moonlight fell here and there, leaving the area nearly engulfed in darkness. Suddenly, something flashed ahead, and a scream followed it. Startled, Noshinosuke stopped in his tracks. (Someone's been cut,) he instinctively realized. (Should I veer off to the side?) For a moment, such a thought arose, but he was a samurai, not a townsman.

"(Cowardly)," he chided himself, then ran forward.

A medicine peddler—apparently an ointment seller, a man with a medicine box slung across his chest—lay submerged in blood flowing from his right torso, and as Noshinosuke’s eyes took in this mercilessly gruesome scene: a samurai standing over the corpse, a woman beside it wiping a bloodied sword with kaishi paper, all illuminated by shafts of moonlight filtering through the trees like colossal pillars.

A wave of dizziness washed over him as he felt as though he might lose consciousness.

Yes, Noshinosuke nearly lost consciousness and almost collapsed.

“I had been awaiting your arrival.”

Mizushina Jinjurō said so.

2 The samurai having the woman wipe the bloodied sword—that was Mizushina Jinjurō. “This humble one is Mizushina Jinjurō—a ronin. Commit this to memory.” The sheer audacity of declaring his true name after having just killed someone now rattled Noshinosuke’s already fearful heart to its core. “Haah…” was all Noshinosuke managed to utter. There was nothing more to say—even that single exhalation quivered. “……Th-that person…? “……And the corpse…?”

Even so, Noshinosuke ventured to ask at least that much. "This humble one has just now slain that individual." "Haa... Indeed... For what transgression?" "Because he was a subordinate who betrayed." "Haa..." "What merits hatred is the traitor. "...One whose words and deeds stand opposed..." "Haa..."

“Might I inquire as to your honorable name?”

“S-Suginami Noshinosuke…”

“Lord Suginami Noshinosuke… Your residence?” “Koishikawa Tomizaka-cho…” “You’re aware you encountered Genjo at her hut this afternoon?” “Y-yes… I’m aware.” “You entered Genjo’s room?” “……” “What’s your relationship with Genjo?” “There’s nothing particular… Just briefly… a year ago…”

“Is that so?” Jinjurō said doubtfully, fixing Noshinosuke with eyes that glinted like a sword’s tip and chilled to the bone like ice, “Lord Akiyama Yōsuke visited Genjo’s room today—what is your relationship with Lord Akiyama?” “There’s nothing to speak of—I merely had the honor of meeting him there for the first time today...” “Is that truly the case? “There is no falsehood in this, I trust?” “What falsehood? …It is the truth.” It felt like undergoing an interrogation.—Noshinosuke suddenly grew irritated, angered by his own utter lack of backbone, but being stared at by this man Jinjurō—like a frog charmed by a snake—left him assaulted by a paralyzing terror that rendered both body and soul helpless.

After having the woman thoroughly wipe away the bloodstains, Jinjurō calmly sheathed his sword, but— “This humble one intends you no harm. Should there indeed be no deep karmic bond between us, then all the better. From this moment onward, never form connections with Genjo or Akiyama Yōsuke.” “Haa... But... that... Why must I...” “Precisely so—because this humble one finds it disagreeable.” “......”

What sheer audacity. What a brazen demand—he thought—but Noshinosuke lacked the strength to defy it and voice refusal.

And then, he remained completely silent. “Above all, you must not involve yourself with Genjo… How does that sound? Is this acceptable?” “……” “Very well, it seems you have agreed. …As a precautionary measure, I shall ask you this—have you heard the strange songs that Genjo sings?” Having said this, he looked at him as if probing and glaring. (That must be about the song,) Noshinosuke thought.

3 (Chichibu ice, Ogawa village, the roots of the hinoki cypress in Hemi-sama’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—with this thought, Noshinosuke, "No," he flatly denied. "You didn't hear? Good." "That is well enough. ...Now let me make this clear—you must never listen to it henceforth." "Even if by chance you were to hear it, you must never decipher its meaning... Is this acceptable, Lord Noshinosuke?" "Understood," Noshinosuke said—said because he had no choice—but in truth, being told this only strengthened his resolve to unravel the meaning hidden within that song.

Even as this exchange unfolded, he observed the woman—now finished wiping the bloodied sword—standing at Jinjurō’s side, chewing on a toothpick while listening to their conversation with detached indifference. She appeared to be around thirty years old, her hair arranged in a coiled bun, wearing a dyed unlined kimono with a black satin obi and lacquered wooden clogs. Around her waist was an indescribable allure, one that verged on the venomous. Her face was too perfectly formed, but as her nose was particularly high, there it created a single flaw. A femme fatale incarnate—a woman of sensational beauty! That said, she was a woman who fit that description.

The woman slapped her arm with a sharp clap. Apparently, 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. Noshinosuke felt a chill run down his spine at the sight. (What a fitting pair with Jinjurō.) "As a precautionary measure, I shall state this."

Grave. Cloying. Jinjurō spoke in a threatening voice. "If you break your promise to this humble one, you'll share this wretch's fate." He pointed at the dead ointment peddler. "Is this acceptable, Lord Noshinosuke?" "......" Noshinosuke gulped audibly and nodded. "Good. We take our leave." "...Otsuma." "Yes, let's go."

Escaping from the sphere of moonlight, the two vanished into the darkness.

Employing five servants—a chambermaid, a housemaid, an elderly woman, an aged manservant, and a young retainer—and living freely in a splendid mansion with spacious gardens, it could be said that Noshinosuke's social standing was not at all unfavorable.

The next day, he slept soundly until noon; upon waking, he listlessly washed his face, ate a combined breakfast-lunch meal served by the neat-figured chambermaid O-Sato, then stepped onto the veranda with blue reed blinds at his back. Gazing absently at the flowerbed where lilies and Ezo chrysanthemums bloomed, Noshinosuke brooded over how to reconcile yesterday’s tumultuous events—partly from idleness, partly from curiosity, partly because they bore some relation to his future—when...

“Master, you have a visitor,” the chambermaid announced.

“Who is it?” Noshinosuke asked irritably. “He announced himself as Master Akiyama Yōsuke.”

4 Noshinosuke courteously ushered Akiyama Yōsuke into a superior guest room—one with good ventilation and clear views of the garden pond and artificial hill—prepared tea and confections to welcome him, and expressed gratitude for the honor, trepidation, and delight at being visited by such an eminent figure, responding with formal propriety. This occurred not long afterward.

“Yesterday, I learned from Genjo about your past relationship with Genjo,” declared Yōsuke in a forthright tone. “And so, this unworthy one has come today because Genjo informed me that yesterday you witnessed Mizushina Jinjurō having a match with someone in the garden of a tenement somewhere. I humbly request you disclose the location of that tenement.” “I earnestly wish to ascertain Jinjurō’s current residence.”

Yōsuke added this.

“It was one of the tenements belonging to Lord Sakakibara Shikibu-no-shō in Hongō,” Noshinosuke recounted everything he had witnessed at that time. “Might I ask how many tenements there were?” “Well, I’m afraid I carelessly neglected to confirm that detail, but if it pleases you, I shall personally guide you there.” “I am most honored. Then I shall not stand on ceremony—once dusk falls, I would request your company for an evening stroll…” “Understood, most honored sir... By the way...” Noshinosuke changed tack and related how he had encountered Mizushina Jinjurō in the desolate grounds of Ochanomizu the previous night and received what amounted to a threat.

Yōsuke, who had been listening intently, gradually furrowed his brows. "His depravity shows no sign of abating... Truly fearsome is his cursed blade..." he murmured as if to himself. "Master, what do you mean by 'cursed blade'?" Noshinosuke inquired tentatively. Yōsuke remained silent for a time—his sharp eyes fixed on the tranquil scene where carp in the garden pond occasionally breached the surface, sending mist-like spray into the air, and where hydrangeas blooming along the bank, perhaps dampened by that spray, glistened vividly in the sunlight—

“It appears he combines two techniques—the Yagyū-ryū’s ‘Wheel Return’ and the Kōgen Ittō-ryū’s ‘Lowerhand Cut’—into his unique swordsmanship.” Having said this, he stared directly at Noshinosuke. Averting his eyes as if dazzled, “However, from the perspective of Master’s skill, Jinjurō’s ability…” “It’s not so simple... A year ago at Lord Higuchi Jūrōzaemon’s dojo in Kazama, Kōzuke Province—when I happened upon him and was implored to cross blades...”

“The outcome?” “A mutual strike.”

“……” “He skillfully... my leg...” “The leg…?”

“Indeed. My leg was swept.”

“......” “This unworthy one struck his face, but...” Noshinosuke fell silent. If one were to select ten master swordsmen of our time as Japan’s representative figures, Akiyama Yōsuke Masakatsu—who should naturally be counted among them—having ended in a mutual strike meant that man Mizushina Jinjurō must be considered his equal in skill. (Is he really that skilled?) It seemed utterly unbelievable.

5

He brought out the prepared sake and dishes.

“Though this marks my first visit, such hospitality leaves this unworthy one deeply humbled.” Even as he spoke these words, his unreserved manner of leisurely refilling wine cups remained radiant and expansive—ignoring distinctions between seniors and juniors, truly openhearted and refined—yet without compromising the dignity befitting a young master born to a high-ranking family with a five-hundred-koku stipend. To Noshinosuke, this was irresistibly admirable.

“What is the name of Jinjurō’s wicked blade?” Noshinosuke asked that.

“It was called ‘Reverse Wheel’.” “Of course, being a wicked blade of heresy, it has no proper name—it would seem he arbitrarily assigned it himself.” “...First, you hold the longsword in a mid-level stance like this.”

While saying this, Yōsuke took a white fan and resolutely assumed a stance. Though less than a foot long as an implement, this master-held fan appeared more fearsome than a drawn blade to Noshinosuke—Yōsuke's entire form seeming to vanish completely behind it.

“And then—” he slowly drew the blade to the lower left with a drawn-out creak— “like this.” While explaining, Yōsuke demonstrated by pulling the fan. “It flows like water receding. “...Needless to say, it’s an inviting gap.” “Even knowing it’s bait, a hundred men out of a hundred will step in—either advancing or striking.” “...then swiftly seizing the initiative... using Yagyū’s ‘Wheel Return’—with that, you counter thus.” He flipped the fan downward in a fluid twist. “The instant the opponent falters—without pause—the Lowerhand Cut, Kōgen Ittō-ryū’s Lowerhand Cut...”

Having said this, Yōsuke pulled the fan close to his left knee in an eight-sided stance, then immediately flipped it back to execute an upward cut.

“It comes with this one—yes, precisely with this one." “…If it descends, your legs; ascends, your torso; one level higher and it reaches your jaw… You will be struck without fail, cut without mercy.” “Yet if you comprehend it thusly,” Noshinosuke countered, “it would seem there must be countless methods to defeat that technique.” “There is no counter—this *is* the technique itself.” Yōsuke’s voice grew solemn. “To dissect it would resemble my demonstration—yet it permits no dissection, transcends all rationalization. Call it executing preparation-strike-climax in one breath, or wielding celestial-terrestrial-human forces simultaneously—swift as storm winds and thunderclaps, singular and unmatched. Even foes must grudgingly admire its brilliance—a divinely inspired rapid art performed with viscous tenacity and flint-spark speed that leaves almost no defense possible.”

“Haah,” Noshinosuke sighed. “That is a terrifying technique.” “A terrifying technique, a terrifying wicked sword. ...Since then, this unworthy one has strived tirelessly to devise a way to break that ‘Reverse Wheel’ technique, but...” “Have you not yet devised a method?” “The memory of his blade work from that time still flickers before my eyes—it will not retreat, it will not vanish.” "Haah," Noshinosuke once again could not help but sigh.

Even so, when Jinjurō had threatened me last night at Ochanomizu, not resisting had been the right choice—had I made some foolish attempt to fight back, he would have surely cut me down with that Reverse Wheel technique in one resounding strike.

It seemed that way to Noshinosuke. The two continued to refill the cups.

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

6

Having spent an unexpected amount of time on sake, it was when the night had grown quite late that the two emerged from the mansion. "If we were to depart too early and linger around that mansion, and were Jinjurō to spot us, it would lead to unpleasantness. Being late would be preferable." Yōsuke said this, seeming rather pleased.

“Both when at home and after going out—through what circumstances did you become acquainted with someone like Genjo/Okumi, Master?” “What does the mysterious song Okumi sang mean?” Noshinosuke had wanted to ask Yōsuke many things—why Mizushina Jinjurō targeted both Master and Okumi—but two factors restrained him: first, Jinjurō’s threat from the previous night about not broaching such matters had seared itself into his being; second, Yōsuke himself appeared to dislike being questioned about these affairs. In the end, Noshinosuke let the opportunity pass unasked.

In this manner, they arrived near the estate grounds of Lord Sakakibara in Hongō.

The mansion district deepened into night early, with scarcely any human presence; the gates of every house were firmly shut, and under tonight’s bright moonlit sky, the roof tiles alone appeared drenched in water under that silvery light.

“Master, this is the estate,” said Noshinosuke, standing before one of the row houses.

Whether two hundred or three hundred koku, it was clearly the row house belonging to a substantial stipend holder—evident from its imposing structure. The plank fence stood tall, above which planted podocarp and magnolia trees spread their lush leaves—those leaves too glowed faintly like tarnished silver under the moonlight. “Let’s circle around to the front gate.”

Having said this, Yōsuke took the lead and had advanced two or three paces when a soul-rending scream issued from within the estate. Suddenly, the side gate burst open and a figure leapt out onto the road. A samurai with a naked blade at his side held a woman cradled horizontally in his free arm, while another samurai—also bearing a drawn sword—pursued him barefoot. "You! …Wait!" "...you utter fiend!"

It was the shout of the young samurai who had chased after him.

“Brother! “…Brother!” The girl being carried let out a scream.

“Jinjurō!” In that instant, Yōsuke shouted and wheeled around. The samurai carrying the girl was unmistakably Mizushina Jinjurō. Jinjurō seemed to hesitate and stopped momentarily. A young samurai was chasing from behind; ahead stood two samurai. He seemed to hesitate over which way to flee.

The young samurai who had caught up there shouted, “Die, you villain—my father’s killer!” and charged in with his blade. “Cut—!” What Jinjurō thrust forward was the girl’s body! With an “Agh!” Mondo barely managed to halt his white blade three inches from her chest. “Using a human shield?! You coward!” “Brother! Brother! Cut down Jinjurō along with me—avenge Father!” Jinjurō, having forcefully grabbed the screaming Sumie once more, brandished his white blade threateningly at the two samurai and barked, “Back off! Don’t interfere!”

“Get back! Don’t interfere! If you move, I’ll cut you down!” Before the man trying to dash through, Yōsuke stood with arms spread wide.

7 “Are your eyes clouded, Mizushina Jinjurō?! Can this unworthy one not be seen?! It is Akiyama Yōsuke!” “What—Akiyama?” he faltered— “Indeed it is Akiyama!” “Ugh—Namusan!” “Though ignorant of particulars, your accumulated misdeeds confirm the corruption lies with you! You shall not pass—I shall subdue you here!...”

At that moment, the young samurai behind him shouted.

“We siblings are members of this household—retainers of the Sakakibara family. This humble one is called Shigisawa Mondo, and my sister is called Sumie.” “That man, through some slight connection, recently became a lodger in our household—one whom we had been sheltering. Yet over a trivial matter just moments ago, he killed our father Shōemon, abducted my sister as you witness here, and now attempts to flee.” “Given that your honor knows of the renowned Master Akiyama’s involvement, I humbly request your assistance in this matter.”

“Understood,” Yōsuke said.

“Even without that matter,” declared Shigisawa Mondo with formal precision, “this humble one has long held grievances against Mizushina Jinjurō.” His blade remained leveled at their quarry as he continued: “A man who must be slain—particularly as he stands revealed as an enemy both to your honor’s house and our sibling bond—makes it impossible to turn blind eyes.” The young samurai’s voice hardened like tempered steel. “…Your request for assistance stands acknowledged,” he conceded with a shallow bow toward Akiyama Yōsuke. “…May your honored self strike first.” Mondo shifted stance fluidly between Jinjurō and escape routes. “This unworthy one shall subdue him for delivery.” His gaze flicked toward Suginami Noshinosuke standing at perimeter’s edge— “Lord Noshinosuke! You too shall join!” “Understood.” Though normally timidness gripped his heart like winter frost,Noshinosuke found ancestral samurai blood burning through hesitation’s ice.With Yōsuke’s formidable presence anchoring resolve beside him—nay,beyond mere companionship’s comfort—the ronin’s fingers closed on sword-hilt instinctively.Steel rasped free from lacquered saya,bright blade catching moonlight like liquid mercury.

Not only had he been beset by enemies to his front and rear, but among them was none other than Akiyama Yōsuke Masakatsu—a man who could be called a sword saint. Mizushina Jinjurō—sword-demon-like—seemed to realize he was cornered; frozen upright for a moment, he then set down the Sumie he had been holding, pressed one foot firmly against her shoulder, and raised his sword high overhead: “Mr. Akiyama... It’s been too long since I’ve had the pleasure.” “Just as you say—this humble one and yourself are adversaries, nay rivals. There lies but one path: to kill or be killed. That we meet here amidst this exchange of lives must be fate itself. I accept this duel—no flight nor concealment.” “Mondo—Mondo—Shigisawa Mondo! You’ve no grounds for complaint against me either. True enough—I cut down your father Shōemon just moments ago with a samurai’s resolve. Though I’m undeniably your parent’s killer, were we to debate good and evil or right and wrong—I’ve my own half of the argument.” “But I’ve no use for arguments!” “I shall embrace villainy to the fullest!” “Bwahahaha! This humble one is a villain!” “Because I am a villain, I have no need for duty.” “If there’s a beloved woman there, I’ll snatch her away and abscond—no matter how unreasonable!” “So I took Sumie!” “If one is a villain, human compassion is useless! With my life hanging by a thread like this—in such straits, there’s no room for lovers or mistresses! Hostages, human shields, living sacrifices—trample them underfoot! That’s how it is!” “Come at me, Akiyama! Come at me, Mondo! If you so much as twitch, this raised sword will come down upon Sumie!”

Having laid bare his villainous nature through these shouts to both sides, Jinjurō laughed heartily while theatrically swinging his sword—its blade glinting glaringly under moonlight—up and down in mock slashes. They gritted their teeth, but with Sumie's life imperiled, both Yōsuke and Mondo found themselves paralyzed—stamping their feet in frustrated hesitation.

8 But at that moment, Sumie shouted. "No need for hesitation! Kill me and strike down Jinjurō, please! ...Now, like this!" she flung up her slender hand. "Gah!" Jinjurō suddenly shouted, leaped back while shouldering his sword, and unwittingly staggered to one side.

Aiming for that opening,

“Split in two!” And it was Mondo’s blade that struck.

Clang! With a clang, a single clash rang out. It was Jinjurō who parried. Perceiving this opening, Yōsuke abruptly lunged at him unarmed.

Blade gleam! A diagonal slash swept down.

It was Jinjurō’s horizontal slash. But would Yōsuke be cut down? He had already leaped across. It was Mondo who struck there a second time! Once more came a clang—the tip of Jinjurō’s parried blade shot toward Mondo’s thigh!

“Agh!”

Mondo collapsed to the ground.

“Brother!” Gripping her hairpin in reverse, Sumie stabbed Jinjurō’s instep to seize the initiative, shouted, and crawled across the ground toward Mondo. “Now you’ll know my hatred!” roared the merciless Jinjurō as he brought his sword down on Sumie’s back. The instant he tried to strike—cutting through the wind—the stone projectile thrown by Noshinosuke came at Jinjurō’s forehead. “Tch!” Taking advantage of the opening created by deflecting with one hand, Yōsuke slammed his body into him with a thud! Jinjurō, struck by Yōsuke’s masterful body check, went tumbling head over heels and was sent flying several yards away like a ball! That said, he too had a trained body. With the lightness of a flying swallow, he sprang up, dashed past the crawling Mondo like an arrow, and fled like a startled hare!

“Wait!” Yōsuke gave chase, but, “Lord Noshinosuke! You stay here and tend to Lord Mondo and Lady Sumie!” “Understood.”

“I’m counting on you,” Yōsuke called out as he gave chase like a whirlwind, but Jinjurō—well-acquainted with the area—seemed to have fled into some back alley or narrow lane, his figure having already vanished from sight.

But around this time, startled by the commotion, the windows and side gates of tenement houses opened, and people began appearing,

“What happened?” “Is it a fire?” “Bandits?” they all reviled in unison. At that moment, Yōsuke shouted at the top of his voice. “The villain who brought calamity upon the Shigisawa household is hiding in this neighborhood! I implore you—encounter him! Search for him!”

“Go!” “Search!” the people shouted, dashing out with drawn swords. “Over there!” “No—it’s this way!” They rushed into back alleys and narrow lanes in all directions, searching here and there. The commotion rippled out from mansion to mansion in rapid succession. Retainers of the household, night patrols, young warriors, and comrades—all armed with weapons—surrounded this district and began hunting Jinjurō.

9 Voices arose over there, and voices arose here as well. In their paranoid vigilance, they would mistake allies for enemies—shouting out, chasing after them with cries of “There he is!”—only to erupt in booming laughter upon recognizing their own comrades. Before they knew it, the enemy had been misreported—not as a single man but as a great multitude—and they began exchanging anxious rumors: “Five men were in that back alley!” “Three with drawn swords by Lord Kanbei’s tenement wall!”

At times shadowy figures could be seen dashing through intersections; at others, figures climbing pine trees in mansion gardens to survey the situation came into view.

A single figure could be seen avoiding the moonlight as it moved from shadow to shadow along house fences, slipping out of this district while shuffling toward Shitaya. It was none other than Mizushina Jinjurō. With his topknot torn and hair hanging disheveled over his forehead without being swept back—concealing beneath his sleeve the bloodstained sword that had cut down Shōemon—he walked barefoot. The moment he turned left at the intersection, “There he is—”

“Now!” A flash of steel! Footsteps! Five samurai rushed in.

“…………”

A silent swooosh— "Gyaaah!" "Wham!"

They collapsed. Two samurai collapsed—whether dead or alive unknown—and three samurai scattered in flight. From that spot too, Jinjurō’s figure had vanished. Under frost-laden moonlight, two injured men thrashed about on the ground, twisting and convulsing. Around this time, Jinjurō was walking through a black narrow alley wedged between the residences of Nakayama Ukonji and Itami Sajūrō. Even he appeared fatigued now—staggering at times or halting altogether.

He emerged at a T-shaped intersection. After surveying left, right, front and back, he turned right. Then a night patrolman—carrying a six-foot staff—stepped from stone piles' shadows with stork-like stealth to pursue Jinjurō. Likely aiming for a leg sweep: he slowly leveled the staff, bent his knees—whoosh!—a swing! Instantly another figure sprang from lumber stacks' darkness like a demon imp.

“Wham!”

The six-foot staff went whirling through the air; the night patrolman—legs kicking at nothing—collapsed like a felled log.

Jinjurō was startled for the first time; he quickly leaped forward two ken and then turned around lightly to look. A man lay fallen on the ground; beside him stood a woman holding a bloodied dagger in one hand while lifting the hem of her robe with the other—her face pale in the moonlight, twisted into a creepy smile as she stared fixedly at Jinjurō. “Jinjurō-san, that was dangerous, wasn’t it?” “Who’s there? …You’re… Otsuma.” “You can’t just forget about your mistress.”

“Hmm… But… What’s going on?” “That’s… something we’ll discuss here. ...What in blazes happened to this guy?” “What do you mean ‘what happened’… I botched it.”

“Seems that way, does it? Seems that way... Still, ill fortune circles round us now.” 10 “Don’t name it ‘ill fortune’ like I’m some fool—men err at times. ...Enough of that—why are you here?” “You ask why I came? ...We had agreed to meet at Tokiwa in Shitaya, but unease drove me to see...” “This ruckus unsettled you?” “Well—hiding in shadowed places—this watchman sought to hook your legs with his six-foot staff, so...”

“You rushed out and plunged it deep into his side—” “I’ve gone and made a terrible slaughter of it.” “Thanks to you, I survived.” “I’m your lifesaver now—don’t you dare treat me poorly from here on out.” “So you’re cashing in that debt already?” “You can cash it in now—say your thanks.” “We’ll discuss that properly later.” “That ‘later’ of yours won’t do.” “That’s right—lingering is ill-advised. …We must escape here quickly by any means… But we’re completely surrounded.”

“There’s a way—change your appearance.” “Change my appearance? What’s the plan?”

“Strip the night patrolman’s clothes…” “Well now, this is a clever scheme.” Jinjurō dragged the night patrolman’s body into the shadows with a scraping sound and hid himself there as well—but when he emerged, his appearance had transformed from samurai to night patrolman. The swords appeared swallowed into his side, only their tsuba’s outline bulging faintly. “Now then—with my face covered like this—if I take hands with a woman like you, we might well pass for elopers fleeing through the chaos.”

“This role’s beneath me.” “No complaints. …Move out.”

As they began walking, four or five samurai approached while keeping guard on each other. “Stop.” “Yes, sir.” “Who are you?” “As you can see… Kindly overlook this.” “Hmph. Fellow runaways, eh?” “Yes.” “Move along.” “My apologies.” “Wait! You there!” “What is it, sir?” “There’s a dangerous murderer prowling about.” “Proceed with caution.” “—Yes sir, your kindness is most appreciated...”

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-juku and Takasaka-juku was considered the most proper route.

While following this path, a young samurai and a girl walked along, wearied by their journey. They were Shigisawa Mondo and Sumie. It was a journey of vengeance—to target Mizushina Jinjurō, their father’s enemy, and cut him down in retribution. What was the relationship between Mondo and Jinjurō? They were but distant second cousins, and when Jinjurō had drifted to the Shigisawa household approximately three months prior to that time, upon hearing his story, Shōemon had only faintly recalled that such a relative indeed existed—there being no obligation to care for him—yet the magnanimous and compassionate Shōemon, unconcerned by such formalities, had acquiesced to Jinjurō’s earnest pleas, allowing him to lodge at their home and looking after his needs.

Vengeance Journey

1 This proved disastrous. Initially, Jinjurō had maintained a cat-like facade of meekness, but gradually revealed his true nature—frequenting taverns to drink, returning home intoxicated to boast of his martial skills, deriding Shōemon and Mondo’s swordsmanship as childish playthings, regularly permitting disreputable men and women to visit the estate, and finally beginning to extend his devilish hand of unwanted advances toward Sumie. Sumie was not Shōemon’s biological daughter but one he had raised from infancy to wed his only son Mondo. At this time, Shōemon had filed his retirement notice and was preparing to marry the pair, intending to have Mondo take his place in official service. Thus, Jinjurō’s illicit overtures earned universal disdain from the household.

Naturally, he came to be treated coldly. As this cold treatment persisted, Jinjurō’s disposition worsened further still, and he increasingly reviled Shōemon and Mondo’s swordsmanship with foul language. Finally unable to contain his anger, Shōemon stepped down into the garden that day and faced Jinjurō in a duel. When they crossed blades, Shōemon realized Jinjurō’s swordsmanship surpassed even his boasts—a revelation that chilled him to the core. Yet when his daughter Sumie intervened, Jinjurō unexpectedly conceded victory. But Shōemon pondered: To keep this fearsome master of wicked swordsmanship in our residence any longer would bring no benefit to our household. That very day, while taking tea, he discreetly ordered Jinjurō’s expulsion.

This struck Jinjurō to the core. Since he had conceded victory, he would likely be treated favorably from now on; he had conceded because Sumie had appeared—it was for Sumie’s sake that he had yielded. Therefore, he had thought that from now on, Sumie would likely hold affection for him, but matters turned out completely opposite. Thus, the petty man's pent-up resentment! Thus inflamed with malice, the following night he suddenly attacked Shōemon, cut him down in his bedchamber, seized Sumie the moment she rushed out alarmed by the screams, and while fending off Mondo, who had also emerged startled by the commotion, attempted to flee outside.

Just then came unexpected reinforcements. They were Akiyama Yōsuke and Noshinosuke.

Thus, after letting go of Sumie, he managed to escape and disappeared without a trace.

Given how matters had developed, there remained only one course of action for Mondo.

Vengeance! Yes, this alone was what needed to be done. After holding his father’s funeral, he immediately requested permission for vengeance. Their magnanimous lord, Lord Sakakibara Shikibu-no-shō, promptly granted permission with the words “Serve well,” issuing the gracious decree that even during Mondo’s period of itinerancy, he should take over Shōemon’s full ancestral stipend. Upon successful completion of his primary objective, he was even deigned the additional assurance of confirmed succession to the family headship and stipend rights. “Brother, I must accompany you.”

Just as they were about to depart on their journey, Sumie spoke up. “Father was killed by Jinjurō.” “For half of the cause lies with this humble one.” Thus Sumie insisted. “A vengeance journey with a woman in tow—that would not do,” Mondo refused. “The lord’s perception, the domain’s speculations—appearing weak would be distressing.”

With these words, Mondo would not consent. “Miyagino and Shinobu were women alone—did not two sisters take down their father’s enemy?”

2 Therefore, she argued that there would be nothing strange about the two of us siblings defeating Father’s enemy. Within Sumie’s heart lay this reasoning: they were betrothed; should Mondo—destined to become her husband—depart on a journey to hunt their enemy, who knew how many years it might take? Rather than languishing in their lonely home during that time, fretting as she awaited his return—though she deemed herself unskilled—she had received instruction in Tamiya-ryū kodachi and even obtained certification in that art. Surely she would not prove a burdensome hindrance. Moreover, the slain Father had been both her dutiful adoptive parent and the man who would have become her uncle-in-law—a figure to whom she owed greater devotion than even a biological father. Since this man had met his demise in part because of her, she felt compelled to defeat their enemy by any means necessary. Additionally, with her mother having passed several years prior, there remained no filial duties requiring her stay. Thus burned within her an intense, resolute desire to embark on this journey alongside Mondo.

Though Mondo had refused her request, he secretly thought it might indeed be acceptable for them to journey together—nay, that he wished they could go together if possible. They were two people destined to become husband and wife—to leave one behind at home while embarking on a journey with no certain return date, where even should he miraculously encounter their enemy, there remained no guarantee he wouldn't be slain instead—this prospect weighed heavily upon his heart. If they went together, couldn't they share both hardships and sorrows while comforting each other? Far from being deadweight, his sister wielded considerable skill with the short sword—hadn't she proven this that very night when she'd drawn her hairpin to strike Jinjurō's instep—a man's vital point—allowing them to barely escape calamity? As for Jinjurō himself—a demonic practitioner of Kōgen Ittō-ryū—he stood leagues above someone like Mondo who'd only just received provisional certification in Shinkage-ryū. Alone, Mondo stood little chance against him; if only his sister were present... Thus he yearned to travel together. Yet the thought of being scorned by their domain's people—"Look there! Shigisawa Mondo cannot even avenge his father alone—he needs a woman's help!"—struck him as unbearable, paralyzing his resolve.

"I will seek our lord's private approval."

If he says yes, I’ll take you along.

Abruptly coming to this realization, Mondo submitted an inquiry through his superior. Thus spoke the Lord.

“For two children to avenge their parent’s enemy—and one of them a woman—is most commendable. “You have my leave.” “It is said Sumie wields a kodachi; she should not prove a hindrance.” Furthermore, from the lady of the house, an amulet pouch and a sum of money were bestowed upon Sumie via a messenger.

The outcome was most auspicious.

Thus, the two set out on their journey. First, they headed for Kōshū Province. The reason was this: during his time as a dependent, Jinjurō—perhaps because he had committed misdeeds in his past—had refused to speak of his history, evading questions and never revealing anything resembling the truth. However, just before taking refuge with the Shigisawa family, he had unpromptedly mentioned that he had been under the care of a gambling gang in the Kōshū region, working as a gambling den guard—that is to say, an enforcer.

It was a lead as vague as grasping at clouds—utterly unreliable—but with no other clues to pursue, the two—Mondo and Sumie—resolved to set out for Kōshū Province regardless. When they reached Kōshū and began making inquiries, an elderly gambling boss named Monbē in Kurihara Post Town shared some rather useful intelligence—a valuable lead indeed.

3 “Mr. Mizushina did us the honor of coming to this area about three months ago with a strange woman named Otsuma, but for whatever reason, he promptly departed toward Musashi Province.” “When it comes to that man, he has quite a number of bosses who favor him in Musashi Province as well, and since his swordsmanship teacher is the renowned Lord Tashirō Itsuki of Ogawa, he must have gone there.”

These were Monbē’s words. (So Lord Itsuki Tashirō—the man considered the head of Kōgen Ittō-ryū—was Jinjurō’s teacher after all?)

Thinking this, Mondo felt a chill. (Then he might be secretly sheltered at Lord Itsuki’s residence)

Thus Mondo and Sumie continued their journey toward Musashi Province and had now arrived at Ageo Post Town.

Edo lay just within sight, their residence equally visible ahead, yet without first pinpointing their enemy's location, they could scarcely consider visiting the house either. Thinking thus, the two avoided even entering Edo and came directly to Ageo Post Town.

“How swiftly you’ve arrived. …Welcome.” The place they were guided to by the maid was an inn called Kikyōya.

They had truly wanted to head immediately toward Ogawa Post Town where the Itsuki residence was located, but fearing that proceeding carelessly might allow Jinjurō to spot them—with no guarantee they wouldn't be struck down in retaliation—they stopped at this inn despite the sun still riding high in the sky. They were shown to a room facing the main thoroughfare. Having removed their travel attire and settled in to relax, while moistening their lips with the served tea, "The Horse Tycoon approaches!" came voices calling out in unison.

(What could this "Horse Tycoon" be?)

Thinking this, Mondo slid open the shoji screen—since the room was on the second floor, he peered over the railing at the street below.

A single palanquin was seen passing eastward through the crowd of inn patrons—who stood on both sides of the street watching with a blend of fear and curiosity while whispering—surrounded by five rough men who appeared to be gamblers and four who seemed to be horse traders swaggering insolently with shoulders thrust forward.

And among them walked a single ronin-like samurai—wearing a deep sedge hat, carrying black-lacquered long and short swords at his waist, clad in an unpatterned haori—who accompanied the palanquin as if guarding it, his strides leisurely. (Huh?) Mondo stared wide-eyed. (He resembles Jinjurō...?) The hat obscured his face; by the time this thought occurred to him, they had already passed by, leaving only their retreating figures visible. He couldn’t confirm anything, yet the suspicion lingered on his mind.

“Sumie, come here. Look at that.” “Yes, what could it be?” Sumie, who had been folding the discarded garments, stood up while saying this. “Look at that samurai heading over there… Ah, no good—he’s turned the corner.” Indeed, at that moment, the procession turned left at the crossroads ahead. “Brother, what could it be?” “It might be my mistake, but there was a ronin-like samurai who resembled Jinjurō…”

"Oh!" Sumie fixed her gaze.

4 “Since you mentioned they passed by?”

"A group that appeared to be gamblers and horse traders passed by guarding a palanquin, but among them was that samurai."

“Then this humble one shall go and determine whether it is Jinjurō or not…” “Wait, wait!” Restraining Sumie as she rose to her feet, Mondo carefully considered— “Jinjurō is a man expecting enemies—we cannot assume he would let his guard down. If he were to spot you instead, there’s no telling he wouldn’t wield his wicked blade. ……Even if he truly is Jinjurō, from what we observed, he appears to be settled here as a guard for gambling dens under the employ of gambling gang members—in which case, it seems unlikely he would depart this area today or tomorrow. ……First thoroughly investigating matters such as who this ‘Horse Tycoon’ is and the nature of that earlier group—and only then proceeding with our task—seems the safer course of action.”

Having said this, he did not let Sumie move.

When the dinner tray had been cleared away, the clerk came to greet them.

“I’d like to ask you something.” Mondo promptly spoke up. “Yes, how may I assist you?” “What kind of person is this Horse Tycoon?” “The Horse Tycoon, you mean?” “It seems they were heralding him as the Horse Tycoon, but just who is he?” “He is a wealthy man from Kiso.” “A wealthy man from Kiso?” “The Kiso in Shinshū?” “Yes, precisely so.” “He resides deep within Fukushima-shuku in Shinshū’s Kiso Valley, in Nishino-gō.” “He is Lord Horse Tycoon.”

“Horse Owner Tycoon?” “Ah! The Horse Owner one?” “Not merely five hundred but as many as a thousand—a wealthy lord who owns numerous Kiso horses... The one riding in the palanquin was that very lord.”

“So because he’s a Horse Owner Tycoon, he’s called the Horse Tycoon?” “Indeed, that is correct.” “Now that I’ve heard the reason, it’s not so strange after all.” “Indeed, that is precisely so.” “It seemed about five men resembling gamblers were accompanying the palanquin...” “They are subordinates dispatched by Boss Inoshimatsu of Takahagi Village to welcome him.” “Inoshimatsu of Takahagi?” “The leader of a gambling gang?” “Yes, precisely.…They are both renowned as major bosses—Boss Hayashizō of Akao Village or Boss Inoshimatsu of Takahagi Village.”

“Even so, for the Horse Tycoon of Kiso to be on familiar terms with gambling gangs of Bushū…?” “There is a reason for that… As you may already know, in Kiso Fukushima there is a grand horse market every year during the Hangesho season. Horse owners and traders gather from various provinces, and countless horses are bought, sold, and exchanged in great bustle.” “I am aware of the Kiso Horse Market. It’s famous nationwide.” “Rowdy exchanges of large sums of money are conducted.”

“Of course that would be the case.” “Targeting that opportunity, bosses from various provinces bring along numerous family members and followers, carry money chests and horse boxes, energetically march in, set up huts in their respective areas, and lay out large trays, so...” “In other words... they’re running gambling dens, eh?” “Yes, precisely so.” “The extravagance and liveliness of it are said to be beyond compare.”

5 “To operate gambling dens—isn’t that scandalous?” “Even should you say such things, the Fukushima den and Kōshū Minobusan’s Gokaishiki den together form Japan’s two great officially sanctioned gambling establishments.” “Hmm... I see. Quite lavish indeed.” “His true name is Lord Inoue Kamon—they say the Horse Tycoon of Nishino-gō’s earnings from this horse market defy all measure.” “Needless to say—that would follow.” “That’s when the bosses’ underlings come swarming to make their appeals.”

“I see. That seems plausible.” “Lord Kamon personally handles each request and provides his assistance.” “That’s impressive—though I suppose it’s because he has money.” “Even bosses can’t ignore such favors, so they visit to express their gratitude.” “Men of principle, aren’t they?” “They say Lord Kamon meets every one of them with polite courtesy.” “An uncommon attitude for a wealthy man.” “Through these connections, Lord Kamon has maintained long-standing ties with bosses across the provinces. When he travels, local bosses reportedly compete to host him.”

“Ah, I see. That makes perfect sense.” “With Boss Inoshimatsu of Takahagi Village—one might say their hearts align—it seems they share an exceptionally close bond. After concluding the horse market, he carries a fortune and comes to this land year after year. With Boss Inoshimatsu as his counterpart, he engages in Tatara gambling so extravagant it turns Ageo Inn upside down.” “Hunh, I see. That’s quite extravagant.” “That being said, he leaves nothing to chance. In Bushū, there is Koganei Ranch where horse and cattle ranching thrives, so during his visits, he is said to negotiate matters such as next year’s horse market with ranch owners and horse traders.”

“Well, I suppose that’s to be expected.” “When engaging in Tatara gambling and enriching Ageo Inn, upon hearing the Horse Tycoon has arrived, the inn people become overjoyed and frolic about as if at a festival.”

“By the way, among the Horse Tycoon’s entourage, there was a ronin-like samurai—who on earth was that?” “He’s a bodyguard, you know—Boss Inoshimatsu’s gambling den guard.”

“And what is his full name?”

“Well now, I couldn’t quite say… Those ronin aren’t just one or two—Boss Inoshimatsu keeps five or six around at any time. They come and go so quickly—no sooner do they arrive than they disappear, and when you think they’ve left, new ones show up.” “They’re always changing, you see.”

The crucial matter they wished to ascertain remained entirely beyond their reach. Both Mondo and Sumie felt disappointment, yet resolved nonetheless to leave the inn at dawn, proceed to Takahagi to investigate Boss Inoshimatsu, and verify whether the samurai they had seen earlier was Jinjurō.

It was precisely on this very night.

Rinzō of Akabane—who rivaled Inoshimatsu of Takahagi—had slipped out of the gambling den at Hirodani Field with his follower Tōsaku and Suginami Noshinosuke in tow, walking along the rural path toward Ageo Inn with evident displeasure. The gambling den wasn’t drawing crowds as hoped, its meager earnings naturally thinning out—this had become the cause of his foul mood. Convinced that Inoshimatsu was to blame for the poor turnout, he found himself in an exceptionally ill temper. (Even the guests who used to come seem to have given up on me lately and are going to Inoshimatsu’s gambling den instead.)

This was utterly galling.

Ima Ushiwaka and the Little Tengu

1 In Bushū's Iruma District, Akabane Village, there was a village constable named Isogorō who simultaneously operated a gambling den and maintained numerous followers. This was the so-called wearing of two hats—those who did so were often denounced as cowardly by itinerant gamblers, but Isogorō alone enjoyed a favorable reputation. That was because he was an exceptional man. Having passed several years beyond fifty and with his vitality waning, he had already stepped back from his official duties, entrusting the management of gambling dens and care of followers to his son as he retired into seclusion.

That son was Rinzō. At this time, Rinzō was twenty-eight years old—small in stature yet unmatched in vigor, bold yet meticulous, a man of greater ability than his father. In swordsmanship, he and his father Isogorō had studied under Akiyama Yōsuke Masakatsu, attaining skill beyond official certification. Nicknamed Ima Ushiwaka, his prestige as a young boss soared—he stood as one of Bushū’s foremost major gang leaders. However, in Takahagi Village of Koma District—bordering Iruma District—there was a gang leader named Inoshimatsu, now thirty-one years old, who had studied under Tobemata Shiro of Ogawa Inn to master the secrets of the Kōgen Ittō-ryū sword style, received the nickname Little Tengu, became a gang leader in middle age, was a complete amateur at gambling yet was immensely popular, expanded his influence rapidly within a short period—even encroaching upon Rinzō’s crucial territory—and was now regarded as surpassing Rinzō in both presence and popularity.

Thus, these two titans could not coexist. When face-to-face, they would maintain nonchalant expressions—exchanging seasonal greetings and mundane chatter, engaging in ordinary interactions—but in their hearts, each was waiting for an opportunity to kick the other down. Dew lay on the rural path; it chilled and soaked their feet.

“Mr. Suginami—what do you think of the gambling den?”

To Noshinosuke, who was walking alongside him, Rinzō called out like this. "The gambling den I saw for the first time today—truly exhilarating!" Noshinosuke said cheerfully. "In an instant, the match is decided, and money changes hands in a flash… The guests' tension is palpable." "...the meticulous shaking technique of the central pot." "...Everything is earnest and tense—just watching it naturally makes your muscles tighten..." "Ahaha! How dreadful! Only you samurai could find such fascination in observations so different from us itinerant gamblers… Well now, I do hope you won't lay hands on such things."

“No—I intend to do it.” “Today was my first time seeing a gambling den—truly exhilarating, it was.” “From the next game onward, I intend to place bets as well.” “That won’t do, Mr. Suginami—you mustn’t get involved in that.” “Once you develop a taste for that world, you’ll never escape it your whole life.” “…The deeper you sink into it, the more wealth you’ll lose and character you’ll taint—nothing good comes of it.” “I’ve thought that too.” “That’s precisely why I mean to try it.”

“Huh, that’s odd.” “I find everything tedious.” “So I had been thinking that I wanted to throw myself wholeheartedly into something—anything—that wasn’t tedious.” “…Gambling—no, actually—is quite something splendid.” “…For the time being, I intend to throw myself into this.” “I’m appalled—this is outrageous.…If Master Akiyama were to find out, I’d be scolded mercilessly.…I shouldn’t have brought you along.”

"If Master found out, there wouldn't be any fun in it—let's keep this between us," Noshinosuke said with a quiet chuckle.

2

It had been about half a month since Noshinosuke arrived in this area along with Akiyama Yōsuke and Genjo, among others, and took lodging at Rinzō’s house. From that incident, they grew close, and thereafter Noshinosuke began frequenting Yōsuke’s residence—listening to tales of martial arts and receiving instruction in the Shinkage-ryū style.

One day when he visited, Yōsuke said: “I will take Lady Genjo to the Chichibu region. If it pleases you, I would be honored by your company.” “Do you have business in the Chichibu region?” “If things go well, we’ll unearth a fortune; even if they go poorly, we’ll experience all sorts of unusual things.” With these words, Yōsuke laughed meaningfully. “Are you taking Lady Genjo because—” “That woman—no—rather, that woman’s songs are the reason for our Chichibu journey…It is said there once was a hinoki root in the garden of Lord Tobemata of Ogawa Village in Chichibu District—” “—the song that woman sings.”

At last, Yōsuke spoke with deliberate significance. Though Noshinosuke wanted to hear more details, Yōsuke offered nothing further—so resolving to inquire later, and thinking such a journey with Yōsuke’s group might relieve his own gnawing boredom, he decided to accompany them. Yet when they departed—to Noshinosuke’s astonishment—Yōsuke promptly returned to this very area and lodged at Rinzō’s residence.

However, he seemed to be scheming something—sometimes leaving home alone and not returning for two or three days, other times taking Genjo with him when he went out and similarly staying away for days at a time.

Since coming to Rinzō’s house, Noshinosuke was never bored. It was because the social life of these people—called gamblers, chivalrous outlaws, and gang bosses—proved extraordinarily exhilarating. They took duty and human bonds as their guiding principles; their activities centered on gambling, and they made their living from it. Power struggles—turf wars—when these flared up, they rained down bloodshed. The bond between bosses and their sworn followers stood more rigorous and reliable than the lord-vassal relationships of samurai. There was no place for vulgar practices like flattery and sycophancy—their society remained straightforward and honest.

This had delighted Noshinosuke. (I wonder if I should try gambling too.) There had been a time when he had thought such things and secretly told a sworn follower about them.

“The boss gave us strict orders—we can’t let you place bets, Mr. Suginami.”

Having said this, the sworn followers paid no heed.

This alone was mortifying to Noshinosuke.

In the end, Noshinosuke could no longer contain himself and today pressed Rinzō to show him a gambling den, even just once.

“There’s no helping it,” Rinzō said, though unable to refuse, he took Noshinosuke to one of his gambling dens at Hirodani Field, and now they were on their way back.

The three of them walked along the country path.

“What will you do now, Boss?” Fujisaku, a sworn follower, called out. “Let’s have Mr. Suginami accompany us and go enjoy ourselves at Yamashiroya.” “That’s more like it. First of all, Oyama-san will be overjoyed.”

3 They arrived before Yamashiroya, the top brothel in Kamigo-shuku, but saw that its entrance was shut tight. And yet, from inside came the lively voices of men and women. “Boss, this doesn’t sit right. Keeping the entrance closed while entertaining—unless there’s some big spender involved, they wouldn’t do this these days.” Fujisaku said with some irritation. “Yeah, this situation’s a bit off.”

Rinzō also spoke with some skepticism. “Shall we try banging on the door?” “Right then, let’s give it a good whack.” There, Fujisaku knocked on the door.

“Heeey... And who might you be? We’ve closed up for the night due to circumstances.” “Whether you’re a regular patron or a first-time visitor, we must decline you this evening.” From behind the sliding door where what appeared to be a young servant stood came this brusque greeting. “Boss, did you hear that? They’re saying they’ll refuse entry whether you’re a regular patron or a first-time visitor.” “Well, there ain’t no helpin’ it.” “At any rate, try revealing my name one more time and deal with that young servant.”

“Understood.” “Hey there, youngster—listen close. You know about the Boss of Akao, yeah?” “And you oughta know he’s tied tighter than a knot to your Oyama-san here.” “Promotion’s coming your way by year’s end—if you don’t know about the pine past the black-plank fence and what’s fenced in, you’re full of shit.” “That very Boss Rinzō I’m telling you about—he’s right here honorin’ us with his presence.” “Hey! Still keepin’ this door shut?” “Ah, so it’s the Akao gang leader then.” “…Bastard finally showed his face.”

“Huh? What was that? What did you just say?” “No, I didn’t say anything... Oh dear, this is quite a predicament. Normally, the entire household would come out to welcome you, but tonight Lord Horse Trader has taken Oyama-san as his companion and ordered the house closed up, commanding that no one be admitted...” At that moment, Rinzō called out.

“So then, could Oyama-san’s guest be Lord Inoue Kamon, the Horse Trader of Kiso?” “Ah, that is indeed correct.” “Well then, there’s no helpin’ it. Come to think of it, I did hear through folks’ talk that Lord Horse Trader came to these parts today. I’ve been right obliged to her myself... No—in that case, that’s just fine. For Oyama-san to be taken up by such a gentleman—no—rather, that adds to her standing. Aye, that’s just fine... Mr. Suginami... Fujisaku... Let’s be off. We’ll head to Sasaya or suchlike and drink till dawn.”

The three of them left Yamashiroya’s gate and entered another brothel called Sasaya, located about five blocks away. Each of the three retired to bed. In the middle of the night, Rinzō woke and left his room to relieve himself.

It was when he came before the secret room,

“What a pity for Boss Rinzō...” came the voice of Sasaya’s proprietor. "Hmm?" Rinzō stopped in his tracks.

“Poor Boss Rinzō—not knowing Oyama-san’s heart had changed, taking at face value their lie that the Boss from Takahagi coming here was the Horse Trader, coming so peaceably to a place like ours...”

4 The mistress's answering voice was heard.

“This humble one was also astonished by Oyama’s wickedness.” “It’s one thing to switch mounts from horse to ox, but to cast aside Boss Rinzō and throw yourself at Boss Inoshimatsu—knowing full well how those two have been rivals day after day—that’s wickedness carved into the very bones!”

Rinzō left the front of the secret room and, after taking care of business, returned to his room via the back staircase. To fulfill his obligations to Oyama, he had not let the woman sleep.

He sat cross-legged on the futon and pondered in silence. (Oyama's just a post town prostitute—business is business—but Inoshimatsu of Takahagi's a big shot. Ain't he the one propped up by four or five hundred lackeys? No way he doesn't know about me and Oyama. Still he takes my woman. Well, that's how it goes—but impersonatin' Lord Horse Trader to mess with my night out? That bastard ain't fit to stand downwind of decent men... Even without that, me and him were bound to cross blades sooner or later. We're at that point now. Right—time to seize this chance...)

At that very moment, the third rooster’s crow sounded, and night began to give way to dawn.

"(All right)," Rinzō stood up, prepared himself, and went downstairs.

A young servant keeping night watch was in the earthen-floored entrance. "Boss, are you leaving already?" "Yeah, I'm heading back now, but my two companions are still asleep. Don't wake them—leave them as they are." "Understood, sir."

Rinzō stepped out through the sliding door.

Dawn mist hung thick, blurring the shapes of inn buildings, with few figures walking the streets and every house door remaining shut. Rinzō let the morning wind blow through his sideburns, drew in the stale sweat from his sleep-dampened body all at once, and walked briskly down the street. When he exited the inn onto the main road, fields spread out in all directions with groves, forests, and cultivated lands. To the left lay Akai Village; to the right, Takahagi Village. At this fork where both paths met stood the Six Jizō Statues, surrounded by a thick grove of trees. When he reached that point and came to a stop, Rinzō pondered awhile before concealing himself in the grove's shadow.

Time gradually passed. Before long, the sky took on a pale blue hue that gradually tinged with red, while small birds began singing everywhere. Then, at that moment, seven figures emerged from the direction of Kami-Ago Post Town and began walking down the highway toward them. It was Inoshimatsu of Takahagi and his party. Inoshimatsu, thirty-one years old, was a fair-skinned, large-framed man of refined bearing who showed no resemblance to a gambler. His tall, thick nose carried an air of dignity, yet his small, thin lips retained a childlike freshness that women would likely find endearing. He wore Yūki-weave garments with a Hakata obi and carried a long wakizashi in a sharkskin sheath.

The remaining five were underlings, and the other one was a samurai who appeared to be a ronin. Having had his underlings welcome the horse trader Inoue Kamon and escort him to his regular lodgings at Akashiya Inn—and having gone himself to pay his respects—Inoshimatsu then took advantage of his trip out to Kami-Ago by bringing his underlings to Yamashiroya Inn, where he summoned Oyama, who had recently become a regular there, and spent the night carousing before beginning his return journey. When they came before the Six Jizō Statues, Rinzō emerged from the shadow of the trees.

5 “Inoshimatsu of Takahagi, wait a moment.” Rinzō called out directly. “Oh! Is that you, Akai? What are you doing here at this hour?” Inoshimatsu of Takahagi stopped in his tracks as if slightly surprised and said. “Well, last night I went up to Kami-Ago thinking to have some lively fun, but then the Horse Trader showed up at Yamashiroya Inn. They closed the front entrance for some private revelry, so I ended up completely dispirited and slinking off to some dreary place. With nothing better to do, I rushed out at daybreak to take in the view of the fields—that’s how it is, you see.” “…Looking at you, seems you’re returning in the morning too. Did you head up to Kami-Ago or something?”

“Hmm,” Inoshimatsu of Takahagi said with a bitter face, appearing troubled— “Actually, we did just that—went up to Kami-Ago for some fun—but got treated to a right miserable time. Now we’re heading back, boiling with frustration.” “No—I’ve learned my lesson.” “You don’t seem all that chastened… So where exactly did you go?”

“The brothel? The brothel was... let me see... Sasaya.” “How peculiar. We went up to Sasaya too, yet I heard no word of your presence there.” “Hmm... Then perhaps I was mistaken?” “You’re utterly mistaken... But enough of that. There’s a matter concerning Takahagi I wish to discuss. They say you’re a direct disciple of Master Itsumi Tashirō from Ogawa Post Town with exceptional skill—I’ve long desired to cross blades with you and receive instruction. Meeting here is most fortuitous. Since few passersby are about—though it may trouble you—let us spar.”

“What? You want to cross blades? ……A swordsmanship match?” “And it must be with real blades.” “A real sword duel?” “A duel to the death!” “…………”

Inoshimatsu stared wordlessly, his eyes wide.

But in his heart, he thought: (He must have discovered my involvement with Oyama.) It wasn't as if I made advances first and stole her away. They laid out the feast—though I knew about Rinzō's connection—so I simply partook without hesitation. Even so, imagining Rinzō's position—there'd be no comfort in this arrangement. ......And it wasn't just Oyama—from old turf disputes, nothing but ill will must have festered between our factions. Which means Rinzō aims to resolve all grievances today—using this honorable-sounding real sword match as cover to cut me down.)

However, Inoshimatsu hadn’t the slightest idea that Yamashiroya Inn had lied to Rinzō about closing its doors on him last night and claiming the horse trader was present. This was because it had been handled at the discretion of Yamashiroya Inn’s young attendants. Inoshimatsu had only just finished settling matters for Oyama that very night at her request.

"Anyway, someday Rinzō and I will have to duel to the death—circumstances have forced us to that point," he thought. "But fighting under these conditions—on a public road at dawn, using this match as pretext—would leave a bad taste. Best to avoid it for now." Being older and more prudent than Rinzō, Inoshimatsu formed a resolved smile and spoke.

6 "It's true I've been trained in swordsmanship by Master Itsumi," Inoshimatsu said, "but I hear you yourself have received secret techniques from Master Akiyama Yōsuke—they call him a demon god in the way of the sword." "There's no way someone like me could match you." "Now now—let's table this match for later."

“Well then… what now?” Rinzō of Akai pressed forward impatiently. “So if we don’t duel, is this how it’s going to be?” “Right—let’s settle the match eventually… on the gambling mat.” “Oh ho! So you’re saying that if us gamblers just win on the gambling mat, there’s no need for a real sword duel? That’s what you’re declaring here?” “Well, I suppose you could say that. For us unemployed gamblers, nothing matters more than the outcome of dice games—sword duels come second.”

Inoshimatsu declared coldly, then twisted his mouth into a sneering laugh. Rinzō grew increasingly agitated but forcefully suppressed it and sneered as well, "If you insist on that, then let’s call off the real sword duel." "But in exchange, starting today, I’ll spread far and wide across Kanto that Inoshimatsu of Takahagi—unbecoming of a gambler—is a coward who fears blades, cowered before Rinzō of Akai’s skill, and refused a real sword duel… and I’ll have no complaints about it!"

Having said his piece, he spat and whirled around to turn his back on Inoshimatsu, then started walking down the highway toward Akai Village.

“Hey, Rinzō of Akai—wait a moment!” Inoshimatsu’s angry voice rang out. “Business?” As Rinzō turned around, Inoshimatsu’s drawn long wakizashi gleamed pale and straight before him. “Ah! So you’ve finally unsheathed it after all!” “That’s right. If you’re set on a real sword duel with this Inoshimatsu, I’m not one to back down.” “I’ll face you gladly…… Hey now, you lot……” He turned and called to his underlings.

“The real sword duel between Akai and me—you lot better not lay a hand on it.” “If I’m killed, at least gather my bones… And Mr. Mizushina’s too…” Having said this, Inoshimatsu of Takahagi—wearing a woven hat—turned his face toward the ronin samurai, “You there—don’t lend a hand. Just watch until the end, kindly.”

“Understood,” said the samurai as he slowly removed his woven hat. After killing Shōemon Shigisawa and fleeing temporarily to Kōshū Province, he had reasoned that Mondo would surely come seeking vengeance—yet staying too near might obscure his view of approaching threats. Moreover, Bushū Province held gamblers he knew more intimately than those in Kōshū. Though expelled from his school due to unresolved personal affairs, his swordsmanship master Itsumi Tashirō still resided there too—a combination he deemed favorable enough to double back from Kōshū to Bushū and take shelter with Inoshimatsu of Takahagi Village under pretense of guarding gambling dens. That was Mizushina Jinjurō.

Holding the removed woven hat in his hand，Mizushina Jinjurō leaned against a standing tree， "A duel between fellow gambling bosses—a real sword match not to be seen again．I shall observe with great interest．" “However，should anything befall the boss of Takahagi，I shall not permit Rinzō-dono to return alive．” As he spoke，he laughed with a creepy，white-eyed gaze．

7 Inoshimatsu called out to Rinzō.

“Now then—I’ve instructed my underlings as well. I don’t intend to let anyone interfere from the sidelines. A duel between just the two of us—come at me without holding back from any direction!” Inoshimatsu assumed a perfect seigan stance with his tachi. “Truly an admirable attitude from Takahagi’s Inoshimatsu—that’s what makes a man commendable!... Here I come—!” shouted Rinzō of Akai as he drew his wakizashi and assumed a perfect seigan stance. Shinkage-ryū and Kōgen Ittō-ryū—both in solemn seigan stances, their impenetrable readiness leaving no gaps—remained motionless for a time after taking their positions, not making a single move.

At that moment, from Kamigo Inn, a samurai dressed for travel and a woman who appeared to be his companion came walking briskly, bathed in the newly risen morning sun. They were Shigisawa Mondo and Sumie. Having left Kamigo Inn’s Kikyōya lodging to secretly confirm whether the samurai with a woven hat they had spotted yesterday was their enemy Mizushina Jinjurō—and now attempting to head toward Takahagi Village—they had just arrived along the way.

“Brother, what is that?” Sumie said, pointing anxiously. Ahead lay a scene of gambler-like men clashing while several people watched. With a clang, their blades met—white steel blazing like fire in the sunlight—then immediately withdrew to mutual seigan stances. They leapt several paces apart and froze motionless. “It’s a duel,” Mondo said.

“Brother, it appears to be a duel between fellow gamblers.” “Should we become entangled in such an affair, those of us bearing grave responsibilities would face immeasurable inconvenience. Let us avoid this path and proceed.” “That would indeed be best,” Mondo replied.

“Then let’s veer off to the side from there… Wait,” Mondo said, abruptly stopping his feet as he fixed his gaze intently on one spot. There was a samurai leaning against a standing tree, watching the duel. “That’s the samurai with the woven hat we saw yesterday!” “Ah!” Sumie exclaimed, pressing her body against him. “Is that the samurai?” “……Oh, it is indeed Mizushina Jinjurō!” “That profile with the woven hat removed—it’s undoubtedly Jinjurō the deceiver! Sister!”

“Brother!” “A gift from heaven!” “I’ve finally found you!” “Now, get ready!” “Aye,” he said, untying the cord of the long dagger he had kept in his breast.

They had vividly seen before their eyes the figure of their father’s killer whom they had been seeking. Even the usually thoughtful Mondo grew somewhat agitated; without considering that the gamblers surrounding Jinjurō might side with him and oppose them, he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his sister Sumie and charged toward Jinjurō in single-minded determination to strike him down, then halted directly before him and called out.

“Well now, Mizushina Jinjurō—you’ve not forgotten us siblings, have you? How dare you commit such atrocity as murdering our father Shōemon! Our thirst for vengeance could not be contained—we’ve spent three months journeying in search of you until heaven’s favor let us find you at last! Now face us in honorable combat!”



<1> Called out to, Jinjurō—flustered and paling—swiftly stepped away from the grove he had been leaning against, placed it between himself and them, and glared wordlessly at the Shigisawa siblings through the tree trunks while holding his breath. But having seemingly settled on a course of action, his pallid complexion suddenly flushed with color. "Oh, you Shigisawa siblings—how could you forget? It was this humble one who endured unbearable humiliation for your father Shōemon's sake, lost all samurai honor, and retreated! How could you forget?" "Yet you dare call this humble one an enemy—how preposterous! If anyone bears a grudge here, it is I against you!" "...To call this a vendetta—utter nonsense!" "The true grudge-bearers are you!" "...But if you insist on cutting down this humble one through misplaced hatred, then try! Though I shan't fall easily." "Let us duel properly indeed." "Then let us exchange lives!" "Take care not to be slain yourselves!" "Ah, brothers of Takahagi! As you've heard and seen, these two falsely accuse me while nursing their grudge—they seek to murder me unjustly." "This humble one faces two opponents alone! By our bonds of brotherhood, I implore you—lend me your steel!"

Cunningly reversing right and wrong, inciting the shortsighted gamblers, and attempting to have the Mondo siblings cut down—Jinjurō shouted these lies with feigned sincerity. “Got it, let’s go!” It was Inoshimatsu’s underling Kakutarō who responded. “They’re targeting Master Mizushina as their enemy! These are outrageous bastards! Let’s finish ’em off!”

“Got it, let’s go!” “Get them! Get them! Get them!” Hachigorō, Gonrokurō, Shimematsu, Minekichirō—the four lawless underlings—also drew their short swords in unison as they shouted. Boss Inoshimatsu and Hayashizō were still locked in a duel with drawn blades, but under the boss’s orders, they could not intervene—truly the lament of idle muscles! It was at that very moment they had been grumbling about it. An opponent to cross swords with appeared. Right and wrong were secondary; they could see blood, they could clash blades—this alone was satisfaction enough.

“Get ’em! Get ’em!” they bellowed as they surrounded Mondo and Sumie and launched a reckless assault. Mondo was both shocked and enraged, but shielding his sister Sumie from behind, “Ah, gentlemen! Do not act so unreasonably! We have received authorization from our lord and even been granted official permits to pursue this public vendetta!” “Our sworn enemy is Mizushina Jinjurō! For you to aid that Jinjurō is an act of villainy unbefitting even the Date retainers! Step aside and stand down as spectators!”

He shouted in a desperate voice. With that, the villainous Jinjurō—through cunning rhetoric that turned white into black— “Ah, nay, gentlemen! This is falsehood! Do not believe their words!” “What nonsense is this about a public vendetta with official permits? What utter falsehood!” “These two’s father’s blunder led to their ruin—their stipends confiscated, their residence seized—or so I have heard through rumors.” “In the end, it is but a ronin’s desperate scheme—to slay this humble one and use that feat as a means to beg reinstatement!”

2 “Whatever! Just finish ’em!” “Exactly as I said!”

“Whatever it takes, finish ’em off!” Kakutarō and the five gamblers launched an attack on the Mondo siblings. At this point, debate was futile; there was no other strategy than to cut their way through the danger, close in on Jinjurō, and strike him down. “You gamblers who know not right from wrong—since that is how it stands, there can be no mercy! I will cut and cut and cut through you all, piling five corpses high… Sister! Sumie! Stand back-to-back with me…” When he said “Aye,” her younger sister Sumie also—her expression fierce—gripped her dagger in a reverse grip with all her might, held it at the ready, and pressed her back against Mondo’s back.

“Drop dead, bastard!” In that instant, it was Kakutarō—unversed in swordsmanship but skilled in brawling, seasoned in blade clashes—who leapt at Mondo. Clang! Clang! Then a scream! The knocked-down wakizashi fell onto the dust-clouded road, and Kakutarō—his shoulder split—flung his legs skyward,

“I’ve been cut—! Damn it! “…Damn it!” “Damn it!” “Damn it!” Fallen and scrambling about, the figure with his exposed chest drenched in blood appeared miserably hideous.

“Wa—!” With a collective gasp—the gamblers all fell back at once. “Sister, keep going!” Taking advantage of that opening, Mondo charged through the parted human wall and ran toward Jinjurō.

“Jinjurō! Thou! …Face me in honorable combat!” Mondo swung his blade downward and charged. Jinjurō—who had already drawn his sword—held it in mid-level stance while being overwhelmed by Mondo’s ferocious momentum. Though their swordsmanship differed by whole levels and Jinjurō himself held superiority, he retreated step by step while maintaining posture—but upon realizing he could not prevail, what craven cowardice! He turned off the highway and fled toward the fields with his back to Mondo. “Think you I’ll let escape, Jinjurō! Atone for your vile conduct! Face me in combat!”

Mondo cursed and gave chase.

Had he chased him some twenty ken? (My sister—?) he realized and turned around. Surrounded by four gamblers, parrying their slashing wakizashi left and right while ducking through their attacks, Sumie's figure became visible through the highway's dust.

(Good heavens, would I let my sister die?!) “Sumie!” he called out as he turned back— “A duel, Mondo!” Jinjurō’s voice rang out from directly behind him in an instant. “Understood!” Mondo turned around—and before his eyes flashed the gleam of a white blade! “Clang!” Clang! For the first time, Mondo crossed swords with Jinjurō. In the next instant, they had crossed blades and taken stances—but whether realizing he could not prevail or out of sheer cowardice, Jinjurō broke into a run. “Wait, you craven coward! Do you think I’ll let you escape?!”

He gave chase but was worried about his sister.

“Sumie—!” he called out as he turned around.

3 Sumie’s voice answered—“Brother—!”—followed by a scream—Wa—! Likely stabbed by her, a gambler clutched his flank and tumbled from the highway into the fields. Through the scattering gamblers came Sumie’s figure breaking free and running toward them. “Sister! Well done! ...Brother is here!” From behind Mondo—who had shouted— “A duel! Mondo! Here I come!” Jinjurō’s voice rang out.

“Come on!” he shouted as he turned—and in that instant, as Jinjurō’s blade came slashing through the shattered sunlight, Mondo received it at the hilt, lifted it overhead, letting the edge cut his own skin to sever his enemy’s flesh—a divine-demonic sword strike of total commitment! With that, Jinjurō carelessly deflected Mondo’s slashing blade sideways without even blocking it, drew back his own sword as he flipped his body around, and once again broke into a run. Mondo, unaware that he was fleeing with a strategy,

“Running away again, are you, cowardly Jinjurō?! I won’t let you escape! Face me, my father’s killer!” Shouting as he gave chase, he looked back while pursuing, “Sister! Here! Brother is here! Wait, Jinjurō! Running away is cowardly… Sister!” he shouted across ten, twenty ken! They had already strayed two chō from the highway.

Ahead lay a massive thicket, rising like a hill. As Jinjurō ran along its base, Mondo pursued him, circling around the thicket—but when he looked back, neither the highway nor his sister remained in sight. “Mondo!” Jinjurō shouted as he wheeled back toward him. “Heh, heh, heh... You wretched fool. Did you truly believe you lured me this far?” “This humble one fled to draw you out—and you failed to notice! How laughable! But that’s precisely my aim. With prying eyes about, I couldn’t slaughter you properly. Now we’re alone—just us two. I won’t flee even if permitted, nor will you let me flee if I tried. This thicket hides us... Let this long-starved cursed blade drink deep from your blood.” “I’ll kill you slowly... carve you piece by piece.” “First your right hand... then your left.” “Next the legs—last the head!” “So you may boast in Enma’s court of meeting an ambush beyond precedent—I’ll slaughter you gruesomely!” “Now—this stance! Break it if you can!”

Now revealing his true nature as a heinous vampire embodying depravity and perverse cruelty, Jinjurō assumed the Kōgen Ittō-ryū upper stance—left foot thrust forward, greatsword raised overhead. From beneath the pommel, his left fist glared hatefully at Mondo sideways while his right hand gripping near the guard provocatively shook the blade. How terrifying his supreme technique was! The upraised blade like frozen lightning intimidated and immobilized Mondo's entire body poised in mid stance through sheer pressure.

After remaining vigilant in all directions, he had cut down one gang member. The physical and mental fatigue of cutting down a man was no ordinary matter. Not only had he chased the enemy, but he had also run through two chō of farmland while swinging his sword. That fatigue was no ordinary matter either. Mondo was utterly exhausted. And then came the wicked blade aimed at him! Blurred eyes! Labored breath!

4

Sumie stabbed gambler Shimematsu in the flank with her dagger and felled him, broke through the scattered gamblers, and raced across the fields on legs wearied beyond exhaustion to catch up to her brother Mondo pursuing Jinjurō—but three persistent gamblers who had doggedly chased after her surrounded and attacked her once more. “You still dare to come?!” Though a woman, she wielded her Tamiya-ryū kodachi with the prowess of a seasoned warrior—yet her weapon was but a dagger, unable to parry their wakizashi. Darting past their slashes and clashing blades, she seized each opening to thrust and slash—

“Broooother—!” she called out again and again, trying to pursue Mondo.

With that realization, she looked toward Mondo. Mondo had disappeared from sight. She was shocked and dismayed—her senses began slipping away. Her head spun dizzily; all strength drained from her body at once; her arms trembled violently; darkness encroached on her vision. The brother who until moments ago had been chasing Jinjurō—who called my name to strengthen me! Where had that brother gone? Had he been slain for Jinjurō’s sake?

Vast cultivated fields, scattered woods... hills, dense thickets, ridges, streams... and in the far distance, the Chichibu Mountain Range! ...the morning sun flooded the field as small birds darted in all directions. ...neither her brother’s figure nor Jinjurō’s could be seen anywhere across that expanse. “Brooooother—!” she screamed. Not even an echo answered. Her head spun dizzily; her legs buckled toward collapse. Even before this moment, she had fought multiple ruffians and managed to stab one down. Exhaustion pressed at her very limits. Yet still they came slashing at her— And now Mondo—her brother, her lover, her betrothed—had vanished from sight.

Fear, anxiety, agitation, despair! Unsteadily, she began to collapse.

“Drop dead—!” With that roar, gambler Gonrokurō charged at her.

She narrowly avoided it but stumbled—Sumie collapsed to the ground with a thud.

“Got him!” Minekichi swung down. Wham! In her collapsed state, Sumie quick-wittedly scooped dirt and flung it at Minekichi’s face.

“Gah!”

Staggering back while covering his eyes, Minekichi retreated, and in his place came Hachigorō— "You think you're clever, wench!" Hachigorō thrust at her. Thud! Instead, she rolled toward Hachigorō, stretched out a hand to seize the tips of his feet, and with a jujutsu ground technique twisted them outward. “Damn, that hurts!”

The moment he screamed and fell, Sumie sprang up and staggered away,

“Broooother—!” she called out sorrowfully. But this was nearly her final desperate effort. After running about twelve feet, she suddenly stopped and trembled violently, let fall the dagger she held with a plop, and—like a rotten tree falling—Sumie collapsed face-first onto the ground.

Consciousness was gradually slipping away. What penetrated her fading consciousness were the voices of gamblers: “Killing her’d be a waste—haul her off.”

5

When the three gamblers carrying Sumie started running toward Takabayashi Village, two figures appeared on the highway, conversing while pointing.

They were Suginami Noshinosuke and Tōsaku. When they woke at Sasaya this morning and inquired, they learned Boss Hayashizō had returned alone a short while earlier. At this, the two men grew thoroughly flustered and hurriedly prepared to depart—only to spot three gambler-like men carrying a young woman across the cultivated fields. "Abducting a woman at dawn by the highway's edge—utter depravity! Let us startle them into releasing her, Mr. Tōsaku!" "Right—let's. These scoundrels know no bounds."

The two men quickly caught up. “Hey, wait, you lot—!” First, Tōsaku raised his voice. “What do you think you’re doing kidnapping a woman?! … Hey—you there! Hachigorō and Minekichi of Inoshimatsu’s gang!” “What the— Tōsaku?! “Tch! A peasant from Akabō?!” Minekichi shouted hatefully like that, “What do you mean ‘peasant’? You gutter rat. …Mr. Suginami, these are Inoshimatsu’s underlings…”

Even before this, Suginami Noshinosuke had noticed the woman being carried. Though her appearance had changed into traveling attire, he realized she was Sumie—the daughter of the Shigisawa family whom he and Akiyama Yōsuke had rescued from peril one night in Hongō’s mansion district. “Hey, you lot!” Noshinosuke shouted.

“That woman is this humble one’s acquaintance—no common wench for your ilk to haul off! …Release her!” “Drop her!” “Begone, you lot!” “What’s this ‘sanpin’?!” Hachigorō roared. “Don’t know what two-sworded rōnin you are, but you’ve got gall snatching our prey!” “Enough chatter! Beat ’em senseless!” “Aye, do it!” The death-defying crew threw down Sumie—whom they’d been carrying—drew their daggers, and recklessly charged at Noshinosuke and Tōsaku.

“It’s cruel business, but such is our duty.” Drawing his sword, Noshinosuke assumed a mid-level stance with a guttural growl. Though inherently weak-willed by nature and unskilled in swordsmanship, he had been instilled over three months with chivalrous spirit under Akiyama Yōsuke’s guidance while receiving Shinkage-ryū instruction. Three months of training from this master proved more effective than three years of lax teaching from yakuza mentors. The present Noshinosuke stood transformed from his former self—his spirit brimmed with valor, embodying the very essence of a true warrior.

They were confronted by Noshinosuke. The gamblers were intimidated. The three men exchanged glances, but without a word spoken, "This ain’t good!"

“Run!” They scattered and fled in three directions.

Having perceived this, Noshinosuke hurriedly sheathed his sword, rushed to Sumie’s side, dropped to his knees on the ground, and cradled her,

“Lady Sumie! Lady Sumie!” he shouted. He noticed, “This won’t do. She’s unconscious—very well.” Pressing a vital point, he shouted “Hah!” to revive her. 6

Sumie gasped, regained her breath, opened her eyes wide, and stared blankly at the sky— “Broooother—!” she cried out for her beloved, her labored breath rasping as if she were coughing up blood. “It is I—Suginami Noshinosuke! Have you come to your senses? It is I!” Staring at Noshinosuke’s face as he called out, Sumie looked puzzled for a moment and merely let out rough, panting breaths— “Y-you… my lord… that night… in that perilous moment…”

“I, Suginami Noshinosuke, saved you! To rescue you twice speaks of profound fate—be at ease! Yet what calamity befell you?” “Y-yes... Th-thank... Your mercy spans seas and mountains! Your mercy spans seas and mountains!... Brooooother—!” she wailed anew. “Your brother? Lord Mondo? What transpired with Lord Mondo?”

“The enemy… Father’s… Father’s enemy… We encountered Jinjurō… While crossing blades… Brother was lured away by him! …Farther… farther… he went farther… until he vanished from sight… Broooother—!” she cried out again, then seemed to faint once more, going limp as she slumped against him. “Ah! So you two siblings—I had heard rumors of your vengeance journey—encountered that Mizushina Jinjurō here and crossed blades? …Yet against Jinjurō—wielder of that peerless evil sword—Lord Mondo would stand no chance.” “…Lured away by Jinjurō?” This was grave! He couldn’t abandon them! But where? “Where has Lord Mondo gone?”

She only said "farther, farther," without specifying which direction he had gone, and once again Sumie lost consciousness. “Where to? Which way? Where is Lord Mondo?”

“Mr. Suginami… It’s definitely… Takahagi Village!” Fujisaku, who had been standing nearby fretting until now, shouted. “Since they tried hauling off this maid, those scoundrels from before must be part of that villain Jinjurō’s gang!” “Those rogues we saw earlier—they’re underlings of Inoshimatsu from Takahagi Village.” “So that fiend Jinjurō’s likely holed up at Inoshimatsu’s place too. Which means when that evil swordsman lured Lord Mondo… it’d be toward Takahagi Village…”

“A sound deduction—that must be it. …Then I shall head in that direction… Lord Fujisaku, I entrust Lady Sumie’s care to you!” ……” “Understood! You must hurry…” “Hmm,” he said, then picked up his thigh guards, gripped the sword hilt at its guard collar, and—diverting from the thicket’s direction—veered toward Takahagi Village instead. Noshinosuke kicked up soil from the cultivated field and ran—ran at full sprint.

At this moment, from the direction of Ageo-shuku came four horse traders affiliated with Takahagi Village—men who had been sent to welcome a wealthy horse magnate and, as a gesture of gratitude, were entertained by Inoshimatsu alongside his underlings at Yamashiroya Inn in Ageo-shuku. Having left the inn slightly later, they now walked unsteadily on legs still heavy with drink, swaying in good spirits as they approached. 7

It was Hachigorō who collided with them.

It was Hachigorō, Inoshimatsu’s underling, who had been threatened by Noshinosuke and fled blindly and recklessly. “Perfect timing! Now, I need your help.” “I’ll explain everything later… Right now, I need your help—your assistance!” “The target… it’s a woman… we’re carrying off a woman… come with me!” At Hachigorō’s words—gasping for breath as he spoke—the four horse traders, now roused into action,

“Got it! Let’s do this! Understood!” “When it comes to kidnapping, that’s our line o’ work—’specially since it’s a request from our Takahagi kin. Nothin’ to be scared of here.” “Let’s go, whoa—!” they shouted as they broke into a run. When they arrived, the samurai from earlier was nowhere to be seen, and only Fujisaku remained, spinning around the unconscious woman like a top in utter bewilderment. Then, the five comrades rushed in, “This is the woman! Carry her!” Fujisaku, startled as they swarmed in,

“You lot… Damn horse traders… Hachigorō too?!” “Back again? Still haven’t learned your lesson?” He shouted as he drew his dagger and swung—but against overwhelming numbers, the blade was instantly knocked away. The horse traders, seasoned brawlers, scooped up dirt and hurled it. Grit filled his mouth and eyes. “Grah—! Bastards!” “Blinding a man’s coward’s work!” They kicked aside Fujisaku where he writhed on the ground, hoisted Sumie up, then cut across plowed fields—vaulting hills, woods, thickets, ridges and streams—vanishing into the unknown.

In the shadow of the thicket, Jinjurō and Mondo stood with swords at the ready, glaring at each other—their stances remained unchanged. Jinjurō, his blade brandished overhead, shook it back and forth—even in this lethal clash—with audacious calm, all while continuing to chatter venomously and spitefully, intent on disrupting his opponent’s composure, flustering him, agonizing him, enraging him.

“Come now, Mondo—charge in! Strike the gauntlet—the right gauntlet! Then this humble one would slip away, take a large step forward with my right foot, and shatter your shoulder. Or you could gather all your strength in both hands and thrust into my chest. Then this humble one would feint and parry, stabbing your throat instead… but you, with some skill of your own, would likely draw back your right foot to suppress my sword tip to the right, then withdraw your left foot while again pushing the tip to the right. Ahahaha! An armchair swordsman—sparring only in dojos, never having truly killed a man! That’s exactly the kind of move you’d make, you spineless samurai! …So what would I do? Hah! Each time I take the opposite approach—advancing my left foot, then my right, closing the distance as I press forward relentlessly—cornering you, cornering you… And once you’re cornered, what do I do? Now then—what will you do once you’re cornered?”

Even as he spoke, Jinjurō advanced his left foot again and again, step by scrape-by-scrape step, driving Mondo back toward the thicket. Mondo gradually retreated backward. He tried to leap in but couldn’t; he tried to strike but was unable. The disparity in their destinies, the gulf in their skills, the cruel chasm between their abilities—there was nothing to be done about it.

8

While being cornered, Mondo was constantly thinking about his sister.

Outnumbered and alone, and a woman at that—what happened? What happened? ...A scream rang out! A shriek pierced through! Could she have been killed? Behind me lay the thicket; blocked by it, my figure shouldn't be visible. Whether I agonized or writhed in torment... It was when Mondo had been fully driven to the thicket's edge that Jinjurō's blade—until now held high overhead—abruptly shifted to middle stance. "Now I have you cornered! And next..."

Jinjurō launched into speech again. “You won’t retreat—charge in! I am your father’s enemy—this humble one! Now strike me down—charge in!”

He pressed the sword tip against Mondo’s throat, positioned his left fist three inches above the dantian, held the blade two fist-widths from his abdomen, steadied his stance in silence—this time he would strike! The taunting would cease! Having seemingly resolved himself, he fixed Mondo with a gaze sharp enough to pierce through internal organs. Pressed by both blade and stare, Mondo shrank back like a frog transfixed by a serpent’s glare. Though maintaining a middle stance, his sword began trembling inch by inch downward. His breathing turned ragged; his glaring eyes grew misty. Sweat cascaded! Blood surged!

With a whoosh, Mondo’s spirit seemed to slip free from his body, and his mind suddenly entered a trance. It was a state born from psychological collapse pushed to its limit—the precipice of spiritual annihilation.

But at that moment, Jinjurō’s blade slid back—quietly, coldly, like water receding—diagonally to the left. Danger! The Wicked Blade! “It’s the Reverse Wheel Technique!” It was Jinjurō’s signature Reverse Wheel Technique—the very move that even the renowned swordsman Akiyama Yōsuke had lamented he could scarcely counter! That’s the opening move! Danger, danger! Once lured out and stepping in—that’s when the blade comes whirling back like a wheel! But that too is the opening feint! The Major Lower Cut that would follow! This one can’t be blocked—it’ll plunge deep into my torso with a whoosh! And then—a perfect torso slice!

That opening move was executed. Lured, lured—Mondo was lured! Ah—he stepped out and cut in. A flash! It wheeled back!

Jinjurō’s blade lightly wheeled back mid-air! Ha—! Mondo! He barely managed to twist aside… No good! Look!

In the next instant! Like surging waves, he wheeled his blade back for a Major Lower Cut—! “Gah!”

A scream! A spray of blood!

A spray of blood! No—in that interval, in the split second—in the hair’s breadth of a moment before the Major Lower Cut was performed—... ♫ _Chichibu District, Ogawa Village,_ ♫ _Lord Itsumi’s garden cypress roots_

Such a woman’s singing voice came drifting from nearby.

"Ah!" Jinjurō drew back his sword and falteringly retreated several steps backward.

9

Singing absently, Genjo lay within the dense thicket. The seizures that often occurred had struck Genjo the previous night. Like a sleepwalker, she had slipped out from Hayashizō’s house in Akao Village, wandered here without knowing how or where she had walked, spent the night in this thicket, and had only just awoken.

Her mind was still hazy; she was not in her right mind.

Her Shimada topknot came undone and tilted over her slender white neck; her gaudy Yuzen-patterned robe and purple Hakata obi lay disheveled in pitiful disorder. A straw sandal with red thongs hung haphazardly from one bare foot. Dampened by night dew, the robe clung limply - torn by thorns and branches here and there - while bush mosquitoes had bitten her limbs and chest until blood oozed from multiple spots. In this state Genjo lay sideways on the grass. Autumn flowers - balloon flowers and patrinia with kudzu blooms - were growing around her sleeping form at both head and feet. A chestnut-colored rabbit watched from a bush clover's base some distance away.

Above her head were branches and leaves of shrubs and trees—birch, oak, sawtooth oak, and haze trees—along with wild grapevines, ivy, and kudzu that clung and coiled around them; piercing through this greenery, the clear morning sky could faintly be seen through narrow gaps.

Through the thicket, sunlight tinged with deep yellow streamed in, weaving a pattern of light and shadow across the grass below and surrounding trees. Absentmindedly—or rather, whenever she sang that song that persistently clung to her heart—she would lapse into a trance and begin to ponder. In such moments, phantoms would rise in her mind—great forests, vast ravines, sprawling mansions, steep slopes, herds of five hundred, a thousand wild horses; countless people riding them, chasing them, tending them; and then a bizarre old man with long hair and a ruddy face like Shuten-dōji—all these visions and more.

However, she did not know where such a place was. And she did not know why such scenes emerged. Even so, she had to ascertain where the place of those visions was; she fervently believed that by all means, she absolutely had to go to that place of visions herself. Yet even so, it was not for her own sake that she sought to know that place or attempted to go there; rather, she wanted to know and go for the sake of Akiyama Yōsuke—the person who had saved her from hardship.

While chasing the emerging visions, she kept thinking. (I must go—come on, let’s go!) And so, she stood up. ♫ There used to be, they say... ♫ There used to be, they say... Again, she hummed. Parting the thicket as she went, she tried to make her way out of the great thicket. Outside that great thicket, Mizushina Jinjurō—the vampire who had been targeting her all along—should be standing there, holding his bare blade. 10 Jinjurō, having stepped back, lowered his sword to a low stance with practiced ease. Yet his eyes remained vigilant as they glared into Mondo’s, and in that instant, he considered where the singer might be located.

The surroundings consisted solely of a dense thicket; beyond that lay expansive farmland where no human figures were visible. Judging from both the voice and the nature of the song, the singer was undoubtedly Genjo. But there was no sign of Genjo anywhere. (Was that my own ears playing tricks?) Even so, the singing voice came through far too clearly—there was no mistaking it.

Genjo! It was Genjo! The one who sang was Genjo! The woman he had once obtained and made his own—yet before he could uncover the great secret she held, Akiyama Yōsuke had snatched her away! It was undoubtedly Okumi no Genjo! After searching and searching all over, he had finally discovered her at the koma-guruma gathering in Ryōgoku, Edo—utterly by chance. However, due to the incident that occurred immediately afterward—the killing of Shozaemon Shigisawa—he had been forced to leave Edo and take to the road, rendering him unable to ascertain Genjo’s subsequent whereabouts.

It was Genjo’s singing voice that he had heard in such a place. (What’s happening?) (What’s happening?) It was undeniably strange.

(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 abruptly, allowing them to attain glory and splendor and indulge in supreme pleasures! (No matter what, I must obtain that woman!)

But where was she? A span so brief it could be measured in seconds! In that fleeting interval—a sliver of time divided into instants—those very thoughts surged and ebbed through Jinjurō's mind. All the while, he remained in a trance-like state.

“Why would you let me escape?!” Brandishing his regained vigor all at once, he charged in fiercely. Once more, the sound of blades clanged. Even in his dazed state, Jinjurō remained a veritable sword demon. “Why should I be cut down for no reason?!” “Take this—one bout!” Then he leaped back—by the time he leaped back, he had regained his composure! His mind was sharper than ever. (I must finish off this guy in one go and locate Genjo’s whereabouts!)

“Hraaagh!” came his thunderous battle cry. “Hyaa—! Hyaa—! Hyaa—!” Three moves ahead—a full array of techniques! It was as though a master swordsman were drilling a novice—anticipating Mondo’s every intent to strike, cut, or thrust before it took form, Jinjurō pressed forward three steps ahead, driving him back with slashes, thrusts, and relentless advances. Once more Mondo found himself cornered against the thicket’s edge. As he tried feebly to circle rightward along its fringe—vision swimming—whether by spent fortune or fate’s caprice, his foot caught a gnarled root. He crashed sideways with a dull thud.

“Drop dead!” Shiiin—he swung down his blade!

11

Shiiin—Jinjurō’s blade swung downward in an arc to split Mondo’s head from brow to nose as he lay prone. But in that instant, a single kozuka dagger pierced through the sunlight, flying straight for Jinjurō’s throat. “Ah!” Jinjurō instinctively cried out, arching backward to narrowly evade the strike before glaring toward where the dagger had been thrown. From over ten ken away, a samurai came running. “Hmm…! Akiyama!” “…Akiyama Yōsuke!” The samurai was none other than Akiyama Yōsuke—who had awoken that morning to find Genjo missing after her seizure the previous night; who had left Hayashizō’s residence in concern to search for her; and who now saw Mizushina Jinjurō poised to slay Shigisawa Mondo amid their fateful clash. The distance was too great—he couldn’t reach them in time. So he had hurled the kozuka dagger.

Having thrown the kozuka dagger and checked Jinjurō’s murderous blade, Akiyama Yōsuke swooped in like a swallow. However, Jinjurō was no ordinary man; having fought against Mondo, his body was already fatigued. If master swordsman Akiyama Yōsuke were to confront him with fresh strength, there would not be even a one-in-a-hundred chance of victory. No sooner had he perceived this than he drew his sword, kept it unsheathed and lowered at his side, and dashed through the cultivated fields to escape.

No sooner had he sprung up than it was Mondo—who had resigned himself in that split second to being tragically counterattacked— “Master Akiyama, I’ll thank you later!” “You there—wait! Mizushina Jinjurō!” “Would I let my father’s enemy escape?!” Though his body was as limp as cotton, his swordsmanship far inferior to Jinjurō’s, and though he knew pursuing and cornering him might result in a fatal counterattack, he could not bear to let go—not when he had finally crossed blades with his father’s killer, not when that enemy now fled. If he allowed him to escape now, who knew when they might meet again? Thus, he could not help but give chase.

And so, Mondo swung his sword repeatedly as he chased after Jinjurō.

“Wait, Lord Mondo! Lord Shibasawa!” Knowing full well that even if Mondo were to catch up and fight, he stood no chance of defeating Jinjurō—it would be a textbook ambush—Akiyama Yōsuke shouted in alarm with a booming voice to stop him.

“Do not give chase!” “Turn back at once!” “Please await another opportunity.” But why would he listen to that! Mondo staggered unsteadily as he ran and ran and ran. It was not about slaying an ordinary foe but about avenging his parent’s enemy—as he was a son set on vengeance even knowing full well this might end in his own death through counterattack chasing and fighting remained his only true path Realizing this Akiyama Yōsuke refused to let this filial son throw his life away Right! I’ll catch up and guard his flank! Resolved to assist he had just lifted his hakama’s thigh guards when—

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

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

It was Fujisaku, Hayashizō’s underling.

12

“Oh, Fujisaku! What’s happened?” “T-Terrible…! Th-the Boss!” “What about the Boss?” “Hayashizō?” “Y-yes! B-Boss Hayashizō is… on th-the highway… that highway… with… T-Takahagi’s Inoshimatsu…”

“Hmm, with Takahagi’s Inoshimatsu?” “H-Ha… It’s a duel! A duel!”

“Mmm—” Groaning, Yōsuke turned and looked toward the highway.

A crowd—likely travelers and peasants—had gathered at a distance around the highway, all staring fixedly at one spot; this scene now burned vividly into Yōsuke’s eyes. At the spot they were watching, Hayashizō must have been engaged in a duel with Inoshimatsu, who bore a grudge. Yōsuke had long known—from various circumstances—that Hayashizō and Inoshimatsu’s power struggle was intensely bitter, and that they ought to settle matters once and for all with a real sword duel. (I can’t just leave this be. I can't let Hayashizō die. I had heard that Takahagi’s Inoshimatsu was taught by Itsumi Tashirō and was a practitioner of Kōgen Ittō-ryū. Even Hayashizō—this unworthy one had thoroughly trained him in Shinkage-ryū. There may be no concern about him losing, but should he lose, it would bring shame upon me as his teacher. The duel between Hayashizō and Inoshimatsu could, depending on perspective, also be considered a duel between Itsumi Tashirō and this Akiyama Yōsuke. I can’t just leave this be.)

“Let’s go, Fujisaku!” he shouted, but (What about Lord Mondo?) he wondered, also concerned, and cast his eyes in the direction he had run off.

Staggering unsteadily through the vast cultivated fields while chasing after Jinjurō, Mondo kept running. (If he goes alone, he’ll be ambushed and killed by Jinjurō... 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 will befall Hayashizō? (What should I do? What am I to do?) Unaware, Fujisaku pressed him. “Master, please go quickly!” “There’s so much to say—first off, a woman’s been kidnapped—a young woman, a beautiful woman—the bastards who did it were Inoshimatsu’s underling and his horse-handler partner—at first, we and Lord Noshinosuke—we rescued her—but that escaped horse handler Hachigorō came back with reinforcements and took her again—and Lord Noshinosuke wasn’t there then—no—no time for that!” “Please go—now, Master!” “The boss is in big trouble with Inoshimatsu’s bastard!” ……”

"I must go!" Yōsuke thought. (Lord Shigisawa is a complete stranger—our connection hangs by the thinnest thread. Hayashizō is my disciple. More than that—I currently eat his rice and sleep under his roof. This binds us deeply. He’s no passing acquaintance… I cannot abandon Hayashizō to death! I’ll go! Yet—yes, yet—how pitiable Lord Mondo remains! Then let words be my blade!)

Thereupon, Yōsuke turned toward Mondo and called out in a booming voice.

13 “Lord Shigisawa! Lord Mondo! Pursue Mizushina Jinjurō and achieve your vengeance with honor! This unworthy one—Yōsuke of Akiyama—shall stay by your side! When danger strikes swift as lightning...” He slammed his fist against his chestplate with metallic finality. “...my blade leaps faster than shadows at noon!” His voice dropped to an ironclad murmur meant only for Mondo’s ears: “Let no doubt weaken your grip.” Then louder again for all present: “Enough words—to battle!”

When they began running toward the highway, 〽 Now changed to a thousand horses Five hundred horses' horse handlers

Then, in Genjo’s familiar voice, singing could be heard nearby.

“Ah… That singing voice!” “…Genjo’s singing voice!” Yōsuke froze in his tracks.

The singing voice of Genjo, whom they had been searching for, now came from nearby. It was only natural he had stopped in his tracks.

“Lady Genjo! “Lady Okumi!”

Without thinking，Yōsuke called out loudly and hurriedly scanned his surroundings. Apart from a thicket that rose so high it could almost be called a hill or small mountain，there were only open cultivated fields，with nothing to block the view.

*How strange... What’s going on? …Was that singing voice just my imagination?* Yōsuke could not help but feel what Jinjurō had sensed. “Master! What’s wrong with ya? Get movin’!” Having been stopped by Yōsuke, Fujisaku—his courage crushed—bellowed.

“First off, Master, you charging off in this direction was a mistake! We were watching from over there.” Then Master’s figure came into view. *Yes! Master has come—he’ll side with Boss Hayashizō and cut down Inoshimatsu for sure… or so I thought, but it was a misunderstanding. He ended up coming to this thicket instead.* “So we came to meet you, but with us coming here, the wretchedness was beyond belief.” “We were having dirt thrown on us by horse handlers.” “The reason being, Mr. Sugi wasn’t there.” “As for what happened to Mr. Sugi—the brother of the kidnapped woman—oh right, he was called Mondo or something—that guy was lured out by an evil samurai named Jinjurō and went off toward Takahagi Village.” “Because that woman said so, Mr. Sugi went chasing off toward Takahagi Village, thinking this was serious.” “But—ah, never mind all that.” “This ain’t good for the boss’s situation—if we dawdle, Inoshimatsu’s bastard will… Ah! What’s up with the spectators…?”

The farmers and travelers who had been gathered along the highway and fields to watch the duel suddenly began to stir—a commotion that Yōsuke clearly perceived with his own eyes. However, the commotion soon subsided, and the people grew quiet again. They seemed to be watching, tense and rigid. In an instant, Yōsuke made up his mind. (If Genjo was around here, she must be in the thicket. Even if she was not in her right mind, there was no immediate danger of her dying. The duel between Hayashizō and Inoshimatsu—this was a matter that could not afford delay. Very well, I shall head there... But just in case...)

Thereupon, Yōsuke once again called out in a booming voice toward the thicket. “Lady Genjo, Yōsuke has come to meet you.” “Do not go anywhere!” “……”

14

On the highway, Hayashizō and Inoshimatsu had positioned the crowd of spectators at a distance and now faced each other with drawn blades—a real sword duel between two chivalrous men who could not afford to lose. Though considerable time had passed, they had exchanged only two sword strikes and now stood about twelve feet apart—both assuming formal stances with their short swords drawn, doing nothing but glare at one another. Around Inoshimatsu, it seemed some incident had occurred between his underlings and Mizushina Jinjurō—there was a sense of men scurrying about in confusion across the cultivated fields, some fleeing, others collapsing—but he could neither inquire nor observe nor intervene. If one were to glance aside even for a moment, in that instant Hayashizō would cut them down.

Even Hayashizō was in the same situation: Fujisaku’s voice could be heard, Suginami Noshinosuke’s voice rang out—it seemed some commotion was unfolding—but he could do nothing about it. For Inoshimatsu’s swordsmanship was on par with his own, leaving not a moment’s carelessness to be afforded. But now, even that surrounding commotion had completely subsided. Several ken away, the crowd of farmers, travelers, and other onlookers had formed a circle to watch, leaving behind an eerie silence.

Two blades formed a mountain shape, floating with faint tremors in the yellow-tinged morning light.

Both men felt it— (A duel where they could simply wildly swing their swords and cut down their opponent—such a contest could not be performed. It was a duel between men, and people were watching. The talk in the days to come would be dreadful. If one was to strike, then let them strike splendidly! If one was to be struck down, then let them be struck down splendidly!) Both men were physically and mentally exhausted. Mental exhaustion! Mental exhaustion! Dreadful mental exhaustion! Precisely because their techniques were superior and their prowess evenly matched, their mental exhaustion had grown all the more severe.

The tips of the two blades that had been facing each other gradually began to draw closer from both sides. Observe how both their right feet—stepped forward and coiled like vipers—carved into the earth as they advanced inch by inch toward each other. **Claaang!** No sound rang out. But as if with a claaang, their blade tips touched.

However, just like that, the two blades simultaneously drew back like water, and the distance between them became about six paces. And then, they came to a halt just like that. They remained motionless while forming a mountain shape, and while maintaining the mountain shape, they quivered faintly. What rose thinly, with a puff, between blade and blade was dust. It was dust that had puffed up from the two men's carved feet. A pause—

A long time. Heaven and earth fell silent. But suddenly, the two blades fiercely entangled in midair. A flash! The clash of blades! A metallic ring! Clang of sword guards! Then, forming an X-shape, the two blades crossed—swaying slightly left and right, forward and back, twisting and pushing against each other—remaining locked in a stubborn stalemate.

15 Clashing guards! A clash of gazes! Indeed, Hayashizō and Inoshimatsu’s eyes passed through the crossed blades, glaring fiercely at one another. The terror of the guard clash lay in that split second of disengagement. Whether to slice through the torso or cleave straight down the head—it all depended on their skill, their physiques, and the rhythm of their breathing—allowing for endless variation! But either way, it was terrifying. Both Hayashizō and Inoshimatsu were desperately gauging each other’s rhythm.

And into the space between the crossed blades, a black-lacquered scabbard was stealthily inserted.

“?” “?” The scabbard rose gently upward. It lifted the two gleaming blades. Then a dignified voice rang out: “Halt the duel! Withdraw your blades! The mediator is Akiyama Yōsuke!” Simultaneous with the voice, the scabbard parted the two blades to either side. Maintaining a distance of two ken while still poised in zanshin stance—their swords at the ready as they glared at each other—were Hayashizō and Inoshimatsu. Standing composedly between them with an entirely sheathed tachi in hand was Akiyama Yōsuke, who first addressed Hayashizō calmly:

“You would do well to sheathe your sword.” Then he turned toward Inoshimatsu,

“I believe I have seen you once or twice before.” “Lord Inoshimatsu of Takahagi Village? This unworthy one is Akiyama Yōsuke.” “Pray sheathe your sword.” For some time, there was silence.

Eventually, the swords were sheathed, and two clangs of the guards rang out.

Around this time, Genjo had exited the large thicket and was walking beyond the sorghum field. (I must go. Come on, let's go) She walked on with this thought. Someone was calling out over there. That was how it seemed to her. She crossed over ridges and through mulberry fields. And then she crossed over the hill. Even if she looked back now, she would likely no longer see the highway or the large thicket.

A great ravine, steep slopes, vast forests, hundreds upon thousands of horses, countless horse handlers, a magnificent mansion—to where such things existed, I must go, I must go! ……With that thought, she walked on. Disheveled hair, tattered garments—her appearance was the very image of a madwoman. As long as the seizures persisted unabated, she might as well have been deemed a madwoman.

There was a long, low embankment.

She climbed up and walked on. On the opposite slope, where miscanthus and reeds grew thickly and swayed in the wind, there was a river about three ken wide with water flowing gently. “Ah!” Genjo lost her footing and slid helplessly down the slope toward the river. Suddenly, several reed warblers took flight, crying out fiercely before vanishing. Then, parting the reeds abruptly, an old boat slid out. Genjo lay collapsed inside it. The old boat, its mooring rope severed, drifted away with Genjo aboard.

Genjo did not even twitch.

Individual Destinies

1

Having pursued Jinjurō to the forest near Takahagi Village, Shigisawa Mondo found himself utterly exhausted in both body and mind, scarcely retaining any semblance of human consciousness. He thrust his drawn sword into the ground to support himself, but even that proved too much, and he crumpled to the ground. He had long since lost sight of Jinjurō. That disappointment too weighed heavily upon him. (Damn it—I missed him! Lost the enemy!)

(But he would keep searching, no matter what...) He made an effort to stand up.

But his body would not obey; not only that, but his very mind grew hazy. Enveloped by this sacred shrine forest—where cedars, cypresses, podocarps, and oaks formed a canopy overhead; where deep within stood a vermilion-faded torii gate and beyond that an Inari shrine; where sunlight could not penetrate, creating dimly lit scenery filled with the incessant cries of sparrows, siskins, tits, and wood pigeons—the collapsed figure of Mondo lay unconscious, his form appearing wretched and pitiful to behold. Sickly autumn leaves, stirred by a gentle breeze, drifted down onto his body.

For a considerable time, there was silence.

Just then, voices could be heard, and soon over a dozen men and women emerged into the forest. They were a strangely dressed bunch. There were young men wearing red hoods and sleeveless red robes; middle-aged men clad in hakama trousers with tortoiseshell patterns, large doll boxes slung across their chests; women carrying shamisens with purple arm guards and leggings; and elderly figures in light-yellow breeches and plain brown kimono sleeves with monkeys perched upon their shoulders.

All of them were in traveling attire. They were a troupe of Chichibu kugushi. In their daily lives, they stayed at home, working as farmers and woodcutters, hunters and river fishermen. But whenever they heard of a grand festival or thriving market elsewhere, they would swiftly transform into kugushi entertainers, venture out to earn money, then return home to resume their lives as farmers and woodcutters—a troupe of Chichibu kugushi distinct from the ordinary thirteen kugushi factions.

On this day as well, it seemed they had formed a group with only their trusted companions and were setting out for some market or another. Among them was one young woman not in travel attire—her hair combed into a chignon secured by a single silver hairpin, wearing a madder-red Kobenkei-style unlined kimono. Otsuma was Jinjurō’s mistress.

“You should come along too, Boss.”

A man said this, looking at Otsuma in a coaxing manner. "Hmm... Well, when I see you all setting out together like that," she said with a faint smile that wasn't entirely insincere, "it makes me feel like joining you." "Mr. Jinjurō ain't the only man around—there's others too, right? C'mon, quit clinging to that place and travel with us for once," another man chimed in.

Another man spoke in the same manner. “I wonder if there’s a man good enough to take me along on a trip somewhere... perhaps among your companions here?” As she spoke, Otsuma smiled faintly again and looked around at the kugushi troupe members. “What about me? Huh, how ’bout me?” the monkey handler chimed in.

2

“If you were ten years younger, you might amount to something…”

Otsuma instead laughed brightly. Otsuma was born in Chichibu and had been one of the Chichibu kugushi. But in her youth, she had given up on her rustic hometown and ventured out into the wider world, plunging into a trade far fiercer, far more sinful, and requiring far greater audacity than the petty life of a kugushi. A female kandanshi—that’s what she had become. On roadsides and at hot springs, she would grow close to men, lodge with them at the same inns, and sometimes form romantic liaisons. When the man displeased her, she would deceive, mislead, and trick him—waiting for a moment of carelessness to abscond with his money and belongings. To put it plainly: she had become a pillow thief—a female bandit.

The reason she had become Jinjurō’s mistress was that when they happened to stay at the same inn in Hiratsuka and she attempted her usual pillow thievery, Jinjurō caught and subdued her—thus began their fateful connection. This Otsuma—the female pillow thief—had now returned to her birthplace alongside Jinjurō. And then, this morning on Takahagi’s village road, her dear old companions from times past—that is to say, the Chichibu kugushi troupe—had passed by in their traveling attire. There were several familiar faces among them. And so, overwhelmed by nostalgia, they had come all the way to this forest together, joking and jesting along the way.

“Oh?” Otsuma suddenly said and stopped in her tracks. “There’s a dead man here!” Ahead, at the base of a cedar tree, a samurai with a drawn sword lay collapsed in the grass. “My, how pitiful… He’s dead. …And such a young samurai too.”

The kugushi troupe members spoke and moved closer. Otsuma crouched down before him and reached out her hand to the samurai’s forehead, but—

“He’s not cold—he’s warm.” She hurriedly grasped his pulse point, and—

“He’s fine—he’s alive.” “Then it’s a fainting spell.” One of the kugushi said with a knowing look.

“That’s right—he’s fainted.” “Judging by the fact that he’s holding a bare blade, he must have crossed swords with someone.” “……He’s not cut anywhere.” “……He collapsed from overexertion and mental fatigue.”

As she spoke—still mid-sentence—Otsuma leaned closer to peer at him.

“Look here—isn’t he quite the handsome one?”

“Tch,” someone clicked their tongue.

“Boss, cut it out already. To some stray of unknown origin—and a half-dead wretch who couldn’t even get himself properly killed at that. Showing concern for him isn’t something to be happy about.” “Well, it’s not quite like that… First of all, isn’t he rather pitiful? And then… look here at this pale face… The color of his lips alone is so red… He’s chillingly beautiful…” “Lust-crazed fool! Let’s go—let’s go!” “Get lost, you good-for-nothing! ...I’ll take care of this person.”

Otsuma plopped down at Mondo’s bedside and continued peering at him.

3

It was the same day.

On the bank of a village river called Kinugawa, a samurai was fishing. He was a man in his mid-forties with a broad forehead, a prominent nose, and sharp yet warm eyes—the very image of a warrior. Though evidently of high status, his garments were rather plain; yet his bearing exuded both authority and refinement. A basket lay beside him, empty of fish. The river's waters ran murky, algae and scum floating on their surface. The setting sun tinted them with color as the fishing float bobbed restlessly—all watched by the samurai.

“Tōma, what hour is it now?” In the grass a short distance away, a young samurai attendant was making a bored-looking face as he surveyed the surrounding scenery when the samurai addressed him.

“It might be the Hour of the Snake.”

The young samurai answered thus, "The catch has been poor today," he added mockingly. "My fishing always comes up empty." "As you say—it’s always a poor catch indeed. ...And yet, Master, you remain so dedicated every day." "That’s fine. That’s my true intent. ...Because my fishing is the same as Taigong Wang’s."

“Taigong Wang?” “Ah, yes...” “There is a purpose beyond fishing.” “...is what I mean to say.” “What sort of purpose would that be?” “It won’t be revealed so cheaply.” “This is most humbling... But when you put it that way, one might think it’s merely an excuse born of frustration over empty catches—a refusal to concede defeat...” “You truly are a petty man.” “Your reproach is severe—this humble one is deeply humbled.”

“I cast the line like this and watch the water’s surface.” “Well, it is fishing after all.” “The current flows in and strikes the float.” “Indeed, it does bob up and down.” “Completely natural and effortless… When debris snags…” “The blasted float spins wildly.” “When a fish bites, it sinks deep.” “Regrettably, none took hold today.” “It adapts to each opponent… The float’s movement is truly exquisite.” “One isn’t angling for the float itself.”

“And within this, I believe I gain something.” “Just a crucian carp—that’s all there is.” “I’m not talking about fish.” “Ah, I see. So that’s how it is.” “…Then what?” “In other words, it’s a method to break that Reverse Wheel technique.”

“What?” “That technique you speak of…?” “Mizushina Jinjurō’s ‘Reverse Wheel’…” “I see.”

“Oh, what’s that?” At that moment, an old boat carrying a woman—a young woman who lay motionless as if dead—drifted down from upstream. “Tōma, bring it closer—the boat to shore.” “Seems you’ve hooked something extraordinary.”

The young samurai began removing his hakama as he spoke. Yet the old boat drifted slowly and steadily toward the shore of its own accord. The samurai extended the handle of his fishing rod toward the gunwale to pull it closer— “Bring the woman up and tend to her.”

he said harshly to the young samurai.

Phoenix and Kirin

1

Several days passed.

Akiyama Yōsuke, accompanied by Suginami Noshinosuke, visited with solemn dignity the vast dojo-structured mansion that served as the residence of Itsumi Tashirō Yoshitoshi—headmaster of Kōgen Ittō-ryū who dwelt coiled like a tiger guarding its lair on the outskirts of Ogawa Village in Chichibu District, revered by swordsmen from all quarters. "I ask this of you."

“Understood,” came the reply. As the front fusuma slid open, a young samurai wearing a short hakama appeared with deep reverence. “Master Akiyama! What an honor to have you grace us with your presence.” “I seek an audience with Master Itsumi. Convey this request.” “Ah...the Master has gone to Edo and remains absent from residence...” “So he still has not returned.” “He has not yet returned.” “For three days since arriving here to cross blades with the Master and receive instruction in a single technique, I have paid daily visits—only to be met each time with claims of his absence. When one bears titles like Phoenix of Ogawa and stands spoken of alongside Lord Higuchi Jūrōzaemon of Kanna in Kōzuke, it strains belief that the name Akiyama Yōsuke could inspire such timidity as to hide behind attendants’ lies. Yet this farce persists—a circumstance I find most difficult to countenance.”

Refined and bold yet always polite to others, these words from Yōsuke were uncharacteristically sharp. Even Noshinosuke, who stood beside him, found this strange enough to take notice. The flustered mediating samurai stammered, “I-I fully recognize the reasonableness of your words, but in truth, my master has gone to Edo and has yet to return home…” “Is that so? Very well. If this absence is indeed factual—then I have no choice but to return again.” “Yet returning empty-handed after three visits would leave my indignation ill appeased. Though I acknowledge this as somewhat discourteous, I shall take custody of the nameplate displayed at your gate and carry it back.” “When Lord Itsumi returns from Edo, convey this message without fail.” “I am lodged at the Kurenaiya Inn.” With a curt “Excuse me,” he turned on his heel. Exiting the gate, he removed the six-foot-long hinoki nameplate—two inches thick and inscribed with “Kōgen Ittō-ryū Instruction”—from its post, tucked it under his arm, and strode away.

The one left utterly dumbfounded was Noshinosuke; without uttering a word, he silently followed after Yōsuke. Though called a village, Ogawa possessed the bustle of a full post town—an unusually prosperous land where both sides of the road were lined with numerous shops and bustling with constant foot traffic. Through such a place walked a distinguished samurai, carrying the nameplate under his arm and bringing along a young samurai like an attendant as he plodded steadily along. The people from the shops peered curiously, and those passing through the street stared in wonder.

However, Yōsuke paid no heed and walked to Kurenaiya—the premier inn of Ogawa Village located at its entrance in the direction opposite the Itsumi residence. “Welcome back,” said the inn manager and maids, their faces equally bewildered as they greeted Yōsuke’s group carrying the nameplate and bowed in unison at the entrance—all of which he observed magnanimously before proceeding to the inner quarters.

2 In the detached guest room facing the courtyard—evidently the inn’s finest—Yōsuke leaned the great nameplate against the alcove, sat comfortably with his back to it, and chuckled cheerfully as he sipped tea brought by a maid. Before him, Noshinosuke maintained formal posture yet radiated profound unease. “Master,” Noshinosuke finally ventured. “What in heaven’s name is happening here?” …………

He was laughing cheerfully. “The nameplate of a martial arts dojo holds equal importance to a merchant’s signboard—for that house, it is a crucial object. To have this removed would bring great disgrace…” “I am well aware of that.” “Yes,” Noshinosuke blinked in bewilderment, “Knowing that… you took the nameplate…” “Indeed, I removed it.”

“Yes,” he blinked again in bewilderment, “And that of the renowned Master Itsumi...” “Mr. Itsumi, who is called the Phoenix.” “Yes,” he blinked once again in bewilderment, “So much so that Lord Itsumi is a renowned figure…” “This unworthy one is also called the Kirin.” “As you command,” he now bowed his head, “You are referred to as the Kirin of Kantō.” “Phoenix and Kirin… aren’t they a fitting pair?” “They are indeed a perfect match, but does being well-matched justify taking the nameplate…”

“Well, since it’s me, removing it was permissible.” “Because you’re the Kirin… taking the Phoenix’s nameplate…” “Indeed—removing it was permissible.” “Ah… So that’s how it stands?” “For anyone else, this would never be permitted.”

“…………” “I am well aware of that.” “Indeed—Mr. Itsumi is equally aware.” “…………” “A person of discernment recognizes their own kind.”

“Yes, I remain but a petty man.” “In time, you shall grow into someone of substance.” “Yes, I receive this wisdom gratefully.”

Having said that, Noshinosuke— (If I speak carelessly, this is what happens. First I get lectured, then threatened!) He couldn’t help thinking this. "But even so, Master—what must people think of you visiting Kogawa Village? What must they think of you calling at Master Itsumi’s residence…" "To hold a martial arts match…" "Could that truly be your sole purpose?"

“The true purpose lies elsewhere.” “What manner of purpose might that be?” “I intend to establish Akai no Hayashizō as Kantō’s foremost loan boss—to elevate that man.” “So for that purpose, you mean to hold a match with Master Itsumi?”

“Exactly.” “Does it seem strange to you?” “What manner of connection could there be?”

“You’ll understand in time. Soon enough,” said Akiyama Yōsuke, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken plans. “Ah,” Noshinosuke replied with a deferential nod. “So that’s how it stands.” The swordsman leaned forward, his words measured. “I’ve lost my golden thread—Lady Genjo vanished from my sight. With her gone, there’s no purpose left for me in Chichibu.” His gaze drifted toward the eastern road. “I mean to return to Edo…and as my farewell gift to this land, I’ll shape Hayashizō into a man worthy of legend.” The fire crackled between them as he concluded: “That’s why I must cross blades with Itsumi—Lord Itsumi Tashirō himself, kendo master to Inoshimatsu of Takahagi.”

3 "I see," Noshinosuke thought. (Master Akiyama—Hayashizō’s master—and Master Itsumi—Inoshimatsu’s master—would hold a martial arts match and then elevate Hayashizō to become Kantō’s top loan boss. I see—that does seem purposeful.)

The exact details remained unclear, but there seemed to be meaning behind it.

It would become clear in time. He did not press to ask, but, "Nevertheless, I would like to understand the relationship between Okumi's Genjo, the songs she sings, and you, Master."

Noshinosuke earnestly asked the questions he had been wondering about for some time. In the past, Noshinosuke had indeed been Genjo's lover. But when he met Genjo this time, she had developed a changed personality, was afflicted by a mysterious illness, and not only chanted strange songs but had also come under the protection of someone named Yōsuke. Resolving not to pour energy into fleeting romances or tenuous affections, he maintained only a friendly association with her. Then, during the recent duel between Hayashizō and Inoshimatsu on the Ageo Highway, Genjo vanished without a trace and had not been seen since.

Noshinosuke had of course been concerned as well, but Yōsuke’s concern was even more intense,

“That day, I indeed heard Lady Genjo’s singing voice from the shadow of a thicket,” Akiyama Yōsuke said. “But after calling the duel a draw and rushing to search for her, Lady Genjo was already gone. Where she could be or what has become of her…” He had repeated these words up until this very day. “The relationship between Lady Genjo and myself?” Noshinosuke asked. “Indeed… Perhaps it’s time I spoke of it.” Yōsuke uncharacteristically did not press the matter. However, he remained lost in thought for some time—the secret story Noshinosuke had long hoped to hear was about to be told. Noshinosuke unconsciously straightened his posture and could not help but tense up.

In the courtyard was a modest pond where several carp swam, occasionally leaping above the water’s surface. It was the only sound that disrupted the midday tranquility of the old rural inn.

And with that, Yōsuke began to speak. “You may be aware of Musashi Province, but for the Genji clan, it is a land of profound significance.” “It is a land that could be called the birthplace of the Genji clan.” “From there arose the various Genji clans.” “Chichibu Shōji, Hatakeyama Shigetada, Kumagai Jirō Naozane—all were warriors who rose to prominence from Musashi.” “But the incident involving me must be traced back even further.” “Now, this is common knowledge, but during the reign of Emperor Go-Reizei, Abe no Yoritoki—chieftain of Ōshū—along with his two sons Sadato and Munetō, rebelled against the imperial court in defiance. It was Minamoto no Yoriyoshi who subjugated them, and then his son Hachiman Tarō Yoshie… Well, these two men stayed in Musashi Province during their campaigns to pacify Ōshū.” “The Kokubunji Temple in today’s Kokubunji Village—yes, in those days it was said to have been a splendid temple with halls and pagodas that towered magnificently—they stayed at this Kokubunji... Not only stayed, but when the Zenkunen War concluded, they returned bearing vast quantities of gold from Ōshū and secretly buried it within the temple grounds—so it is told.” “There is a deep reason for this.”

Having said this, Yōsuke once again sank into silent contemplation for a while.

4

Yōsuke began to speak haltingly.

“The Genji clan should establish their base in the eastern provinces.” “To establish their base, they needed gold.” “With this, they buried the gold there.” “They should use this gold to take root.” “It was with such reasoning that they buried the gold… Afterward, in this land of Musashi, all manner of conflicts arose—but those who made use of that buried gold always emerged victorious.” “However, each time those who used it sought to prevent others from exploiting it, they would rebury the remaining gold in a new location… In October of Jishō 4 [1180], when Minamoto no Yoritomo gathered troops from Kantō’s eight provinces like a sea of clouds at Bubaigawara south of Fuchū, the funds for that campaign also came from that gold. Much later, during the Nanboku-chō period in Genkō 3 [1333], when Lord Nitta Yoshisada marched his forces toward Kamakura to destroy Hōjō Takatoki and encamped at Bubaigawara to battle Hōjō Yasutoki, Yoshisada too—as a Genji descendant—utilized that gold.” “On December 19, 1352 [Shōhei 7], when Nitta Yoshimune led the Southern Army into Musashi Province to attack Ashikaga Takauji at Kano River, Takauji had already departed Kano River, entered Fuchū via Tanaguchi, and engaged in fierce battle at Hitomihara. Yoshimune was defeated and retreated to Iruma River; on the 28th day, he fought at Kozasahara and was again defeated and forced to withdraw. On this occasion, it is said that Ashikaga Takauji—also being of Genji lineage—utilized that gold.” “Moving further into the Ashikaga period, Kamakura Kubo Ashikaga Shigeuji killed Kanrei Uesugi Noritada.” “Noritada’s retainer Nagao Kageharu, enraged by this, led his personal troops to battle Shigeuji at Tachikawara and dealt him a crushing defeat—on this occasion, Kageharu utilized that gold. Among those who later used the gold were historically renowned figures such as Hōjō Sōun of Odawara, who rose from commoner origins to rule Kantō’s eight provinces; Tachibana Munetsune and Tsunenari, said to be foremost among the Seven Bands of Musashi; and Uesugi Norizane—warrior and scholar, founder of Ashikaga School.” “…But as the era shifted to the Toyotomi and then to the present age—that is, since it became the Tokugawa’s time—no one has used that gold, its burial site has become unknown, and only a remnant lingers in this Chichibu region through a temari song: *‘In Ogawa Village of Chichibu District, beneath the hinoki roots in Lord Itsumi’s garden—they say it once lay there…’*”

Having spoken up to this point, Yōsuke suddenly fell silent. Noshinosuke, who had been listening intently, felt his tension intensify. He had vaguely sensed that Genjo's enigmatic songs related to gold, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined they held such deep connections to historical battles and figures. *This is a grave matter.* His interest only grew sharper with this realization, heart pounding with bated breath. And so he waited motionless.

Yōsuke continued his account.

“The meaning of that song is simple.” “The gold I just mentioned was said to have been buried long ago at the base of a hinoki tree in the garden of the Itsumi family in Ogawa Village, Chichibu District, Musashi Province.” “—that is precisely what it means.” “The Itsumi family is, needless to say, Lord Itsumi Tashirō’s household. …As for what this Itsumi family is—they are an ancient, peerless noble house of Musashi descended from the Kai Genji lineage, the head family of the Kōgen Ittō-ryū school, and the characters for ‘Kōgen’ originate from this very connection.” “In other words, it means ‘Kai Genji.’”

5

Yōsuke continued speaking.

“The song itself would be insignificant if it ended there.” “That’s because people in Chichibu have known it since ancient times as an ordinary handball song.” “But here’s the peculiar thing—only Lady Genjo knows the subsequent verses: *‘Now changed to a thousand horses, five hundred horses’ grooms… Then after a pause—fodder mountains and bottomless rivers’ caverns midstream…’*” “That’s where I focused my attention.” “The gold supposedly buried by Yoriyoshi and Yoshie must now lie in the realm described in those later verses.” “Yet how did Lady Genjo come to learn those subsequent lines?” “So I questioned Lady Genjo.” “Her answer proved most curious.” “*This unworthy one feels she once visited a place deep in the mountains—a realm of vast forests and great ravines, grand mansions and steep slopes—where countless horses and their handlers dwelled.*” “*There, this unworthy one believes she learned the song.*” “*But my memory remains unclear.*” “*Naturally, this unworthy one knows not where that place lies.*—Such was her vague reply.” “Moreover, as you’re aware, Lady Genjo suffers occasional fits… I consulted various physicians about her condition, and one—Dr. Hiraga Anri, a Western doctor retained by the shogunate—explained thus: *‘Those who venture into terrifying realms, endure violent shocks to the spirit, and fall into prolonged fevers lasting months often lose all memory—not only of those events but much that came before. Lady Genjo’s case appears such.*’” “*Yet if returned to that realm, she might remember; or even placed in similar surroundings, forgotten memories could abruptly resurface.*” “But taking Lady Genjo to that realm proves impossible.” “Its nature remains unknown.” “Placing her in similar circumstances… That too presents difficulties.” “For I lack certain knowledge of what that realm entails.” “…But this unworthy one conceived an idea.” If I were to take her to Chichibu—the region mentioned in the song’s first verses—let her reside there patiently while observing her condition, perhaps some clue might emerge.

"That’s why I brought her here, but… However, there exists another person besides me who knows Lady Genjo’s secret in the same way. ‘It is none other than Mizushina Jinjurō.’ Having said this, Yōsuke furrowed his brows and fell silent."

The silence hung thickly—an awkward void that laid bare the revulsion of recalling Jinjurō, that sword demon of a man, that vampire. Noshinosuke too detested Jinjurō; more than detested, he found him terrifying enough to shrink from even uttering his name. Yet he had long burned to discover through what twisted connection Genjo and Yōsuke had become entangled with that bloodsucking fiend.

It seemed he was finally about to find out.

So, with even greater bated breath, he steeled himself to await Yōsuke’s 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—being my usual wandering self, I simply journeyed without purpose—but I did stay one night at Kutsukake Inn. As it was a moonlit night, I left the inn to stroll about its grounds and eventually wandered out to the outskirts. Then I heard singing. Needless to say, it was that song. When I thought ‘What now?’ and halted my steps, a maddened young woman came walking along singing that very tune. Then from behind her rushed a samurai who suddenly kicked her down and began stomping and beating her wildly—‘You think to flee? I’ll not allow it!’ he shouted while continuing his brutality. At that moment, the woman seemed to regain her senses. She sprang up, recognized this unworthy one, ran over clinging to me, and pleaded ‘Save me!’ Understanding the situation, I stepped forward. By the moonlight, I saw it was Mizushina Jinjurō—the same man I’d crossed blades with at Lord Higuchi Jūrōzaemon’s residence! He too seemed to recognize this humble one and, perhaps sensing unfavorable odds, declared mockingly: ‘Ah! Lord Akiyama! That woman is Genjo—a deranged performer. This humble one has protected her for personal reasons until now, but if you desire her, I yield her to you.’ With these insolent words, he hastily departed. I brought Lady Genjo back to the inn and questioned her thoroughly. There I learned an evil foster mother—a spinning-top master from Edo’s Ryōgoku district—had tried selling her as a concubine to some foreigner in Nagasaki. To escape this fate, she took to touring mountain provinces—places of vast forests and steep slopes where countless horses roamed. For reasons unknown, she was taken to a great mansion in such lands. There she suffered horrors that seemingly robbed her of sanity. ‘When this unworthy one regained awareness,’ she said, ‘that man Jinjurō stood by me. From then on he subjected me to every oppression and abuse, endlessly demanding “Take me there! To the land from your song!” Ever since, he’s dragged me through countless places.’ …Afterward, I brought Lady Genjo back to Edo and housed her in a residence. But being a performer at heart, she wished to return to the stage. When I reinstated her there, Jinjurō found her again…and thus she came to know people like yourself.”

"I understand perfectly."

After listening to Yōsuke’s lengthy account, Noshinosuke felt his lingering doubts melt away. “If that is so, then Jinjurō also knew of the legendary secret regarding the gold and was striving to uncover it while keeping Genjo under his control, so…” “Exactly so,” Yōsuke nodded and said. “As a disciple of Lord Itsumi Tashirō—he who long resided in the Chichibu region—he should be thoroughly acquainted with the secret of the gold.”

At that moment, in the corridor outside the room, there came the sound of reserved footsteps,

A man’s voice called, “Pardon me,” the sliding door opened, and the proprietor of Kōben-ya appeared with a deferential and solemn expression, “Lord Itsumi has arrived.” “Hai,” he said, bowing his head. Looking, behind the proprietor stood a dignified middle-aged samurai of imposing presence, smiling amiably and peering into the room as he lingered there. “Itsumi Tashirō Yoshitoshi has arrived.”

7 "Oh, this is—!" Even Yōsuke—normally unflappable—could not help but startle upright. For Itsumi Tashirō Yoshitoshi stood before him: a rural samurai yet honored as guest retainer by Lord Matsudaira Yamato-no-kami; scion of the prestigious Kai Genji clan tracing lineage to Shinra Saburō Yoshimitsu; swordsman hailed peerless across the realm; master of a household boasting granaries holding a thousand koku and nearly two thousand disciples. That such a man would casually visit this humble inn—moreover seek out Yōsuke himself, who had removed his dojo's signboard and gate placard during his absence—defied all expectation. Yet here he stood, arriving with such ease that even Yōsuke rose in astonishment.

“Well now! Master Itsumi—have you deigned to visit us?” “Come—this way first!” “Here!”

“In that case, pardon me,” said Tashirō, clad in a Sendai-hira silk hakama and black habutae silk kimono and haori, his dignity unshaken as he quietly entered the room. Once they had taken their seats, the formal greetings commenced! At that moment, Yōsuke’s quick thinking—he reverently brought forth the gate placard that had been standing in the alcove, presented it before him, and sat down before it. “To tell the truth, when I visited your esteemed residence today, I was informed that you had gone to Edo and were not present. Then, as my usual bad habit—what one might call drunken whimsy—suddenly welled up within me. Though I knew it to be somewhat discourteous, after first informing your disciples, I removed this grand gate placard and brought it to my inn. But rest assured, I did not treat it carelessly. I propped it up in the alcove and have been admiring the splendid brushwork.” “But even so, it is precisely because I removed and brought this gate placard that I could invite someone of your stature to such an inn. My scheme hit its mark, you see! Ha ha ha!” He laughed—a refreshing laugh.

And Tashirō joined in, letting out an unrestrained, refreshing laugh, “Regarding that matter—in truth, I had business in Edo and was absent for three days. Upon returning home just now, I learned from one of my disciples that the renowned Master Akiyama had visited three times during my absence, and on this third occasion today, removed and took away the gate placard. I am deeply apologetic for having been away during your three visits, and as I explained to that disciple—it is fortunate that the person who removed and took the gate placard was Master Akiyama Yōsuke.” “If it were another person, this Tashirō would never let them live.” “It was fortunate that it was Master Akiyama Yōsuke.” “That Master Akiyama is an eccentric yet refined and fascinating individual. Though I have yet to meet him in person, I have heard tales of his valor.” “Five hundred *koku*—a most imposing stipend. Born as the eldest son to a kendo instructor who received such a stipend, yet he did not assume the family headship and became a *ronin*, associating with gallant fellows—yielding neither to authority nor fearing martial might, flattering neither wealth nor shaming poverty—conducting himself with the boundlessness of sky and sea… Truly, he must be the foremost hero of our age.” “Even having taken the gate placard was surely nothing more than eccentric refinement.” “If you were staying at Kōben-ya Inn, I thought to come immediately to meet you.—Thus, having come here, it is an utmost honor to make your acquaintance.”

“Mr. Sugi, what do you think?” Yōsuke called out to Noshinosuke.

8 “As I said—a person discerns a person. What say you, Mr. Sugi? Is that not so?” Having said this, Yōsuke turned toward Tashirō, “The one present here is Lord Suginami Noshinosuke—a certain acquaintance and friend of mine.” “Regarding having removed and brought the gate placard, I harbored grave concerns—but no, since it was this humble one, it proves acceptable. As you well know, Master Itsumi, had it been anyone else, such conduct would not be permissible—for *a person discerns a person*, as I stated moments ago… Mr. Sugi, what are your thoughts?”

"I was simply being absent-minded."

After saying this, Noshinosuke—as if waking from a dream—opened his eyes wide and let out a sigh.

“Phoenix and Kirin! Phoenix and Kirin! It’s like a play performed by fellow master actors.” “What a truly splendid conversation between esteemed gentlemen!”

Itsumi Tashirō Yoshitoshi had come! This was bad! Something terrible would happen! Heated arguments! Outrageous accusations! A duel! A duel! In that instant, Noshinosuke thought—yet reality unfolded completely opposite. How fortunate that it had been Master Akiyama first! ...The situation resolved itself with them laughing together, harmonizing and respecting each other like decade-old comrades. Entranced, Noshinosuke listened to the two heroes' conversation.

“Sake!” Yōsuke declared cheerfully. “In dealings between trusted warriors, liquor proves indispensable.” "Sake!" “Let us drink! Lord Noshinosuke—clap your hands and summon the maid!” “Nay,” Tashirō countered with a wave of his hand. “We shall drink sake regardless.” “Yet let us change venues for this libation.” “Change venues?” “To what destination?”

“At this unworthy one’s residence.” “...It goes without saying.”

“This residence where you reside, Yōsuke—I hear it does not meet your approval?” “No, no—it is by no means the case.” “…However, that you first deigned to visit this unworthy one’s residence was, so to speak, the opening move.” “……Then drinking there would be most appropriate.……”

“Ah, I see. That does make sense.” “Since I presumed that would be the case, I had a palanquin prepared—it has already arrived in front of the inn.” “My, my—what splendid preparations you’ve made.” “However, as for this humble one, at your esteemed self’s residence, rather than partaking in sake, it is precisely your guidance in kendo with wooden swords that I would desire.” “As for the kendo match—that goes without saying—we shall conduct it as well.”

“As for that match, Master Itsumi—it’s no ordinary contest.” “To speak of such a thing… surely you don’t mean real swords…?” “What nonsense—real swords? …Truth be told, I wish to propose a gambling match.”

“What gambling match?!” “This is absurd!” “The sort of vulgar wagers those base swordsmen among the city’s riffraff resort to for their livelihood…” “The stakes differ.”

“I see.” “And what are the stakes?”

“For this unworthy one—Akabane Rinzo!”

“Akabane Rinzo?” “Akabane Rinzo?” “Hmm,” Tashirō said, staring intently at Yōsuke’s face.

9

“Though a gambler, Rinzo is this humble one’s kendo student.” Yōsuke said meaningfully and stared intently at Tashirō’s face.

“You stake that Rinzo. …Then what does this humble one stake?” With a hint of unease, Tashirō said, and he also stared intently at Yōsuke, as if conveying some significance. “If you would stake Inoshimatsu of Takahagi Village, that would be my earnest wish.” “He is this humble one’s kendo student…” “Then, please stake him.”

“You propose to settle this through a wager?” “If this humble one prevails, you shall have Inoshimatsu of Takahagi Village serve under Akabane Rinzo, thereby establishing Rinzo as Kantō’s foremost loan boss.” “If this humble one is victorious, you will make Akabane Rinzo subordinate to Inoshimatsu of Takahagi, elevating Inoshimatsu to become Kantō’s…” “Let us appoint him as the supreme loan boss.” “Ah! So this gambling match serves that purpose?” “A disciple is indeed a precious charge.” “I see,” Tashirō replied before lapsing into heavy silence, his thoughts churning.

The fact that Rinzo and Inoshimatsu had been locked in a power struggle through their day-to-day dealings was something even Tashirō knew. Their conflict had grown so severe it had reached the brink—before long, they would have to clash head-on with brute force against brute force. This much he had heard through the grapevine. Yet that a great swordsman like Akiyama Yōsuke would emerge for this very purpose—using their master-disciple ties as pretext to challenge him to a match, attempting to resolve these two gamblers' feud through its outcome—such an event occurring was beyond his wildest imaginings.

(What in the world?!) was his first thought. *(Now what should I do?)* Even so—I too find my disciple dear; given opportunity—I would crush Rinzo and make Inoshimatsu paramount loan boss.

*Then...* he could not help but think. *Then I shall accept Yōsuke’s proposal, conduct the gambling match, and defeat him!* Once his resolve was firm, Itsumi Tashirō Yoshitoshi became imposing and declared resolutely: “This gambling match—this humble one accepts it.” “Then let us immediately proceed to this humble one’s residence and hold our match with wooden swords in the dojo.” “A pleasure.”

Yōsuke stood up. “Mr. Suginami, you too shall come along.” The three left the room in unison. This place at Itsumi Tashirō Yoshitoshi’s residence was the dojo.—

It was not bamboo swords but wooden swords. Yōsuke and Tashirō assumed their stances.

One decisive match!

It had been decided. Both assumed mid-level stances! Now, it was utterly silent—*shiiin*.

Deeming spectators unnecessary for such a match, they had expelled all visiting and live-in disciples alike—leaving only the two of them! No—there were others: Suginami Noshinosuke and the young samurai who had received Yōsuke during his visit earlier, waiting modestly in a corner of the dojo and watching over them.

10 The vast dojo, so spacious it seemed to blur at the edges, had an elevated front area reserved for the instructor’s seat. On the left wooden wall facing it, training tools—bamboo swords, wooden swords, spears, naginata, men masks, dō armor, and kote gloves—were neatly arranged on shelves. On that same left wall hung lacquered nameplates divided by rank. The impeccably smooth wooden floor, dried and polished to a mirror-like sheen, glowed under sunlight that streamed sideways through gaps in the wainscoting—its rays weaving amber-hued stripes across the space. Within those luminous bands, faint motes of dust stood suspended like wisps of smoke or sheer gauze.

Positioned in mid-level stances and unmoving, Yōsuke and Tashirō—located at the center of the vast dojo—appeared as small as dolls to Noshinosuke, who sat formally with his back against the lower wooden wall at the dojo’s edge. Maintaining an interval of approximately six feet apart, they kept their sword tips precisely aimed at each other’s brows and showed no inclination to move recklessly. In this match fought with wooden swords and no protective gear, there was truly no difference from an actual real-sword duel. The red oak bokutō with their clam-shaped blades were genuine swords in every respect, and a single strike from these masters would decide between two outcomes: either a fatal wound to a vital point—resulting in death—or a crippling injury.

That said, this was not a grudge match born of mutual resentment, but rather a contest between masters entangled in duty and human compassion to elevate their respective disciples. It was a refreshingly ideal match—naturally dignified in conduct, devoid of any malicious intent to force victory, its fighting spirit imbued with mutual respect. For twenty minutes now, they had remained in their stances without moving. They did not attempt to utter a single shout. Battle cries come in three varieties.

A shout for when you've cornered your opponent. The shout to thwart the opponent’s attempt to strike out; the shout delivered after landing a victorious strike to suppress their subsequent attempt to attack and prevent them from striking.

There existed these three types of strategic shouts. Yet in this match between them, there were neither opportunities to corner one another nor openings inviting forward lunges—much less any possibility of delivering a decisive strike. Such outcomes stood utterly beyond reach. Thus both men remained silent—no battle cries torn from throats—maintaining identical stances yet never rooted in place: a contest of wills between their cores; gazes locked in mutual defiance; breaths suppressed against breaths; when one sent his sword tip gliding serpentine, the other crushed it back with brutal parries; when one gathered energy for technique, the other intercepted through prescient anticipation—repelling all through sheer spiritual force... This interplay resonated through their wooden blades until both swords quivered as living things—faint yet razor-edged—ceaselessly undulating vertically while swaying laterally.

An even longer time passed. Then Yōsuke's right foot—with a ferocity, strength, and force that could shatter bedrock—pressed forward slowly but tenaciously, advancing deliberately as his left foot followed. In that instant, Tashirō's left foot stepped back methodically, his right foot mirroring the motion. Now—the critical distance! They froze. For an interminable stretch! ……Yet……the next instant……thundering footsteps echoed.

11

Like a raging torrent, Yōsuke rushed forward!

Pursued, Tashirō retreated backward! The thundering footsteps of two men!

Such speed! Such sharpness!

Ah! Tashirō had been driven to the dojo's edge—his back pressed flush against the wooden wall, stood compressed with no room to retreat. Before him stood Yōsuke like a massive boulder. The match was decided! Victory was Yōsuke’s! But no—look! In the next instant, Tashirō’s chest heaved mightily, his shoulders swelled like rising whirlpools, and he slid a step forward. Then Yōsuke retreated one step. Tashirō slid two steps forward.

Yōsuke retreated. Exactly the same! Thundering footsteps!

Tashirō advanced, Yōsuke retreated—in an instant, the tide turned, and now Yōsuke was driven back, his back pressed against the dojo’s wainscoting. And—halt! For a brief moment! Two swords—wooden swords—carved through the air minutely, minutely, minutely, minutely, minutely. Had Tashirō won? Had they finally been cornered? No! He took a single deliberate step back. Yōsuke took a step forward. Tenaciously, slowly, with heron-like steps—deliberately, deliberately, deliberately, deliberately—the two men advanced to the center of the dojo.

What an unchanging posture and stalemate! There they were, exactly as before—the two men maintaining their middle stances, appearing as small as dolls in the center of the vast, mist-hazed dojo, silently and solemnly facing each other.

Indeed, on both their faces, sweat streamed down to their chins; their complexions flushed crimson as blood surged, and their breaths came rough and rapid. This suffocatingly oppressive scene! The match continued unabated. The match had to continue. But then, suddenly— 〝Chichibu District〟

Ogawa Village 〝Lord Itsumi’s garden〟 〝Hinoki roots〟 〝They say it existed long ago〟

Then, a woman’s singing voice drifted in from outside the dojo, from the garden beyond.

“Wait!” shouted Yōsuke abruptly, then slid back two ken, lowered his wooden sword, and strained his ears.

…………

Itsumi Tashirō Yoshitoshi, his body angled as if appraising yet maintaining vigilant awareness of his quarry, stood poised without respite, "What has come over you, Mr. Akiyama?"

“That singing voice...? ...Who is the one who sang that?” “Along with Tōma who was waiting here in attendance, several days ago at Kinugawa, when this humble one was engaged in fishing, there came a woman adrift upon an old boat—bereft of her senses. ...We rescued her and brought her to the mansion—she is the one who sang that song just now.”

12

“Her name?” “Genjo!” “Genjo of the Okumi!” “Did she not give her name as Genjo of the Okumi?”

“You are well-informed—exactly so.” “So it was true after all! So that’s how it was! How grateful… This is truly a gift from heaven! That woman is none other than one whom this humble one has long protected and cared for—having lost her near Kamigo Highway some time past and despaired of ever finding her again—but was it you who came to her aid? …Hand Genjo over to this unworthy one.” “No!” Tashirō flatly declared. “I shall absolutely not hand Genjo over!”

“What is your reason? Your reason? Mr. Itsumi?” “The reason is the song—the song that Genjo sings!” “…………” “Now changed to ‘a thousand horses, five hundred horse handlers…’ There were more verses afterward, but this woman called Genjo who sings this song—this humble one needs her, absolutely needs her!” “I see,” Yōsuke nodded and said. “To your household—to the Itsumi family—a song with the deepest ties… A woman called Genjo who sings that song would indeed be necessary… Clues to unearth the buried gold of legend…”

“Then what about you?” “As you command—precisely why I have kept Genjo until now…” “Knowing this, I am all the more unable to hand over this woman called Genjo.” “Nevertheless, this unworthy one originally protected…” “Until recent days, perhaps. But losing her afterward proves there was no bond.” “...Since I rescued and obtained her, she is now this humble one’s property.” “Using Genjo as a clue to the buried gold—would you deign to search for it?”

“Exactly so—it needs no saying.” “Then you are this unworthy one’s rival!” “It cannot be avoided—such must be our karmic bond.”

“We’ve forged a double grudge now!” “What grudge?” “A double grudge?” “Let us name it grudge now! …One concerns disciples, the second concerns Genjo!”

“That too is an unavoidable affair.” “Take heed, Mr. Itsumi—this humble one shall certainly obtain Genjo and lay hands upon the buried gold as well.” “Then by all means, try it if you can!” “Take heed, Mr. Itsumi—there are more than just the two of us scheming to obtain Genjo and unearth the buried gold!”

“Others besides the two of us?” “Who is that bastard?”

“Your disciple—Mizushina Jinjurō!” “Ah, Jinjurō! That bastard! Though he is my disciple, he remains a rare master—the founder of that accursed ‘Reverse Wheel’ swordsmanship and a fearsome foe indeed... These past days I have labored to devise a technique to break his vile style, yet now he—he meddles with Genjo and the gold...” “Mr. Itsumi, I take my leave.” “What of our match? Mr. Akiyama—what of today’s contest?” “Ah-hahaha! We shall settle this with live steel another day!”

Ill-Fated Love

1

On the outskirts of Takahagi Village lay a hamlet of Chichibu itinerant performers known as the “Blade Hamlet.” There were about thirty households, and including women, children, and the elderly, around a hundred and fifty semi-farmers and semi-performers lived there in unity.

When an incident occurred in the hamlet and the signal bamboo conch shell sounded with a low, resonant note, they would set aside all work and gather as per their arrangement.

The home of an itinerant performer named Old Man Benzaemon was located in a corner of this hamlet. The house had a thatched roof, a podocarpus hedge, a modestly sized front garden and back garden, a main building, storage sheds, and barns—a structure no different from that of ordinary farmhouses. However, what set it apart was a matchlock gun displayed in the alcove and a half-bow hung on the wall—weapons reflecting its origins as a dwelling of noshi, rural samurai clinging to warrior traditions. Moreover, the Chichibu kagushi firmly believed themselves to be legitimate descendants of the Genji clan through Akugenta Yoshihira, a conviction that further distinguished them from common farming households.

Several days after Akiyama Yōsuke and Itsumi Tashirō had crossed wooden swords at Itsumi’s dojo—on a beautifully clear afternoon—persimmon leaves lay scattered in the garden. Brushing away the falling leaves with an annoyed look, Otsuma entered the garden. “Lovely weather we’re having, Old Man Benzaemon.” On the veranda of the main house, Old Man Benzaemon—who had spread a round mat and sat upon it with a gloomy face as he kneaded ointment—looked at Otsuma when addressed.

“It is indeed fine weather… Yes, that’s right—fine weather.” ——There, with his gnarled hands, he sullenly resumed kneading the family’s secret ointment. Otsuma showed a frown, but “Even though the weather’s been so nice, you always look so grumpy, Old Man.” “Well, I’m in a foul mood indeed—my boy went off to Edo and hasn’t come back.” “Are you going on about that again?” “Oh, he’ll come back soon enough,” she said—though in her heart she thought how could Bentarō, who had been killed, ever return?

(It was Jinjurō who killed that person, and it was this humble one who urged him to do it, wasn’t it?) Thinking this, even she felt disgusted. Back when Otsuma had not yet become such a charlatan and was living an ordinary life in this hamlet, Bentarō had been terribly in love with her, doggedly pursuing and courting her. After that, Otsuma left her hometown and ended up in her current circumstances. Then Bentarō—now working as an ointment seller—popped up in Edo and unexpectedly came face-to-face with Otsuma. Ever since then, Bentarō had clung to her, attempting to fulfill his long-standing affection, probing into Otsuma’s current circumstances, even threatening that if she did not yield to his desires, he would report her to the authorities and bring upon her the shame of being bound as a female charlatan. Otsuma had inwardly snickered, but finding him too bothersome, she decided to put him to sleep for good. With this thought, she prodded her lover Jinjurō into action, dragging him out to Ochanomizu one night and having him cut the man down with a single stroke.

The corpse of the itinerant performer that Suginami Noshinosuke had seen on his way home from Genjo's hut was Bentarō.

“Old Man, how’s Mondo-san’s mood?” Otsuma diverted the conversation.

2 “That person also seems to be in rather a foul mood…”

Benzaemon said this, looked down, and listlessly kneaded the ointment. “Doesn’t he seem like he wants to leave?” “He does seem like he wants to leave indeed.” “You mustn’t let him leave.” “Since it’s your order, I’m doing my utmost to stay vigilant, but…”

“If you let him go, I won’t stand for it.” With razor-like eyes, she glared.

“If it doesn’t suit your hand, there’s no helping it—all you can do is listlessly blow the bamboo conch.” “So all exits throughout the village are secured—it’s safe.” “But I don’t want to do anything so drastic.” “That is most reasonable.”

“Well, I’ll go check on his mood then.”

Standing up from the edge where she had been sitting, Otsuma went around to the back. (What a formidable woman she’s become...) Watching Otsuma’s retreating figure, Old Man Benzaemon thought to himself.

In her earlier days living in this village, Otsuma had been nothing more than a plucky yet innocent, pretty girl—one who would regularly visit this very house and affectionately call out “Grandpa! Grandpa!” But now, arriving hand-in-hand with some rōnin called Jinjurō, to see her this time—though her features had grown more refined—what struck one most was how utterly transformed she’d become as a person: tattoos now marked her arms, a murderous glint filled her eyes, poison festered in her heart—a boss lady who wouldn’t hesitate to kill, turned into a woman of unrecognizable caliber.

(That Jinjurō fellow—he looks like one fearsome samurai—but to secretly hide another samurai called Shigisawa Mondo right under his nose... Let's just pray no bloody incident comes of this.) At this thought, Old Man Benzaemon found himself overwhelmed with anxiety and terror.

A few days prior—after placing that samurai in a palanquin—she had come secretly in the evening, “Hide this samurai for me—keep it a secret from everyone in the village, even Jinjurō-san. There’s nowhere else to conceal him except your place, since we’re old acquaintances.” Otsuma said this as though compelled by necessity.

Looking at him, the samurai seemed half-dead, his breath faint and body emaciated.

“Well, in that case, I suppose...” With that, Benzaemon agreed. And so, from the next day onward, Otsuma came every day to nurse him. (I wonder what this samurai’s background is...) (What is Otsuma-san’s relationship with him?) He didn’t understand, but he was anxious. He had been bereaved of his wife, and his only son, Bentarō, had gone off to Edo and never returned. To a place already fraught with anxiety and loneliness, he had taken in such a samurai.

Old Man Benzaemon was gloomy.

He continued kneading the ointment in silence.

He suddenly glanced over the hedge.

"Ah!" he cried out involuntarily. Wasn't Jinjurō there, his pallid face contorted unpleasantly, staring fixedly in this direction over the hedge?

(Oh no, this is bad! Now it's happening!)

3

“Hey,” Jinjurō called in a low voice.

“Hey, old man, come here for a sec.” He beckoned with a small gesture over the hedge.

Otsuma was supposed to be in the back room.

He couldn’t even manage a proper “Yes” in response. Benzaemon hoisted his trembling, emaciated frame upright unsteadily, struggling even to slip into his garden clogs before scurrying toward Jinjurō. Beyond the hedge lay the village path. As Jinjurō crouched down, Benzaemon faced him and sank into a matching squat, “Y-yes, Lord Mizushina…” “Old man, seems Otsuma’s come calling.” “O-Otsuma... Y-yes... No.” “‘Yes’ and ‘no’ together make nonsense.” “Which is it - ‘yes’ or ‘no’?”

“Y-yes… no… it’s not.” “Then I must’ve been seein’ things?” "..." “The figure looked like Otsuma, but…” “......” “Now get this—when we left home headin’ to the boss’s place, didn’t some woman go scootin’ past our noses?” “Right stylish backside she had.” “Not half bad—whoever she was. But when I looked proper close—turned out to be my wife!” “Ah! Hah! So that’s how it was! Figured nothin’ strange ’bout my wives goin’ out, but when I trailed ’em to see where they’re off to—they went right into your house!”

“H-heh, indeed, my, my…” “Not ‘my, my’—it’s ‘well, well.’ I was so taken aback that I just stood there gaping for a while. Then when she went around back, that’s why I called you over, old man.” “H-heh, indeed it is...” “What’s in the back there?” “H-heh, there’s a garden and a hedge…” “And then there’s the outhouse and tatami room, right?” “H-heh, there is a back tatami room.”

“Who’s in that tatami room?!” “Gah!... N-no one’s there...” “So she went where nobody’s home?” “Wh-what could that mean?” “Did my wife enter a back room with nobody in it?” “......” “A dog?!” “Huh?” “A male dog?!” “Preposterous!” “Then what the hell is it?!” “......” “Not talking, eh? That powder Otsuma slipped you must be working...” “Lord Mizushina, surely... surely a lowly wretch like Benzaemon would never...”

“Are you saying there’s none? How amusing! A refined old man renting out tatami rooms at Kōbai Inn without getting any powder—if you say there’s some, now that’s amusing!” “Took it, took it—you took the powder!” “You’re hiding it there, clutching it tight!” “...Alright then—I’ll make you drink this powder. A dose that’ll work real good.”

He tapped the hilt of his sword. “Forged in Seki, inscribed by Magoroku—it’s cut so many people there are two nicks in the blade. When I draw it, I’ll split you from mouth to belly!...”

Jinjurō abruptly stood up and forcefully pushed open the sword guard with his thumb.

4

Worn tatami mats, a sooty ceiling, brown sliding doors bearing water stains. The back tatami room was dimly lit and impoverished-looking.

By the pillow screen adorned with Edo souvenir prints sat Mondo on the futon—his cheeks ashen, jaw gaunt, only his eyes burning with feverish light. “Both mind and body have recovered,” he declared with apparent vigor that belied his frail appearance. “I am quite all right now.”

Despite that appearance, and though his voice lacked strength, Mondo declared this with seeming vigor.

“I must set out soon…” “Well now, have you recovered completely?” A nose perhaps too high—if one were to name a flaw—yet her otherwise strikingly beautiful face wore a meaningful smile as she gazed sidelong at Mondo; thus spoke Otsuma, seated before him. “Since you have recovered, you must slay your honorable father’s enemy, mustn’t you?”

“Yes, and I must find the whereabouts of my kidnapped sister and retrieve her...” “Ah yes, that’s right, isn’t it?” Otsuma smiled once more, “As for Lady Sumie, whom you call your younger sister—she is in truth your betrothed, is she not?”

As she spoke these words, something like a sneer tinged with jealousy flashed like a shadow in Otsuma’s eyes. “Yes,” Mondo replied frankly. “Even so—having been raised as siblings for so long in the same household—she must still feel like a real sister...” “Well, who can say?”

As she spoke, she brought her hand to the hair and scratched the side of the temple with a hairpin. “Taking your betrothed and setting off on your journey of vengeance—ho, ho, ho—how very theatrical. I must say, I’m quite envious...”

Mondo made a displeased face but forcefully suppressed it and nonchalantly said, “Where has that sister of yours been taken since then... When I think of her plight, it’s pitiable... I must find her no matter what...” “I too am deserving of pity,” Otsuma retorted. Her tone turned malicious, taking on an irritated edge. “How utterly inconsiderate... To sit before me going on about how pitiable your betrothed is, how you must find her—such strong resolve you display.” She reached out abruptly, took the cold bitter tea bowl that had been before her knees, drank it in one gulp, and set it down with a clink.

“You know nothing of my heart!”

The setting sun streamed through the shoji, and now and then bird shadows fell upon it.

Beyond the hedge, in a nearby field, came the sound of a field song being sung—likely by a girl working the land. When one steps out the back gate—ah! In a lovely moonlit night, Veiled cheeks beneath noble brows—ah!

The pale moonlight...

The two remained silent for a while.

Suddenly, as if resentful, Otsuma said in a heated voice, "Do you think I saved you that time merely on some drunken whim? ……And after that hid you here and nursed you back to health—what sort of whim would that be? ……It's because my heart holds feelings for you."

5

Mondo showed a glimpse of confusion and some displeasure—such emotions. But even if treated that way, Otsuma was not the kind of woman to withdraw her hand— “If I hadn’t saved you then, Jinjurō would have returned and cut you down in your senseless state." “I don’t wish to hold this favor over you… but my deed—one I could rightfully claim—do not treat it so heartlessly, Lord Mondo…”

“Though I well understand your feelings, my lady… and though I deeply appreciate the kindness you showed in saving me…” Indeed, as Otsuma had said: on that day when Mondo had chased after Jinjurō, pushed himself to utter exhaustion, and collapsed in the sacred grove—had he not received Otsuma’s aid, he would have been cut down by Jinjurō when the man later returned to the forest (so he had heard), and his life would surely have ended then. Thus, he felt genuine gratitude toward Otsuma as his savior. Yet each time she came to him, she would subtly—no, indeed, at times overtly—hint at, confess, or plead her romantic feelings toward him. And as for the meaning behind Otsuma saving him—that too he had long since understood.

Yet for that reason, how could he possibly enter into a relationship with Otsuma—one that would be adulterous, illicit, and immoral?!

“Lord Mondo,” Otsuma said. “My lord still believes this unworthy one to be Jinjurō’s favored woman—Jinjurō’s mistress—and thus cannot be trusted, does he not?” She peered up from below, gauging Mondo’s expression.

“That’s... accurate,” Mondo said with evident discomfort. “How could you not think of that? “…You must slay your father’s enemy! Knowing that Lady Otsuma is Jinjurō’s favored woman—even putting aside your distrust—how could you respond to your own intentions…” “Will you not comply?” “To think I’m the mistress of your sworn enemy…” “Then why did you brazenly 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 had been saved, in response to being questioned by Otsuma, Mondo 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 a look of surprise, Otsuma gazed intently at Mondo’s face, but soon confessed that she was Jinjurō’s mistress—Otsuma herself.

The shock Mondo felt upon hearing this! At the same time, he thought: (If only I hadn’t been saved!) Thus, it was settled that he would leave immediately.

6 (If only he had left right away.) Even now, Mondo still thought this way. At that time, he had tried to declare his intention to leave.

But Otsuma stopped him and said.

“This is Takahagi Village in Kōrai District. The gambling gang’s territory here belongs to a man named Inoshimatsu—Jinjurō’s boss.” “You couldn’t walk even ten chō in your weakened state. If you carelessly try to go outside—Jinjurō is nearby, and Boss Inoshimatsu’s foster sons are here too—you’ll be discovered immediately, captured, and tortured to death!” “How could you possibly depart now?” However, for Mondo, being nursed by the enemy’s mistress seemed unbearable even for a moment; thus, he stubbornly insisted on rising despite his condition.

And Otsuma said mockingly: “This is ‘Blade’s Hamlet,’ a place apart even within Takahagi Village—the home of Chichibu’s itinerant performers.” “The residents act as one—when matters arise, they sound bamboo horns.” “Then people gather to secure every village entrance and exit—barring those who seek to enter and halting those who try to leave.” “This unworthy one too belongs among this hamlet’s female performers—no! You shall not depart!” “Should you insist on forcing your way out, I shall sound the bamboo horn and have you stopped.”

He could no longer depart. Thus until today, against his will, he had received her care—care that had been forced upon him—and though he knew her to be the enemy’s mistress, there was no denying he had accepted this nursing. Now that she had voiced this truth, he found himself without words to retort. (If only I had left right away! I had missed my chance! I had missed my chance!)

It was this very thing that he found galling. The two remained silent for a while—Mondo kept his head bowed, staring at his knees, while Otsuma watched his profile with voracious intensity.

“Even so… what should I say? To you… this Mondo—” “That you would hold affection for one who should be called a fragment of the enemy…”

In halting, fragmented speech, Mondo eventually spoke in that manner. “Indeed, I am part of the enemy.” “Because I, this humble one, who target your lover Mizushina Jinjurō as my foe…” “It must be an ill-fated bond.”

Otsuma too faltered in her words and spoke in a voice that threatened to break off at any moment. “It must be a karmic love… That day, in the sacred grove—when I saw you lying there so pitifully on a bed of grass, looking as though you had died… I was seized by what must have been my first true love since birth… How shameful! Even with so many of my fellow villagers nearby, I brazenly declared, ‘I’ll care for this man myself,’ and brought you here… Yes, a karmic love indeed… And another thing—for this humble one, that man Mizushina Jinjurō… He is neither my true beloved nor a man I love… That is how it seems to me.”

7 “Lady Otsuma!” Mondo said reproachfully, his voice edged with sharpness and anger. “Though you profess affection for this humble one, to openly declare you feel no love for your present lover... Should such be your heart’s disposition, then when you tire of me, you shall likewise speak ill of this humble one to other paramours... What faithless ingratitude!”

“No—it’s nothing—Lord Mondo! There are reasons—so many reasons…” Though she blurted this out, Otsuma could say nothing more. She could not bring herself to confess she had been a female thief and con artist—how during a night at Hiratsuka Inn, she had tried to steal money from Jinjurō’s waist pouch at dawn only to be subdued by him instead; how that cursed bond had made them lovers persisting to this day. Even for a wicked woman like her, this truth proved too shameful to voice. Instead, she had told Mondo she was this hamlet’s performer-born daughter—that Jinjurō had seduced her into becoming his mistress, dragging her through Edo and Kōshū.

Having become lovers through Jinjurō holding evidence of her crimes as a female con artist—and thus being unable to justify this as true love—Otsuma found herself with no means to defend against Mondo’s accusations, leaving her utterly speechless. But Otsuma smirked and then said plausibly: “Before this unworthy one, Jinjurō had a mistress.” “Jinjurō had a mistress before me—a female performer from Edo Ryōgoku named Genjo the top-spinner. Not only did he boast about parading her around various places right in front of me, his current mistress, but he also… even toward your betrothed, Lady Sumie—”

“Even to Sumie!” “Damn that Jinjurō bastard!”

"He reached out with illicit desires…" "How utterly… depraved!" "...Jinjurō..."

“That night he kidnapped Lady Sumie—and kept this unworthy one waiting at places like the Tokiwa restaurant in Shitaya… Then, were he to succeed in spiriting Lady Sumie away, he’d cast me aside like an autumn fan and install her in my place…”

“How could I ever hand over my sister—my own sister—to a beastly fool like him?”

“He is that kind of man.” “Why must this unworthy one alone deal with a man like Jinjurō…? If he acts first, then I too… Lord Mondo!” “Now to you, Lord Mondo!” “Even so—my sister Sumie…” “Your betrothed—Lady Sumie…” “On that battlefield of Kamigo Highway—there are rumors she was carried off by horse gamblers…”

“Through people’s rumors I heard it… Ah—that betrothed of yours, Lady Sumie… The moment Lady Sumie’s name comes up, your eyes change color and you start making a fuss.”

“If she’s my sister, then of course it’s only natural!” “Precious, precious your betrothed—is it natural to drive her mad? Ho, ho, ho—what if Lady Sumie’s been carried off by some horse-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.

Jinjurō pushed Benzō aside, crossed over the boundary hedge from the village road, and entered the front garden. "It’s an old line, but the money I deal isn’t gold coins—it’s dirks and blades! Ahahaha! If you’re shocked or eager—I’ll draw it with a swish and plunge it from your mouth to your gut, just like I said! How ’bout it? How ’bout it?"

Thrusting aside the still-resisting Benzō, Jinjurō strode forward.

8 “Get the hell out of my way!” Suddenly Benzō—though aged—revealed the vicious nature of a Chichibu showman, roaring ferociously as he sprang up. “There ain’t nobody in the back room!” “Once I’ve said there ain’t nobody here, I’m Benzō of the Chichibu performers—I’ll stand by it till the end!” “What’re you—eh, you?!” “You goddamn stray cur—some scrawny ronin with no known roots—even cozying up to our Blade Village comrade Otsuma turns my stomach! Yet here you swagger ’round flaunting your pathetic yakuza status as some gambler’s guard—nothing worth bragging about—shooting your mouth off like you own us proper folk settled here for generations!” “Sword talk?!” “Draw it and cut me then?!” “Oh how droll to be cut down—but ’fore you swing, I’ll have my way with your carcass!”

With a shout, he turned his back on Jinjurō, charged across the garden, raced up onto the veranda, burst into the room, grabbed the matchlock gun from the alcove, rushed back out, and planted himself on the veranda to take aim. “In the mountains of Chichibu, bears an’ wolves—with winter creepin’ near—roam ’bout roarin’ for lack o’ prey.” “Aim true an’ shoot ’em dead—if it’s a bear, tear open its chest an’ take the liver, skin it an’ lay the pelt underfoot—that’s the perk o’ us Chichibu performers.” “A seasoned gun ain’t got no misfires!” “Come at me, bastard! Charge in an’ cut me down!” “Even if ya ain’t Jūkichi, two bullets t’the chest’ll make ya spew blood—ya’ll croak ’fore that!” “Come at me—!” he roared. Even as he ranted, his hands moved with practiced speed—he’d already lit the match cord.

“Wait, wait, old man!” Panicking, Jinjurō’s gall turned cold as he retreated to the edge of the hedge.

“You’re impatient—hey, wait wait! …A gun… Hmm, this one’s no match…” He probably doesn’t intend to shoot—it’s just a bluff—or so I tried to convince myself, yet an unease lingered. But when I looked, it was no mere threat: in Benzō’s eyes glaring my way burned hatred, fury, and hostility—all ablaze like fire. A chill ran down my spine. (I recalled what Otsuma had once told me—that Bentarō, the man I’d mercilessly cut down in the Ochanomizu forest at her request, was none other than the lost son of old Benzō, a Chichibu performer and patent medicine seller! Ah—so this Benzō was the father of Bentarō, whom I killed… Though he likely didn’t know I was the killer, this world held numerous strange workings born of parent-child blood—it wouldn’t be surprising if a deep hatred toward me had welled up unbidden in Old Man Benzō’s heart. If that’s the case, he’ll really shoot!)

A chill ran down his spine. At that point, he finally retreated further, moving backward toward the small gate,

“Understood! Fine—there’s no one in the back room! Not even a dog!” “Understood! Exactly! Precisely!” “Who could be there? There’s no one, no one! …If there were—!” “If there were—that’d be bad… But that’s fine too—there’s no one, no one!” “...I’ll leave then—don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” “Hah! What’s a gun…? It’s not frightening at all! Well, perhaps a tad… You fool!” he barked. But by that time, he had already fled out to the village road.

The Sacrificial Woman

1

It was the same day.—

The house of Inoshimatsu, gambling boss of Takahagi Village, was bustling.

The place was bustling with activity as they had invited Lord Inoue Kamon, the renowned patron, and were hosting a grand banquet—or so it was said. Though a gambling boss, Inoshimatsu’s house was imposing—truly fit to be called a mansion, with two storehouses, detached guest rooms, and a garden resembling those of first-rate restaurants elaborately designed for aesthetic refinement. Even an earthen wall surrounded the estate, and Lord Jimbē, the village headman, had praised it as splendid. Inoshimatsu was also secretly famous for his wealth, which was due to having a financial backer. Many people speculated that this backer was Lord Inoue Kamon, and these rumors were not mere speculation—they were indeed true.

Inoshimatsu was a man who, unlike a gambling boss, possessed a noble character, with refined and composed manners that gave him an almost lord-like air—hence, while there was something pompous and unpleasant about him, his demeanor remained calm, his etiquette proper, and since he did not appear out of place even in the presence of nobility, he naturally came to associate with the upper class. Thus did he come to be favored and patronized by such affluent lords as Lord Inoue Kamon.

Since they were hosting Lord Inoue Kamon—their financial patron—the extravagance was extraordinary: from Ageo post town, they summoned several quick-witted tea house women to serve food and drink; from the village, they brought girls who had shed their rustic shyness—several of the comeliest village maidens—to attend the banquet; and from Ageo, they had even forcibly requested three handsome young onnagata—Edo theater actors specializing in female roles who happened to be staying at the same post town—to come and perform dances, having arranged such entertainments.

Countryside cuisine was deemed unfit to serve—though Ageo itself was provincial, it remained somewhat more urban than Takahagi Village, so all provisions had been procured from Ageo. Needless to say, sworn brothers and dozens of leading underlings took turns attending upon him, receiving the honor of partaking in Lord Kamon’s ceremonial sake and cups. Lord Kamon had arrived in the afternoon, and now night had fallen—yet he showed no inclination to depart, nor did they attempt to hasten his leave. The banquet in the inner hall seethed with boisterous energy. Two tall lanterns flanked the gate where sand lay meticulously spread and mounded at the entrance—for Inoshimatsu’s house was no latticed merchant’s dwelling but a samurai-style estate with grand gates and formal entryway. Even now at nightfall, guests streamed ceaselessly through this portal, maintaining its liveliness. Rounding to the rear revealed the kitchen and scullery—a place of heightened commotion and splendid bustle where two four-to barrels stood drained dry. Unrestrained drinkers gulped chilled sake between loud boasts, hurling ribald jests at the bustling serving women.

It was lively, extravagant, and festive—a roaring, boisterous atmosphere.

The figure who appeared at the scullery was Jinjurō, his face sullen. “Well, if it isn’t Master Mizushina! What brings you here so late?”

The one who called out like this was—for Inoshimatsu—one of his followers: not the weakling Minekichi who had been chased along the Ageo Highway by Noshinosuke and others and forced to flee, but Kansaki Minekichi, the sumo wrestler. “I don’t give a damn whether it’s late or early.” “Lively, eh? Splendid.” Having likely been drinking somewhere, Jinjurō was drunk, but with a terrifyingly fixed, bloodshot gaze, he scanned his surroundings. Without even attempting to go up, he plopped down heavily on the raised threshold—quite an obstruction—flung one leg up onto his knee, and began picking at his front teeth with a toothpick.

2 (He’s in a foul mood—dangerous, dangerous.) The group, well aware of his terrible drinking habits, exchanged wary glances as if muttering *danger, danger*—but Otokichi the errand boy—nicknamed “China Doll”—reckoned that in such moments, there was nothing better than praising his prized mistress, Otsuma. “Boss—no, wait, *Madam*, was it? The Madam isn’t here—what in the world’s happened? At a time like this, we oughta ask her to grace us with her presence! If only that lovely, refined figure could assist in the banquet hall and sprinkle her charm about—why, Lord Kamon’d be overjoyed, and the Boss’d be mighty pleased too! But here we are from noon till night without a glimpse of her…” “From noon till night, she hasn’t shown up even once… What in the world could Madam be…”

“Madam?” “Hmph! Who’re you blathering about?!” Jinjurō glared sharply at Otokichi, “Madam? Hah! Who the hell d’you mean?!”

“Who else? It’s Madam Otsuma…” “A gold-digger! …So it’s *her* you mean?!”

"What? What are you saying? She's awful!" A chill ran down his spine as Otokichi pulled in his neck. Of course, starting with Otokichi, all the followers had long since concluded that Otsuma was no ordinary woman. Gold-digger, scheming woman—though they had indeed harbored such suspicions in the back of their minds, hearing it laid bare from the husband—the lover—Jinjurō's own mouth sent a chill running down their spines.

“What are you saying, Master Mizushina?” “What do you mean 'what'?! What is this 'what'?! Because she's a gold-digger, she's a gold-digger—what's wrong with saying that? She'll slit her husband's throat in his sleep sooner or later!... And you call that woman 'Madam'?!” “Wh—that's not— What are you saying?! If 'Madam' isn't proper enough, then 'my lady'—” “Step forward! You! Step forward!”

The bright lights that had filled the scullery to the brim flashed in an instant, converging on a single spot.

When they looked, a drawn white blade was held in Jinjurō’s right hand. With a clatter, the women fled to the back.

Jinjurō suddenly burst into an eerie laugh. “At times they call it Seki no Magoroku! At others Sanjō Kojirō! Or Nami no Taira! “This blade gets grand names depending on time and place—but its true nature’s Echizen Naoasu! A second-rate sword at best.” “……But it’ll cut—if I’m the one swinging it!” “……A thousand-mile steed becomes worse than a nag when some yakuza brute can’t handle the reins!” “……Even a famed blade turns worthless in a fool’s hands! But let a master grip it—” He slammed the blade downward in midair. “—and it’ll cut! Cut clean through!” “……Doubt me? I’ll show you!” “……Step forward! Any of you!”

As he spoke, he glared around in all directions. Yamageto no Gentarō, Nakanitta no Genshichi, Tamagawa no Gontarō, Kansaki Minekichi—Inoshimatsu's prominent foster sons—had gathered with their necks aligned in submission, but this proved more perilous than a madman with a blade: Jinjurō, drunk and enraged, now gripped a drawn sword poised to brandish it wildly. They shrank their necks, arched their backs like scallops, and edged backward while holding their breath with eyes wide—poised to bolt like nimble spies at any moment, maintaining cautious readiness.

3

“Ah ha ha ha!”

And Jinjurō let out another eerie laugh. "There’s another who’ll do the cutting—you won’t be cut, rest assured... Find Shigisawa Mondo and strike him down with a single counterblow!" "Drag out that woman Otsuma and finish her off alongside Mondo with two strikes... Echizen Naoasu here hasn’t tasted blood in ages—soon I’ll let it drink its fill!" He stared fixedly at the blade—its surface oily and glittering with reflected lamplight—and muttered, "Do you understand the heart of a man? "The heart of a man who has an enemy intent on killing him—hounding his every step?"

He turned to face his followers. “Here,” said Kansaki Minekichi,

“It must be such an unsettling matter—how utterly unpleasant, indeed.” “This humble one runs about trying not to be cut down. “An awful thing it is, an awful thing!” “Indeed it must be so.” “But on one hand… exhilarating.”

“…………” “Kill, brat! Find and kill! But I will run and run—never letting you cut me down! …This heart resolved to flee—how exhilarating! How exhilarating!” “Indeed it must be so.” “That said—what a loathsome state of mind this is. The striker’s heart throws itself fully into the attack, casting life aside. The struck clings to life, fleeing desperately to avoid death. Their mindsets diverge utterly. The attacker needs no caution—only relentless striking! The defender drowns in caution… Yet no matter their caution, humans grow careless—openings appear—and there they’ll be targeted! Struck down! This terror—how loathsome!”

“Indeed it must be so.” Suddenly standing up, Jinjurō positioned his sword forcefully at mid-level, pulled in both elbows, and lowered his shoulders—

“Up until now, that’s exactly what I was!” “Those who get struck down, those who flee endlessly—up until now, that’s exactly what I was!” “In swordsmanship terms—this stance!” “……But I’ve undergone a complete transformation!”

Having strained his voice with such solemnity, he abruptly raised his sword into an overhead stance.

“Overhead stance—the posture of aggression! From today onward, I’ll confront them head-on! I’ll seek out enemies myself and strike them down in return! Even so, you lot are spineless! You know full well in your hearts that I’m being hounded by an enemy called Shigisawa Mondo, yet you dare not show the slightest hint of it! Of course you do! Of course you do!”

With his sword still raised high in an overhead stance, Jinjurō shouted hatefully.

His followers exchanged glances.

That was indeed the case. Some days prior on the Kōzuke Highway, when their boss had been challenged by Akabane Rinzo and engaged in an unavoidable real-sword duel, Shigisawa Mondo and his sister—a girl called Sumie—had declared vengeance for their parent’s death and attacked Mizushina Jinjurō. Neither side struck a decisive blow: the samurai Mondo disappeared without a trace, while the girl Sumie was carried off somewhere by horse traders. This entire account had been relayed in detail to his followers by Hachigoro—who had accompanied their boss to that bloodied scene—and thus they knew these circumstances well. Not only that, but since that day, Jinjurō—who until then had been coming to this house almost daily to teach swordsmanship to his followers and lazing about—had rarely shown his face. Moreover, according to rumors, he had not only ceased living in the house where he had resided until then—Otsuma’s family home on the outskirts of this village—but also seldom visited there, as he was single-mindedly afraid of being tracked down by Mondo and his sister. They had also heard and come to know of such matters.

4

And yet, knowing this—whether they knew or pretended not to know—they never let the slightest hint of it show. This was because the matter was grave—and given these circumstances, for them to say something like, "We'll stand by you, so let us hunt down Mondo and his sister and strike them down in turn," would require acknowledging Jinjurō's swordsmanship as overwhelmingly superior; yet conversely, to suggest that Mondo and his sister could neatly defeat him was even less justifiable to voice aloud—and so they remained silent.

And so, the followers exchanged glances. Suddenly, Jinjurō—who had been holding his sword aloft, its blade glinting in the lamplight—let it droop limply downward. Then, all at once, with an expression that seemed suspicious, lonely, or rather as though he could no longer bear his terror, his eyes darting restlessly about, he began scrutinizing each face among his followers gathered near the kitchen entrance—as if suspecting that Mondo might be lurking among them. “Distrust! “This is intolerable!” “This breeds cowardice—this weakness!” “…defensive—this becomes you!” He once again assumed a mid-level stance with his sword. “When this becomes defensive, remains defensive, one’s life will not be protected. “...Rather than that—if you grow timid in defense—hee-hee-hee—even your own mistress will scorn and betray you!” “...That’s why this is aggressive offense!” He raised it into an overhead stance again.

“It’s only by taking the offensive that one’s body can be protected! …Sake! Give it! Chilled and full!”

He smoothly sheathed his sword and thrust out one hand, but then swiftly pulled it back before lightly stepping up onto the doorframe.

“If we’re going to drink, we might as well do it in the back.” “In the presence of Lord Badai.” “A cheerful bright tatami room.” “I haven’t paid my respects to the boss in some time.” “I must go make my apologies… Move aside! You’re in the way!” With lanky strides parting through his followers, he walked toward the back. After seeing him off, the followers remained silent for some time. Suddenly Kansaki Minekichi— “I wonder what’s become of that Hachigoro,” he said, steering the conversation away.

If they carelessly spoke ill of Jinjurō and were overheard, it could lead to disaster—he might start swinging his unsheathed sword again. Driven by a mindset of Don’t get involved, don’t get involved, they had steered the conversation elsewhere. The group collectively sighed in relief. “Earlier, he popped out all of a sudden, bragging nonstop about bringing some amazing offering to please Lord Badend and our boss—something they’d really fancy—then went dashing off in a huff. But he still hasn’t shown his face since.” “What on earth does he think he’s going to bring?”

The one who had said this was Genpachi. “Ever since that Kōzuke Highway business, he’d been moping around doing nothing after botching things with the boss—but seems he’s trying to make up for it by scheming something up.”

The one who had said this was Gontarō. “That guy was our top man! Even if the boss told him not to interfere—he didn’t give a damn! If he’d just slashed that bastard Rinzo from behind with a single strike and silenced him for good back then, it would’ve been a hell of a feat! But instead, he ends up teaming up with horse traders to carry off some woman they say is Mondo’s sister—what a fool’s way of doing things!”

Kansaki Minekichi said bitterly. But just then, from the direction of the entrance came the boisterous voices of five or six people—

A clamoring voice shouting “An offering! An offering!” could be heard, so the group fell silent and pricked up their ears. This clamor reached not only the followers by the kitchen but equally pricked up the ears of those holding a banquet in the back room to welcome Lord Badend.

5

In a fifty-mat tatami room of vast dimensions, countless candlesticks stood lit in rows, their flames reflected gloriously upon the golden screens erected in every corner—a resplendent and beautiful sight. At the front of this room, before a tokonoma alcove adorned with a vividly colored Tosa-style pair of hanging scrolls depicting Sagano, sat an enormous man of sixty years: Inoue Kamon, known as Lord Badend. His half-white hair was cropped short and swirled around his shoulders, his back to the alcove. His sunburned, flushed complexion—intensified by alcohol to resemble a ripe persimmon—adorned features that could only be described thus: drooping thick eyebrows; large, double-lidded eyes that, while similarly drooping and clouded yet ceaselessly scanning all directions; a thick, flat nose with ridges; lips—beardless, large, and purplish—that even when closed revealed only his left canine tooth; a chin sagging into two distinct folds; and thick, pendulous ears nearly reaching that very chin. He was taller than average, but his obesity was even more pronounced—likely weighing twenty-four or twenty-five kan—and dressed in a crested black habutae silk kimono with Sendai-hira hakama. While his demeanor appeared ordinary and unremarkable, his belly swelled out like a drum, thrusting forward so prominently that his figure seemed misshapen and grotesque. He leaned one elbow on a kyokuroku stool, and from wrist to fingertips, his arm was covered in bear-like hair.

He could well be described as resembling a toad, or said to resemble *Shuten-dōji* as depicted in paintings. Seated to Kamon’s left and right were over a dozen lending bosses—Inoshimatsu’s sworn brothers, including the brewmaster of Ryōke, Gon’emon of Matsugishi, Kojūrō of Shirazu, and Shichikurō of Chichibu. Facing them sat the host, Inoshimatsu of Takahagi, upright and issuing constant instructions, while behind him five or six principal associates sat stiffly in attendance—and among them, Mizushina Jinjurō now waited meekly.

The Tokiwazu master’s shamisen had finished, the young actors’ dance had concluded, and though the feast had been eaten to satiety and the sake drunk to excess, within the drowsy, euphoric gathering—still compelled to press more drink—the serving village maidens and sake-pourers scurried back and forth with flasks in hand: voices refusing, voices urging, voices teasing, voices laughing—the lively clamor persisted endlessly. In any case, they would drink through the night, and it was decided that Lord Kamon would stay over. “The year-end horse market draws near in ten days’ time—when we shall meet again at Fukushima in Kiso. But being deep in the mountains, I can offer no proper feast there. As for women… though they’re called Kiso beauties, they’re bull-necked and thick-calved with rough skin—truly pitiful! Compared to the lovely ladies gathered here, ’tis night and day.” “But please bear with that for now—when the time comes, I shall act as host, and we’ll drink and drink to our hearts’ content.” “Indeed, this very night’s unparalleled hospitality—I am at a loss for words to express my gratitude! Lord Kamon’s immense satisfaction and delight bring Inoshimatsu truly overjoyed.”

Inoshimatsu smiled with one cheek, but—

“Ah, but Kanto women—their skin is rough, their tempers harsher still, and if I may say so, they’re like ill-tempered horses with a host of bad habits! Now compare that to Kiso beauties—renowned since ancient times! Why, even legendary ladies like Lady Tomoe and Lady Yamabuki emerged from these parts.” “When we attend the year-end horse market, under your esteemed guidance, I would dearly love for us to receive the honor of such beauties’ hospitality…”

There, Inoshimatsu smiled.

6

While continuing to smile, Inoshimatsu— “Therefore, tonight I shall take the initiative—Ahahaha!—and arrange for any of the women here who catch your fancy.” “Ahahaha! My, my—such repeated kindness! Since you’ve granted such permission, I, Kamon, shall rejuvenate myself tonight, and…”

Then, at that moment, there came a voice from the entrance shouting, “An offering! An offering, we say!”

(What could it be?) When Inoshimatsu and all those seated turned their heads toward the entrance with puzzled expressions, Hachigoro—leading four horse traders who were none other than those from Takahagi Village that had previously gone to greet Lord Badend, Inoue Kamon—entered with great fanfare, shouldering a rectangular box of unvarnished wood measuring six shaku in length and three shaku in width. The box bore the large inscription "Offering" and was decorated with ceremonial paper. “Isn’t that Hachigoro?! You fool, can’t you see Lord Kamon is here?!” “What the hell is that strange box?!”

Inoshimatsu barked in a scolding tone, taken by surprise. Hachigoro paid no heed to this, directed the horse traders to place the large box between Inoshimatsu and Kamon, and then settled himself right beside it. “Well now, this is an offering from the Horse Magnate of Kiso to Lord Inoue Kamon.” “I am called Hachigoro, a member of Inoshimatsu’s inner circle.” “Though I am but a clumsy fool, I humbly beg your kind recognition… Now then, for Lord Kamon to have graciously made the journey from Kiso to Bushū-iri Takahagi Village on this occasion—even granting an audience to those such as ourselves—I am profoundly honored.” “So I set about devising some sort of souvenir worthy of your attention, but being deep in the countryside like this, there’s nothing particularly rare or refined to speak of.” “Moreover, with food and such proving utterly unremarkable, after much deliberation back and forth, I—having heard tell that during the An’ei era under Lord Tanuma Otono-no-kami’s reign, offering boxes became all the rage and remain popular even now in Edo—have taken inspiration from that old custom and brought forth this Hachigoro-crafted offering box.” “Kindly deign to accept this offering.” “……And right about now, Boss—if *you* were to open this lid and see what’s inside, I reckon you’d clap this Hachigoro on the back and say, ‘Damn fine work!’—so anyway, enough with the formalities! Let the grand unveiling begin… Come on, you lot, lend a hand!” As Hachigoro prattled on until this moment, he glanced back at the horse traders who had been sitting stiffly with knees tightly together behind him, then sprang to his feet.

"Reveal the offering! Reveal the offering!" they chanted boisterously, and the four horse traders too stood up—but first began untangling the cord fashioned in the shape of a ceremonial paper decoration from the box. “If it pleases you, we shall now remove the lid.” “Heave-ho!” Hachigoro called out. “Heave-ho!” the horse traders responded in unison.

And with that, the lid was suddenly removed.

7 A Kyoto doll had been placed inside. Her hair was styled in a bun, her attire a furisode—inside lay a lifelike doll of a young woman, crafted to life-size proportions.

With her eyelids twitching, the doll opened its eyes and gazed fixedly up at the ceiling—then quietly closed them again. It was not a doll but a living human—and that human was Sumie. Her face—a high forehead reminiscent of Mount Fuji, eyebrows shaped like those of a Jizo statue, lashes so thick one might suspect they were inked—with slender eyes closed beneath darkened lower lids, an imposingly long nose, and features pale and haggard yet retaining a maiden’s beauty—was muzzled by a horse bit gag that covered her mouth.

The bright candelabra lights illuminating that face from all sides within the box brought its beauty into such stark relief that it stood beyond compare. An eerie atmosphere gripped the assembly; none spoke as they exchanged glances, remaining utterly still for a time. The crude Hachigoro launched into a rambling account. “Some days past on the Kamigo Highway, when the Boss and Akabane Rinzo were about to cross real swords—or rather, Mizushina-sensei—ah! But wait! Isn’t Mizushina-sensei present here? This one makes a most fortuitous witness!—against that Mizushina-sensei, a young samurai and this girl came slashing at him, crying ‘vengeance for our parent’ or some such nonsense.” “That’s when me and these horse traders here saw our chance—we snatched up just this girl and brought her to my place.” “Now I pondered what to do, but seeing how she’s Edo-born—splendid looks she’s got, real grace about her... So I thought—why not offer her up to Lord Kamon here? See…”

Kamon, who had been leaning forward with his neck craned to peer into the box at the woman within, narrowed his elephant-like eyes, gaped open his thick lips, and let a laugh of satisfaction and delight escape through his large yellow teeth. “Heh, heh, heh… Hachigoro-dono or whatever you call yourself—I, Kamon, am most satisfied… Heh, heh, heh… Most satisfied! This is utterly splendid—truly the finest gift! Kamon accepts this with utmost delight…”

8

The night had deepened completely.

In the rear garden stood a detached annex of Inoshimatsu’s residence, densely surrounded by shrubbery and standing dark and silent. The roof tiles glistened faintly like water under the light of the late-rising moon. Several figures moved around the building. Inoshimatsu’s henchmen were discreetly guarding Horse Magnate Kamon, who had entered his bedroom—lest something untoward occur.

In the pond, ducks occasionally flapped their wings, and in the leaf shadows of the shrubbery, a drowsy night bird cried out now and then as if startled.

But it was quiet and still. Even in the main house, most of the guests had left, and those who remained had collapsed drunk, either asleep or lying still, leaving everything quiet.

A room within the detached annex.—There, folding screens were arranged around. A single candlestick stood there, its wick trimmed to a slender flame that dimly illuminated the room. Inside the folding screens lay the figure of Sumie—the sacrificial woman removed from the box—her head and upper body alone exposed above the cast-off coverlet, illuminated by the lamplight.

And there, sitting beside her, was Kamon. What must have been in Sumie’s heart?

Sworn brother! Lover! Betrothed! To Mondo she was destined to wed—this body and soul pledged wholly to him! Until then, this virgin form must remain undefiled and pure! This vessel meant for Mondo—given to Kamon of all people! Kamon—a mere horse breeder chieftain from some mountain backwater like Kiso! Once her maidenhood was lost, she could never face Mondo again. They would never become eternal husband and wife. The grand act of vengeance, too, would vanish in that instant.

What must have been in Sumie’s heart?

Time passed moment by moment.

And then, suddenly from above the folding screen, a gleaming blade thrust forth. Kamon started violently, yet boldly raised his eyes to look upward. Above the folding screen, a masked face stared fixedly in this direction.

“Villain!” Crash!

The folding screen was knocked down.

9 Ignoring Kamon's figure running toward the alcove where the pillow sword lay, the masked warrior—having tucked up the hem of his informal kimono to expose his shins, tied a sash around his sleeves, and rolled up his arms—suddenly hoisted Sumie under one arm. "A villain is here, my men!" "Engage him!" shouted Kamon as he charged.

He carelessly knocked down the sword, “Heh.” Though he seemed to laugh— Thwack! Another strike! The gleaming blade swung! “Gah!” Kamon collapsed—for even as he attempted a ridge strike, that masked warrior of fearsome skill had struck his vital neck—and now pitched forward, thrashing wildly. Abandoning his prey, the warrior kicked open the sliding door and leapt into the adjacent room; passing through it as well, ripping off the storm shutters to jump down into the garden—now targeted by...

“Bastard!” “An intruder!” From both sides came Inoshimatsu’s two dry children on guard—their slashing long wakizashi were Seiya! Dashing through, turning back, and giving chase— Guh! A thrust! “Gyah!” “Beast!” “Beasts for slaughter!” As one collapsed screaming like a beast, the other—his courage shattered—tried to flee, only to be struck down by a sweeping slash across the shoulder! “Gyah!”

This one too became a beast and died; though the night hid the spray of blood, a metallic stench rose with a puff! But by this time, the masked warrior had already dashed into the thicket—and within that thicket, five dry children on guard were clustered. “Thief!” “Don’t let him escape!” And then—bamboo spears, long daggers! But in the blink of an eye, spears and swords were knocked down and slashed away, followed by screams and the thuds of collapsing bodies! Breaking through there, the masked warrior was seen running toward the earthen wall—and when he reached its base, there too were guards—dry children. Not only did they come swarming from all directions to attack, but at these noises and cries, people from the main house too seemed to take notice—throwing open storm shutters, five, ten, twenty—no, even more rushing out and running forth, swinging lanterns and torches to illuminate—and in that firelight, even their figures were revealed: clutching prey—spears, guns, hand bows—brandishing them, whirling them about to take aim.

Yet by this time, the masked warrior had long since crossed over the earthen wall, left Takahagi Village behind toward the open fields, caught pale moonlight upon his shoulders, parted the mist enveloping the wilds, kicked through dew-laden grass clinging to his feet, cradled Sumie affectionately under one arm, sheathed his sword already, and was running with single-minded focus.

That samurai was Mizushina Jinjurō.

About ten days passed.

Jinjurō and Sumie—now dressed in traveling attire and presenting themselves as either a harmonious couple or perhaps affectionate siblings—were making their way along the Kiso Highway.

The beauty of the early autumn Kiso Highway—bush clovers bloomed wildly, persimmons colored their fruits, migratory birds flocked and cried while flying together, torn clouds drifting across clear azure skies cast shadows that occasionally grazed the sun—and onto this road where country horses and palanquin bearers kicked up light dust, those shadows would sometimes fall. “Lady Sumie, are you fatigued?” In a gentle voice as if to console her, Jinjurō spoke thus. “No,” Sumie answered from beneath her woven sedge hat, her voice equally gentle.

Travelers with Hidden Hearts

1 “Should you be fatigued, I shall hire a palanquin.” From beneath his woven sedge hat, Jinjurō spoke again, pressing the point. His voice remained gentle indeed. “Why should this humble one hesitate? When weariness comes, I myself shall insistently beg you to hire palanquin or horse... Truly, my lord—you who speak thus—appear to show greater signs of fatigue.” “Spare no courtesy—mount horse or palanquin—ho, ho, ho—to your heart’s content.”

Teasingly, Sumie said. “Ah, ha, ha! What an absurd notion! Even if this humble one were to run ten or twenty ri like Idaten himself, these legs of mine would not so much as twitch.” “…Should you—a woman—push yourself to walk, then upon reaching the inn, even if you fuss with tearful complaints of ‘Oh, a massage!’ or ‘Moxibustion!’, this humble one shall pay them no heed whatsoever.” “My lord, even should you arrive at the inn and complain of sore ankles or stiff shoulders, this humble one shall pay them no heed.” “Ho, ho, ho,” she laughed brightly.

Jinjurō also laughed brightly.

What manner of situation was this! That these sworn enemies could continue their journey with such intimacy, such cheerfulness, and such carefree ease—what manner of thing was this? There had been a deep reason for this.

Sumie had been on the verge of having her chastity violated by Inoue Kamon at Inoshimatsu’s estate that night. It was Jinjurō who had thrown himself into peril—disregarding even the debt owed to those who had sheltered and protected him—cutting down countless dry children of Inoshimatsu, helping her flee far away, concealing them in a farmhouse, and allowing them to live peacefully until today. Throughout that time, Jinjurō had never once directed any lewd words or engaged in any lewd conduct toward her. Of course, Jinjurō was her adoptive father’s enemy—a man she must slay—yet even his killing of her father had partly stemmed from her own rejection of his affections, and from her adoptive father and Mondo having spurned him. Though he might be inherently wicked, he had never once committed wickedness against her. Moreover, he who had now protected both her life and chastity—under these circumstances, her chastity could be dedicated to none but her betrothed, Mondo, and she herself was resolutely determined never to offer it to any other man. This much she had made unequivocally clear to Jinjurō through both word and deed. Yet beyond this, she found herself compelled by circumstance to serve Jinjurō with kindness, loyalty, and diligence. While avenging her adoptive father aligned with the obligations of bushido, she reasoned that she owed an equal duty in human compassion to the man who had saved her life—and her virtue. Thus, from that time onward, Sumie conducted herself as she did now. Even should Mondo and Jinjurō cross blades in mortal combat, she harbored in her heart the conviction that she could not bring herself to oppose Jinjurō.

As for Jinjurō's state of mind— "I won't let anyone defile this pure white pearl!"

He had remained fixated on this single point.

The killing of Shigisawa Shōemon had also been partly due to his romantic feelings for Sumie being thwarted. The very reason he had become someone with enemies was Sumie—to such an extent that she was Jinjurō’s beloved. So when someone like Kamon, head of the horse handlers, sought to defile that very Sumie—how could he idly stand by and watch?! He had thus taken her and fled, hidden them away at a farmer’s house of an acquaintance, and as the two lived together until today, he had come to realize anew that this woman Sumie—within her feminine, gentle nature—firmly harbored the unyielding resolve of a warrior woman, unshaken by any force. To his affection was now added even respect, and he had even begun to think: How could he possibly achieve his own desires through violence?

2 (To Sumie, I am—no matter how you put it—her adoptive father's enemy. What does she think about that?)

This matter stood as Jinjurō's greatest concern; therefore, he continually devoted attention and sought to fathom Sumie's heart. Yet Sumie never once tried to touch upon that subject.

Jinjurō also did not broach it. Indeed, though they mutually avoided broaching that matter altogether, Jinjurō knew full well—from Sumie’s very nature—that she would never resort to such base conduct as exploiting his carelessness to slit his throat while he slept. This alone reassured him. At the same time, he could not help being seized by pitying sympathy as he considered how Sumie, rescued by her adoptive father’s killer—himself—now found herself torn between duty and compassion, trapped in this agonizing psychological predicament.

(What were Sumie's true feelings toward Mondo?) This was indeed another matter of grave concern to Jinjurō. (Of course Sumie must be deeply in love with Mondo in her heart!) As he thought this, Jinjurō seethed, driven by jealous thoughts, (It's because of Mondo that Sumie won't obey me!) The hatred toward Mondo drove him nearly to a state of madness.

At times he would face Sumie and attempt to broach the subject of Mondo. And each time, Sumie would surely divert the conversation elsewhere and give no response whatsoever. This left Jinjurō unsatisfied and irritated his mind, yet even so, this state remained preferable—for had Sumie clearly declared her longing for Mondo through word, deed, or manner, that very instant might have seen Jinjurō's violent nature erupt into brutal recklessness.

In any case, Jinjurō had been thinking this way. (To ensure the lasting safety of my own life, I must by all means slay Mondo.)

Jinjurō, who had resolved some time ago to take the initiative in seeking out Mondo and slaying him, now deepened and strengthened that resolve even further.

Where was that Mondo? He had absolutely no idea. But he had noticed something. The Kiso horse market—the season-finale horse market—would soon be held, and all gamblers from Bushū and Kōshū were sure to gather there. Inoshimatsu of Takahagi would undoubtedly attend. Now, since Mondo knew that he was staying with Inoshimatsu as a gambling den guard—had become his dependent—he must have concluded that if Inoshimatsu went to Fukushima, he too would go there. Therefore, to kill him, Mondo would undoubtedly head for Fukushima as well. Alright! He would use that to his advantage—go out there, seize the moment, and turn the tables on him!

And one day, he said to Sumie.

“It appears several of Inoshimatsu’s dry disciples have discovered that this humble one and you are hiding in this farmhouse, and they have been prowling about here lately.” “Would it not be better if we were to relocate elsewhere?”

3 Thus did the two set out on their journey. It was only after setting out that Sumie learned from Jinjurō they were bound for Kiso. Yet he had not revealed their true purpose: to slay Shigisawa Mondo in those mountains. “Whether Kiso or Ina,” she responded calmly, “this humble one will go wherever commanded.”

So Sumie responded calmly.

Things would turn out only as they were meant to. In accordance with divine will, flowing as they would. ……That was because Sumie thought this way.

Moreover, she herself had no choice but to think and act in this manner. (However, if Sumie were to learn that I am going to Kiso to slay Mondo, she would not remain calm...) Jinjurō thought this and, without revealing it, aimlessly led Sumie out on their journey to Kiso. There were times when his own wicked feelings disgusted even him, (I'm a villain! A villain!)—driven by self-loathing, he even cursed under his breath.

In contrast, toward Sumie—who had been led unwittingly into this cruel journey to ambush Mondo, her sworn brother, lover, and betrothed—he could not help but feel profound sorrow and deep compassion. The two travelers' hearts, hopelessly entangled! Yet on the surface, they laughed lightheartedly and conversed cheerfully as they progressed from inn to inn. Now, they arrived at the Oiwake post station.

At the foot of the Asama Mountain range—whose peaks emitted smoke four times daily—lay the Oiwake post station, a checkpoint designated for the alternate attendance processions of daimyō from Hokuriku, Saigoku, and Kyushu. This bustling hub boasted grand inns like Yuya and Kado-ya, which doubled as brothels, while its landmarks included masugata square enclosures and weathered stone monuments: windmills carved from rock and yarazu stelae—monuments left eternally unfinished. If one followed the highway in one direction, there stood a checkpoint celebrated in folk ballads; if followed in the other direction, there lay Kutsukake’s timeworn post station.

Inns had serving girls; brothels had lounging women—such were the names of the courtesans found there. The retinue fades into mist—such was the Governor of Kaga. When processions of Lord Maeda—the million-*koku* daimyo of Kaga Kanazawa—passed through during their official travels, their retinues would wind for miles, the trailing attendants appearing to fade into mist like distant haze. Yet without fail, they would lodge at this Oiwake post station, and upon staying, every courtesan in the inn would be summoned to receive their rewards. It was at such an inn—the Keya Inn of Oiwake—that Jinjurō and Sumie lodged, “Lodgin’ here! Lodgin’ here! Coppers cheap, rice tasty, bedding fine, maids pretty—our inn’s the place for lodgin’ here!” So went the clamorous voices of solicitresses calling out and tugging at travelers’ sleeves in the sparrow-hued dusk.

They were led to a second-floor room facing the street. After undoing her travel attire and relaxing briefly, Sumie opened the shoji slightly and gazed out at the street below. Palanquins went and packhorses passed; groups of travelers streamed past one after another in an unbroken flow. The sound of bells mingled with horse drivers' songs and the notes of a shakuhachi played by a komusō monk drifting through the air. Then, blending into the crowd of travelers, a young samurai wearing a deep sedge hat for his journey passed by.

"Ah!" Sumie involuntarily exclaimed, hurriedly opened the shoji, and leaned out to look at the samurai. It was because his build and way of walking resembled those of her lover Mondo.

Just as she tried to scrutinize him further, a solicitress came running out and tugged at the samurai's sleeve. As he walked shoulder-to-shoulder with a middle-aged woman—also wearing travel clothes and a sedge hat—she pushed through between them, shoved the solicitress aside, took the young samurai's hand, and strode resolutely forward in a protective manner. But at that movement, the young samurai turned around and casually glanced toward the second floor where Sumie stood.

4 In the twilight, the inside of the sedge hat was dark, and the samurai's face remained indistinct. *A woman like that is with him.* *It can't be Lord Mondo.*

That was how it seemed to Sumie. For how could a personage such as Lord Mondo possibly travel to such a place in such a carefree manner with a woman other than this humble one?—that was what she had thought. However, the undeniable truth remained that the samurai’s figure—bearing such resemblance to Mondo—had stirred Sumie’s fervent longing, her heart ceaselessly consumed by thoughts of him buried deep within. Entranced, she stood watching until long after he had vanished from sight.

However, the pair of that samurai and that woman blended into the crowd of travelers and soon vanished from sight. While drinking the tea brought by the maidservant and writing in his travel diary, Jinjurō now called out to Sumie. “Lady Sumie, please drink the tea.” “Yes,” she answered, but her thoughts were elsewhere. “Is the bustle of this post town unusual to you?” “Yes,” she replied vacantly. “What troubles you? You seem lacking in vigor.”

“…………” “It must indeed be due to fatigue you’ve incurred.”

“……….” “You do not even deign to reply.” “Ah ha ha! …That is why this humble one suggested you ride a horse or palanquin.” “…….” “Perhaps I should call you a masseuse?” “No.……Even so……Lord Mondo……” The words had slipped out before she realized it. “What! Mondo!” Jinjurō—who until then had been addressing Sumie with a gentle countenance and soothing words, as if tenderly caring for her—suddenly flushed with blood suffusing his cheeks. Like a beast catching the scent of its foe, he flared his three-white eyes with a savagely cruel glare that concentrated all his hostility and aggressive ferocity into their depths, yet—

“Heh, Mondo! ...Heh... Mondo! So even you, Lady Sumie—had been holding thoughts of Mondo in your heart even at a traveler’s inn such as this?! ...Heh... So that’s how it was... So that’s how it was!” He shot a sharp glance toward the tokonoma. What lay there were the long and short swords. They were long and short swords that had already drunk the blood of several people—and still thirsted for more.

5

Several blocks away from Kagi-ya stood an inn called Iwaya, where Mondo and Otsuma took lodging in a room within its rear guest quarters.

Mondo had been secretly thinking about the woman who resembled Sumie—the one who had been standing on the second-floor railing of an inn earlier. The night had grown quite late. The once-noisy voices of the inn’s guests at dusk—their banter, the maidservants’ calls, the head clerk’s orders, the male servants’ shouts—had all fallen silent. Now only the soft murmur of a small waterfall cascading into the garden pond could be heard, along with the occasional voices of horse handlers crossing the mountain pass— On the Oiwake oil shop’s lantern—written plain: ‘No pardon for wayward hearts!’

All that could be heard were voices singing such things as they passed by.

Spaced apart in the corner of the room, within two laid-out futons, the two of them were already asleep. (Has Otsuma already fallen asleep?)

He turned his face and looked that way. With her chin buried in the futon's collar, Otsuma lay still with her eyes closed. Her high nose grew even more pronounced, her cheeks hollowed out with flesh thinning, her emaciation adding a degree of striking allure. (She had endured so much hardship for my sake.) Though the two had become like a couple without being husband and wife—from being sheltered at Benzo's house until this day they set out on their journey to Kiso, a span of mere days—Otsuma's caution and care toward Mondo, her efforts to prevent Jinjurō from tracking them down and keep him undiscovered by Inoshimatsu's family members and underlings, were anything but ordinary.

On that day—the day when Otsuma had first openly confessed her perfectly suited affections to Mondo—Jinjurō tracked them down and discovered their house, nearly intruding into its inner quarters. Though he fled upon being threatened by Benzo’s gun, realizing the danger had now drawn critically near, from that time onward Otsuma neither returned home nor met Jinjurō, nor approached Inoshimatsu’s residence. Instead, she remained concealed and immobile at Benzo’s house by Mondo’s side.

Therefore, neither Otsuma nor Mondo knew about such matters as how that night at Inoshimatsu’s residence in Takahagi, Sumie had nearly had her chastity violated by Inoue Kamon, or how Jinjurō rescued Sumie, cut down several of Inoshimatsu’s underlings, and fled. However, from Benzo’s mouth alone, they had managed to hear this much: that Inoshimatsu, while seeing off Inoue Kamon bound for the final horse market of Kiso, was heading to Kiso Fukushima with a large number of underlings in tow.

Otsuma told Mondo this. “Jinjurō guards gambling dens, and Inoshimatsu’s side guards gambling dens.” “Since Inoshimatsu is going to Kiso, Jinjurō will surely go as well.” Thus Otsuma added this. “Then I too shall go to Kiso…” Mondo enthusiastically declared his intent to set out. “I shall accompany you as well.”

Thus did the two of them set out on their journey. (A woman who was essentially an accomplice to his enemy... Yet despite this, their connection was strange—she had truly devoted herself to him.) While watching Otsuma’s sleeping face, he couldn’t help but think this. (Since the day she had openly confessed her affections—when he came to realize his heart would never waver and he absolutely could not accept her demands—Otsuma had since refrained from provocative words or actions toward him. Instead, she devoted herself with nothing but earnest kindness, almost like an elder sister mindful of their age difference. Yet reflecting on it now, he found it pitiable—something that could not be treated lightly…)

That was how it seemed to Mondo.

(Even so—that woman I saw earlier... She looked like Sumie... She looked like Sumie, but...)

6 Even so, he couldn't imagine Sumie standing dejectedly alone at such a traveler's inn in this sort of place. (If Otsuma hadn't shoved Tomejo aside and yanked my hand so hard then, hurrying us along like that—I could've gotten a good look at that woman. Could've known for sure whether she was Sumie or not.) That he'd been prevented from doing this filled Mondo with relentless regret.

It must be Sumie after all! The thought suddenly struck Mondo. (During the brawl on Kamigo Highway, I heard Sumie had been affiliated with Inoshimatsu's faction; she was carried off by horse handlers and disappeared. Given her fierce temperament, had those handlers dishonored her, she would have bitten her tongue and died beforehand. If she still lived today, she must remain a maiden—not many days had passed since then. She likely stayed in that area seeking news of me. Thus she could imagine: Inoshimatsu would go to Kiso Fukushima for the final horse market with Inoue Kamon; Jinjurō—Inoshimatsu's gambling den guard—would also go; and since Jinjurō went, I would surely follow. Therefore, for her to come alone to such a place seeking to meet me would not be an impossibility.)

This was why it seemed so to him. (That inn must have been called Kagi-ya. The distance wasn’t that great either. I’ll go check on the situation and come back.) Overwhelmed by unbearable restlessness, Mondo could no longer contain himself. (But what if Otsuma notices?) That would spell disaster—the thought filled him with dread. (That Otsuma—a woman of her caliber—could endure such an unsatisfying circumstance, this relationship of being a couple without being husband and wife, a wife without being a wife... was due to his own conduct: since that time, he had neither spoken of Sumie nor allowed any hint of such feelings to surface in his actions, instead simply accepting Otsuma’s devoted care with unreserved sincerity. For were he to carelessly reveal through word or deed that he still loved and yearned for Sumie in his heart, Otsuma would instantly reveal her true nature as a venomous woman and seek to harm him; and were she to learn Sumie was in this area, she would mercilessly hunt her down and torment her to death! ——She would do at least that much——that was why it seemed so to him.)

(Before I go to check on Sumie, I must confirm whether Otsuma is truly asleep.) Mondo quietly slipped out of bed, crawled on his knees toward Otsuma, and reached his hand to her nose. The steady rhythm of Otsuma's breath brushed against Mondo's palm. She's asleep—thank goodness. He stood up and moved toward where the clothes lay. The instant he did, "Where are you going?" came the voice. Startled, Mondo whirled around. Otsuma—eyes now open—had propped herself halfway out of the futon, staring at Mondo's face with suspicion.

“No—nowhere… The restroom… The restroom…” “—”

Otsuma nodded and closed her eyes.

And then, Mondo left the room.

7

Although he had left the room and stood in the hallway, Mondo—still in his sleepwear—could not sneak out of the inn to walk the streets or go to places like Kagi-ya. Even if he could have gone, time would have passed and he would have been later than needed for his errand. Otsuma—who was already constantly on guard against him fleeing—would have grown anxious, come searching for him, and upon finding him gone, raised a commotion that might have sparked a conflict. That would have been disastrous. Thereupon, Mondo entered the restroom, soon came out, returned to the room, and calmly slipped back into the futon.

When he looked, Otsuma was in the same position and appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Even so, Mondo simply couldn’t stop thinking about Sumie. (Alright, I’ll try again.)

Keeping his eyes fixed on Otsuma, he slid out of the futon once more. Otsuma remained asleep. He moved toward where the clothes and long and short swords lay. Fortunately, Otsuma did not stir. (Thank goodness), he muttered inwardly. As he began hurriedly changing clothes— “Lord Mondo—where are you going?” Otsuma spoke. She had been awake all along. With eyes both wrathful and mocking—You think to slip past this unworthy one? You’ll not succeed—as though voicing these very words through her gaze, Otsuma stared unblinking at Lord Mondo.

“No… Well, just… But it’s cold—the cold of a Shinano autumn night… So I was trying to put on more layers…”

Mumbling incoherently, embarrassed, disappointed, and resigned, Mondo once again slipped back into the futon. (There's no helping it. I'll give up.)

Mondo had completely given up. It was because he had realized that with the sharp-eyed Otsuma pretending to sleep while keeping watch over him like this, slipping away unnoticed was utterly impossible.

(Alright, alright—tomorrow morning I’ll wake up early, use a stroll as my excuse, and go check out Kagi-ya.)

Once he settled on this plan, sleep suddenly overwhelmed him.

Mondo soon fell into a deep sleep.

Contrary to this, Otsuma woke up completely and lay prone, sinking into deep thought.

With the pipe of tobacco she kept by her pillow even while sleeping clenched between her lips, Otsuma gazed after the drifting smoke into the faintly lit lantern light using the upper part of her eyes, sinking into thought. Until now, Mondo had never once tried to deceive her and escape—as if fully resigned to his fate—yet what on earth had possessed him tonight to attempt slipping out not once, but twice! What in the world was going on? It made no sense at all.

(There must be some reason.) Even so—she, this woman who was a female thief, a pillow searcher, a trickster—could eavesdrop on others' breathing, slip out unnoticed, steal things, even kill if needed. Yet here was Mondo, unaware though he was of her true nature, trying to outwit her and escape—an attitude she found utterly absurd. (It's almost endearing.) With the pipe still held between her lips, Otsuma laughed and quietly gazed toward Mondo. Mondo lay peacefully facing the ceiling, his breathing steady and regular. He appeared to have fallen into a deep sleep.

The hour had likely reached the Hour of the Ox—the inn stood silent inside and out. From a parlor about two rooms away came the sound of snoring, while in the central courtyard, paulownia leaves—stirred by early autumn night winds—fell with occasional swishing sounds that emphasized the stillness. In this mountain post-town inn’s late-night hours, there lingered a desolation that would have pleased Bashō himself.

(I've endured until today... Let's do this properly after all.) Otsuma finally made up her mind.

Then, she threw down the tobacco pipe, turned her face toward the man, and rolled over to sleep. The moment she did, “Sumie!” Mondo uttered clearly in his sleep. “Sumie! “Sumie!” “Where are you?!” “……”

Otsuma’s head spun dizzily. (Damn it!)

She sat bolt upright. (So he is thinking of her after all! *That woman!* (Sumie!))

She fixed her eyes and glared at Mondo’s sleeping face.

Mondo was sleeping peacefully. Yet, perhaps dreaming of the woman he loved, his closed eyes twitched gently, and his sealed lips were filled with a smile.

8

After some time had passed, there was a woman leaving the outskirts of Oiwake Inn and heading into the wilds. A starry but moonless night, with a storm raging—its clouds churning to blot out even those stars—such suffocating darkness! On such a night road, as if driven mad by something, muttering under her breath, she would run only to stop, stop only to run again.

That was none other than Otsuma. Even in sleep, Mondo could not forget his beloved Sumie—muttering her name in delirium. Knowing these feelings of his, Otsuma nearly went mad with rage, disappointment, and jealousy, even stirring a murderous impulse—"What am I to do with you?"—but being a woman of mature years and worldly experience, she managed to calm her heart. Resolving to let the night wind cool her burning, throbbing head, and being a master female trickster for whom slipping out of an inn posed no difficulty whatsoever, she had stealthily left the lodging and now walked thus.

Now, as Otsuma walked through the chilling plateau winds of an autumn night, buffeted by their bite, her heart remained anything but calm—such was the gravity of the matter at hand. (Should I set fire to the inn or something?!) (Should I just kill someone?!) She found herself thinking even such things. Leaving the highway and scattering the dew from the grass, Otsuma walked toward the wilds. Then, from behind along the highway, a herd of horses being led by horse traders to the final horse market of Kiso came in an endless, continuous stream. They pressed on through the night. The lantern lights they carried along, scattered like stars, illuminated the road as they moved—a rare and beautiful sight indeed.

Even when autumn comes and deer cry out, why do the maple leaves not show their hues? Surplus rice—how pitiful! The tear-drenched grains of Mino and Owari.

The voices singing horse drivers' ballads—songs like these—drifted lazily to her ears. Yet to Otsuma, such scenes were neither unfamiliar nor beautiful. And she simply kept walking in single-minded absorption.

It was exactly around this time that Jinjurō, under similar emotional turmoil, left the inn and came out into the wilds.

Sumie was thinking of Mondo! Sumie had actually given voice to those thoughts! He had seen that Sumie in the evening. You... you... What was I to do?! At that very moment, Jinjurō tried to cut Sumie down with a single stroke. But he barely managed to suppress it.

When night fell, the two went to bed. Sumie slept in one corner of the room, Jinjurō in another.—Just as they had done until now, that night too the two slept in such a manner.

However, Jinjurō could not sleep.

Anger, disappointment, and jealousy agitated his heart, set his head ablaze, and refused to grant him peaceful sleep.

Looking over, it appeared Sumie too could not sleep—and moreover seemed gripped by terror—as she lay deeply wrapped in the futon, her slender neck visible toward him, sighing and trembling while squirming under the covers. (In one decisive act...) This thought arose once more, but finding it both wretched and pitiful, he found himself unable to carry it out. (I'll go get blown by the night wind.)

And so, he stealthily slipped out of the inn.

9 Jinjurō walked on, parting and parting the dew-laden grass that clung to his feet. A line of horses passed along the highway. He avoided them and walked through the grassy field. (If I slash someone to pieces, this heart of mine might calm down a bit.)

Such a thought also fleetingly crossed his mind. (If only some wandering woman would come by...) Such violent thoughts too flickered and burned within his heart. As if answering his dark wish, a woman appeared ahead—her stylish figure discernible by starlight, disheveled as she ran, stopped, staggered, and was seen walking toward him.

In that instant, Jinjurō thought: Perfect! (Is she from the inn? A traveler? It didn’t matter—her coming here was the woman’s misfortune! ……)

And he quickly hid in the shadow of a tree.

Whether she was unaware of this or not, the woman tried to pass by in front of it with unsteady steps. Jinjurō suddenly leaped out from behind without uttering a word— “Ah!”

Because it was so sudden, the woman let out a cry of surprise—but in the next instant, the two abruptly split apart to either side. "You’re Otsuma!" "Jinjurō-sama?!"

Swiftly, Otsuma began to flee. “Stop!” He drew his sword and gave chase. They became a couple with Sumie—though not truly husband and wife—and set out on a journey from their shared dwelling. After that, Otsuma had almost ceased to exist in Jinjurō’s mind. 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 as she broke into a run. Still chasing after Otsuma—and in his panic-induced carelessness—he burned with shame at having missed his strike, “Trying to flee? You think I’ll let you?! “Drop dead, thou poisonous woman, poisonous woman!”

Jinjurō pursued with obsessive tenacity. Falling, rising, evading the blade—Otsuma ran and ran until at last she reached the highway. Horses, horse traders, paper lanterns, torches—a procession bound for the horse market flowed through the highway like a river. There rushed Otsuma—the female trickster—into their midst.

“Help—! Everyone, help!”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” “A young woman!” The horse traders erupted into commotion.

“The madman tried to take me captive... tried to kill me—and then—watch out, here he comes!” In that instant, Jinjurō leaped forward, “Don’t run, you hag! You think I’ll let you escape?” As he tried to strike him down— “Save the woman!”

“Kill the madman!” “Strike down that drawn blade!” Swarming from all directions, steadily encircling him and flashing sticks and whips, the horse traders launched their attack on Jinjurō. “What do you horse traders know, daring to interfere? Reckless fools!” He swung his sword! A head went flying! “Gwaa—ah!” “I’ve cut him!” “He killed our man!” “Don’t let her escape!” “Take him down!” “You madwoman! You thief!”

Ten, twenty, thirty people! They swarmed forward and thronged around. Madly galloping horses! Falling to the ground and burning—paper lanterns, torches, flames blazing up in a burst! Screams, then shouts and roars! The sound of bodies falling, voices barking commands! The herd of over a hundred horses, startled by the noise and frightened by the light, bolted toward the fields and toward the inn.

“The horses have broken loose—!” “Don’t let her escape! Chase her!” “Capture him!” “This is bad—!” “Murderer—!” Nearly maddened, Jinjurō revealed his true nature as a sword demon and plunged into the swirling mass of horses and horse traders, “Otsuma! “Where?!” “You won’t escape!” he shouted, darting right and left in his frenzied run—slashing indiscriminately at obstructing horse traders and stampeding horses—as he charged toward Oiwake Inn! He charged! At that moment, a palanquin appeared, guarded by over thirty horse traders wearing sedge hats and travel cloaks, their long side swords properly sheathed and their legs securely bound. Solemnly carrying straw-wrapped money chests and horse gear boxes from the inn’s direction, they were startled by the stampeding horses that charged into their path and diverted from the highway into the fields.

Having stayed too long at Kamioe Inn and grown anxious they would miss Kiso Fukushima's final horse market unless hurrying back via night roads, Inoshimatsu of Takahagi and his foster child came traveling through the darkness as well—guarding the wealthy horse trader who pressed urgently for their return. That group was indeed them.

2 "They let the horses loose, those foolish bastards." The one who had spoken was Inoshimatsu, standing beside the palanquin. "Letting their merchandise escape—what a blessed lot they are." Inoue Kamon, who had opened the palanquin door and was watching the commotion, sneered. "That's why they'll remain horse traders their whole lives—never rising above that station. Ha ha ha!" he added.

At that moment, Jinjurō came charging in. His eyes were dazzled and he couldn't distinguish anything. Gripping a bloodied sword that had cut down several men—disheveled hair, disheveled garments, exposed shins splattered with blood—he came charging forward in such a state. “It’s Jinjurō! It’s Jinjurō!” Kan Minekichi spotted him with sharp eyes and let out a startled cry. “Oh, right! It’s Jinjurō!” Inoshimatsu also shouted this, but he recalled that night at his own estate when Jinjurō—forgetting the favor of being sheltered—had not only cut down his foster child but also stolen away the woman he had offered to Inoue Kamon: Sumie, the daughter of a samurai family.

“You damn ungrateful bastard! Take him down!” “Get him!” Thud, thud, thud, thud! —— The gang members! They all drew their swords at once and charged to attack.

……… A silent horizontal slash! It was Jinjurō!

Splatter—a blizzard of blood! He stood in the darkness.

He could tell by the smell! The reek of blood! “Got him, damn it!” “Watch out!” They scattered apart but closed in again. Jinjurō, indiscriminate, leapt up and delivered a thunderous straight downward slash! “Aaaah!” He collapsed and thrashed about. Another foster child was struck down.

Leave him and charge toward Oiwake Inn! “Otsuma!” “You think I’ll let you escape?!” “Chase them!” Inoshimatsu stomped the ground in frustration. “Finish them! All of you! Finish them! Finish them!” They all gave chase with a thunderous rush. By this time, the inn had descended into madness. Horse! Horse! Horse! Horse trader! Horse trader! Horse trader! Kicked down doors, dashed into alleys—through gaps in doors flung open by those startled by the commotion, horses came charging in! Horse traders, desperately trying to capture them, barged in recklessly!

With a whoosh—flames erupted from one of the houses.

“Fire!” The fire had finally broken out! Fanned by the intensifying night wind, flames erupted into the sky from another house that had likely caught fire. “Wake up!” “Fire!” “It’s an arson attack!” Houses threw open their storm shutters as people rushed outside. At Iwaya, Mondo awoke; at Kagiya, Sumie sat upright. The clerk was bellowing through the floors: “Esteemed guests, we have an emergency! An arson attack has commenced! Please make your preparations at once! Exercise utmost caution!”

In the inner room of Honjin Aburaya, Itsumi Tashirō Yoshitoshi opened his eyes and sat up.

3 Tashirō strained his ears, “Lady Genjo! Tōma! Tōma!” “Tōma! Tōma!” he called. Then, from the left neighboring room,

Genjo's voice saying "Yes" was heard, while from the right neighboring room came the voice of his disciple Tōma responding, "I am awake." "It appears a disturbance has broken out at the inn. ...Regardless, make yourselves presentable and come to this room!" Before long, Tōma and Genjo entered having meticulously prepared themselves. In that interval, Tashirō too had readied himself, and the three observed the situation.

At that moment, the clerk appeared, "A herd of over a hundred horses bound for the Kiso Fukushima horse market broke loose, stampeded into the inn, caused fires, and there are clashes as well—it’s a tremendous uproar. Please take utmost care." Having said this, he hurriedly ran off.

“Regardless of circumstances, let us observe the inn’s situation.”

Tashirō led Genjo and Tōma out from Aburaya’s entrance to the gate.

What was the reason Tashirō had come to this place? In Genjo’s song there had been phrases that now spoke of a thousand horses, five hundred horse traders, and so forth. At that point Tashirō had thought: Where such horse traders dwelled must be where the gold was buried—and such lands could exist nowhere but Kiso. In the Kiso mountains there was a nationally renowned horse trader called Inoue Kamon, even known as the Horse Tycoon. Could that man be hiding it? Now then—speaking of the Horse Tycoon—it was said he had been staying with his disciple Inoshimatsu of Takahagi. To introduce Lady Genjo and observe their interactions, Tashirō had taken Genjo to Inoshimatsu’s residence in Takahagi Village. But upon arriving, he learned Inoue Kamon had departed for Kiso that very day with others. Thus deciding to head for Kiso too, Tashirō set out with Tōma in tow. They should have encountered Kamon’s and Inoshimatsu’s group en route—but by hastening along backroads, Tashirō instead arrived at this place earlier than expected. Having secured lodging while daylight remained, they reached this spot slightly delayed compared to the others. Meanwhile Inoshimatsu and the Horse Tycoon’s party—pressing onward without stopping to rest—traveled through the night toward Kiso Fukushima. Thus their paths narrowly missed crossing at this critical moment.

Now, standing at the gate and looking out, the inn's chaos defied description, appearing utterly beyond control. The crowd swirled and surged along the highway, between them a herd of horses raced about, and above it all sparks flew like pearlescent flakes. "This is dangerous! We cannot stay here—to the fields!" "To the cultivated fields!" Having said this, Tashirō parted the crowd and advanced toward those fields. The two followed behind, but at some point were swallowed by the wave of chaos and completely disappeared from view.

At Kagiya, Sumie woke up and sat up. She looked beside her, but Jinjurō was not there. (What happened?) she wondered. Yet his absence felt like heaven’s mercy—judging by his behavior today, who knew what trials might await her hereafter. (I must leave this inn and get outside.) She readied herself and stepped out. (Lord Mondo...) Even amid this chaos, the thought came. 4 If that samurai I glimpsed by daylight was indeed my beloved Lord Mondo, he must be lodging somewhere in this inn—I must find him! I must find him!

Her figure, walking with desperate determination, was eventually swept up by the chaos. Mondo himself—who had awakened in the cave—found himself nearly in Sumie’s predicament. When he looked beside him, Otsuma was gone. He rejoiced at this heaven-sent opportunity. It was precisely out of obligation that I had endured living alongside her until now—my true desire had always been separation. Otsuma was nowhere to be seen. Alright—I’ll seize this chance to slip away. So he prepared himself and went outside.

The woman I saw on the second floor of Kagiya Inn—it might be my sworn sister Sumie. In any case, I should go and search for her.

So he headed in that direction—but chaos of people, horses, and flames! Engulfed in the chaos, he vanished from sight. Shouts! Screams! The neighing of horses! The sound of destruction! The stampeding footsteps! A roaring storm swirled violently—flames scattering sparks like pearlescent flakes! The inn became a wave of bodies, a torrent of steeds, a deluge of water, a banquet of death—a symphony of voices and sounds! Through it all raged pure madness—the true nature of a blood-crazed demon. Jinjurō ran and slashed, slashed and ran, appearing and disappearing as he rampaged through every corner of the inn.

Now he would seek out Otsuma and cut her down! Having broken free from such a state of mind, the Oiwake Inn—now a hellscape of terror wrought for his own sake—guided his perverse demonic nature toward ecstasy. He cut down men, women, horses, children—and the more he cut, the more the inn was gripped by terror and chaos. This was unbearably amusing to him. Bathed in splattered blood—face and limbs crimson and ferocious, topknot torn off and hair wildly disheveled—this Jinjurō cut down an old man amid the crowd, ignored the screams as he charged forward, repeatedly parted the surging mass of people coming from the opposite direction, and saw a young woman approaching him.

“Sumie—!” he inadvertently shouted. That was because it was Sumie. “Lord Jinjurō?!” cried Sumie, but his visage was too terrifying! Moreover, as she was in the midst of trying to escape Jinjurō, she veered around him and attempted to blend into the crowd. “You dare run?!” “Ungrateful wench!” Through Sumie’s attitude, Jinjurō had seen through her true feelings—his affection overflowed into a hundredfold hatred! Seized by this fury, he resolved to sever all lingering attachments once and for all! The demonic nature that urged “Kill her!” now fully revealed—what unspeakable cruelty!

“Drop dead where you stand!” He raised his sword high overhead and gave chase, but a surging wave of people surged between them. But he shoved through them, cutting his way forward, and as he drew near—from the side—

“Learn your lesson—!” he cut. But fortunately, at that very moment, a horse came running, kicked down two or three people, and charged between the two of them.

“Waaah—!” came the people’s scream! Two or three more people were kicked down, and Sumie—buffeted by those falling—thudded heavily to the ground.

As she fell, a samurai in traveling attire cried, “Miss! It’s dangerous! Dangerous!” while hurriedly helping her up. “Ah—ah—you are Lord Mondo—!”

“Y-You... You’re Sumie?!” 5 The samurai who had helped her up was none other than her dearly longed-for, dearly longed-for Mondo. “Lord Mondo—!” Without shame or pretense, jostled again and again by the crowd, Sumie clung to him and embraced him.

“Sumie! “Sumie!” “Ooooh Sumie!”

Tears flowed unbidden.

With tears streaming down his face and holding her tightly, Mondo was in an almost trance-like state, “It was you—Sumie?! Ooooh Sumie!” "...At the railing on Kagiya Inn’s second floor during daylight." “…And yet you’re unharmed!” “After we were separated… I didn’t know… didn’t know if you were alive or dead… I’d been so worried… yet here you stand unharmed…”

But at that moment, piercing through the crowd’s screams and the clamor of the streets— “Ah! You are Shigisawa Mondo! “You haven’t forgotten this Jinjurō!” “…By rights, I should have fallen to your blade!” “Though this humble one has skulked in shadows, now I hunt you instead—prepared to strike you down in turn!” “Having found you at last—don’t flee, Mondo!” came the shouted voice. “What—Jinjurō?! “Jinjurō?!” Even amidst this chaos—for Shigisawa Mondo, confronting his father’s mortal enemy Jinjurō—carelessness was unthinkable. This was no ordinary foe, but an irreconcilable adversary who could not be suffered to live!

"(Where?)" he wondered, looking in the direction from which the voice had come. Though separated by horses and the crowd and positioned some sixty feet away, he indeed caught sight of Jinjurō’s figure. But oh, how terrifying his form was—how ferocious! Ghastly and sinister, like a demon incarnate! Wildly disheveled hair! His entire body drenched in blood! He shuddered—but what of it? Mondo would not be startled! Would not cower! “Sister! Sumie! By heaven’s grace—we’ve found our enemy Jinjurō!” “Let us cut through Father’s hellish obsession—end it here and now!” he cried, drawing his sword, cleaving through the crowd as he charged recklessly forward.

“Ah, Brother! “Lord Brother—!” She shouted, but Sumie’s mind was in turmoil! Of course he was her father’s enemy! He was an enemy who must be slain—but also the savior who had rescued the chastity and life of a woman who should have been violated! ...Jinjurō... Jinjurō!

(This humble one cannot strike him down!) (This humble one cannot strike him down!) “Brother! Brother—!” All the while came a screech—! Thud, thud—! Thud, thud—! Resonating and roaring, surging and receding—a raging storm of frenzied men and horses!

The inn descends into madness! The inn is madness.

“Jinjurō—!” “A fair duel!” “Come at me, Mondo—! I’ll strike you down in return!” Attacker and defender pressed into close quarters! Clang! Clang of blades! They met with a single clash—!

“Wa-wa-wa-wa—!” came a scream! Screams! No—no—no! Not Mondo! Not Jinjurō! The crowd—the crowd! The crowd—look! Without fear or hesitation—charged through, dashed past, ran ran through the midst of the two locked in combat! Driven apart by those people, trying to approach but unable to draw near again, their anxious efforts proved futile as they pushed against each other—to the right and left, front and back—gradually growing distant, ever more distant! “Jinjurō—! Don’t you run!”

“Run away? Don’t be absurd—! Mondo, come at me—!” “Mondo, come—!” “Broooother—!” “Sister—!” “Lady Sumie!” “Lady Sumie!” “Lady Sumie—!”

6

While gazing at the scene of madness unfolding at Oiwake Inn, a group entered that very inn.

They were a group clad in travel cloaks with straw sandals and gaiters, long wakizashi at their sides and sedge hats on their heads. Some bore horse boxes and money chests wrapped in straw mats—though clearly a band of gamblers, their ranks included two samurai. This company of over thirty—Akiyama Yōsuke, Suginami Noshinosuke, Akaiwa Rinzo and his foster sons—had come to attend the gambling den opening at Kiso Fukushima's renowned final horse market. The final horse market operated on fixed dates. Missing them would render their efforts meaningless. Thus it wasn't just Inoshimatsu and Rinzo passing through this inn today—every gambling boss from Bushū and Kōshū bound for that market had to traverse this very inn around this time.

Why had Yōsuke and his group come?

Genjo had been taken by Itsumi Tashirō.

Since then, Yōsuke had been paying attention to Tashirō’s movements and Genjo’s movements. Then they heard through rumors that the two had set out together toward Kiso.

*(Then let us give chase as well)* At that very time, Rinzo too was said to be going. Thus it was agreed they would journey together, and so they had come united as one company.

The group walked solemnly when, looking ahead, they saw Oiwake Inn ahead—flames rose as if from a fire, the screams of people strikingly clear. And then—men and women fleeing in an unbroken 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 an arson attack—!" Hearing this, Yōsuke stopped in his tracks. "Rinzo! Wait!" "Master! This is bad!" "This is dire. We can't proceed recklessly."

“Exactly, Master! We can’t proceed recklessly.”

“Let’s avoid the inn and take to the fields.” “Let’s do that. Now, men! Proceed as planned—turn off the highway!” “Right!” The group left the highway, stepped onto dew-soaked grass, exited into the fields, and pressed forward solemnly. Pressing onward, Rinzo’s group glared sideways at the living hell of an inn and finally reached the lodging’s outskirts. This area too was filled with evacuating people, presenting considerable congestion, while runaway horses occasionally came galloping through. The firelight naturally reached them, making everything nearly as bright as daytime.

By that light, when they looked ahead, a group of gamblers had gathered and were watching the inn’s situation. (Ah—it seemed some gambling boss had taken refuge over there. We’ll need to go pay our respects.) It was the code among gamblers. “Fujisaku! Fujisaku!” called Rinzo. “Right, Boss. What can I do for you?” “You can see a group over there, can’t you? I don’t know which gambling boss it is, but go pay our respects.” “Right away!” Fujisaku ran off, but immediately dashed back in a panic.

“Boss! It’s bad—it’s Inoshimatsu’s gang!” “What? Inoshimatsu?! Hunh, so it’s him?!” Veins instantly bulged on his forehead. “Master! Master Akiyama!”

“What?” Yōsuke turned around. “That group over there—they say it’s Inoshimatsu of Takahagi.” “Inoshimatsu? Hmm… Oh, so it’s him?”

Yōsuke also glared in that direction.

7

“Rinzo!” Yōsuke called out, however. “You may hold a grudge against Inoshimatsu, but you must not act against him here.” “Why, Master? Why can’t we go?” “As for why—isn’t it obvious? The inn is in chaos from the fire and runaway horses—as you can plainly see—and all these people are suffering. At such a time of others’ suffering, gamblers who trade in men as commodities should refrain from personal vendettas and private duels.”

“Hmm, now that you put it that way, I’ve got nothing to say.” “But what if they strike first?” “Ah! Should that time come—a challenge thrown at us, embers raining down—repel them decisively!” “Right then! Let’s make ready! …Hey! You bastards—you heard! If Inoshimatsu’s crew makes the first move, all the better—no mercy! Crush ’em without a second thought!” “…Till then, we’ll sit tight!” “Stay calm! Stay calm!”

“Understood,” replied Akaiwa’s faction, quieting their clamor and forming ranks.

Meanwhile, on Inoshimatsu’s side too, they had already discerned that the distant crowd of gamblers was Akaiwa’s faction. The one who uttered “Boss” was none other than that sworn follower Kan Minekichi.

“That bastard Fujisaku—Rinzo’s sworn follower—came and turned back.” The one who had said “Hmm” was Inoshimatsu, who earlier had exited the palanquin, had a camp stool set up to sit upon, and now stood beside the horse magnate Inoue Kamon—who had been watching the fire—while he too observed the flames’ intensity, but “Yeah, I did catch a glimpse of Fujisaku.” “That’s Rinzo over there, I tell you. That’s Rinzo and his sworn followers over there, I tell you.” “I’ve been thinking the same thing.” “Well then, what should we do?”

“What’s there to discuss? There’s nothing to be done.” “If they try to make a move, face them and crush them.” “Until then, we’ll keep quiet.” “On Ageo Highway, it was Rinzo’s side that challenged you to a duel.” “This time, we should be the ones to issue the challenge—”

“Lord Kamon is present here. ...We’re escorting Lord Kamon’s civilian guests here—no fighting allowed. You understand?” “I see… So that’s how it is. …Then we’ll stay quiet.” At that moment, two samurai in traveling attire and a woman similarly dressed—a party of three—emerged from the inn’s direction into the field, their figures starkly illuminated by the firelight as they approached Inoshimatsu’s group. The one who spotted them first was Yōsuke.

“Mr. Suginami,” Yōsuke called out. “Observe that samurai closely.” Noshinosuke looked. “Master—that’s Master Itsumi.” “That must be him. I saw the same.”

“Master, the woman is Genjo-san.” “It seems so. I saw the same. …Good,” said Akiyama Yōsuke, then strode forward resolutely and called out.

“Ah no—the one who approaches there must be Master Itsumi Tashirō.” “Please wait a moment.” Indeed, that samurai was Tashirō who had fled from Honjin Aburaya into the fields—parting through human waves and evading runaway horses while accompanied by Genjo and Tōma—but upon being hailed, he halted his steps and turned back.

8 "Well, well—if it isn't Master Akiyama."

Having said this, Itsumi Tashirō furtively furrowed his perplexed brows.

“What an unexpected place to meet.” Yōsuke gave a wry smile. “As for this humble one, this encounter was not strange but rather an expected occurrence.” “An expected occurrence? Now then, what might that be?” “To put it plainly, this Yōsuke has come chasing after you.” “You chased this humble one?” “…And what reason would you have for that?” “To have Lady Genjo join us.”

“…………” “On that past day at your residence, when we crossed wooden swords, this humble one surely stated to you.” “That I would reclaim Lady Genjo.” “…Moreover, I surely declared then that we should meet in real steel at a later date…” “…………” “Now—at this very moment—a real sword duel!” “Should this humble one prevail, there shall be no objections—I shall take Lady Genjo!” “…………” “Let me reiterate on this occasion: should I win, Rinzo of Akao—who now stands here with me and his disciples—” “Shall become Kanto’s foremost lender, with Inoshimatsu subjugated beneath him!”

“Should this humble one prevail—Inoshimatsu of Takahagi—judging from his current position, he appears to be stationed there with his own disciples as well, but make that Inoshimatsu the top lender in Kanto, with Rinzo as his disciple…” “Let it be done—this is certain!” “Then let it be with real swords!” “A duel with live blades!” “Now!” “Now!” With a swish—the two great swordsmen leapt back over three ken. In unison, they drew their blades, and now, under the fire’s glow, the area blazed brighter than daylight—a golden-red, crimson-gold inferno! In the midst of it all, they calmed their two glinting blades with a shiiin and faced each other in mirrored Seigan stances.

Having seen and heard this from afar, those who were shocked were Rinzo and Inoshimatsu. (If our Masters—our own Masters—cross blades for our sake, our men'll be done for!) No more holding back! No more staying put!

Both men shared the same resolve—and that resolve took form as words, "You all got no choice! Charge into Ino’s crew and take his head!"

“Now you bastards—charge into Akao!” “Kill Rinzo! Kill Rinzo!” A thunderous war cry erupted! Seething, both armies charged forward. Gleaming blades! Sparks! Screams! Angry shouts! The sound of bodies collapsing! A scene of fleeing and pursuing, pursuing and fleeing!

The scene had become a chaotic battleground, but now the inn too descended into chaos! The pandemonium escalated into a scorching hellscape of wailing souls; unable to endure the blazing heat of the flames, they surged toward open fields to farmlands—farmland after farmland—like a raging tidal wave crashing forth: one hundred two hundred three hundred four hundred! Old and young, men and women—even livestock—had fled into these fields. Jostled and battered by the human tide, Sumie and Otsuma came swimming through.

Then, in a ghastly specter’s voice—

“Lady Sumie—O—wait!” “……You, Otsuma—I’ll let you escape!” shouted Jinjurō.

9 Sumie and Otsuma both turned to look back. A demon of lust, a hungry ghost of obsession, a murderous fiend—Jinjurō, now transformed into an oni, parted the surging crowd and came running toward them. The bloodied blade glinted above the seething mass of people, catching the firelight. (If Jinjurō captures me, my life is forfeit.) Otsuma ran screaming in panic. (If Lord Jinjurō captures me, my body and virtue...) With this thought, Sumie too ran desperately onward.

“Please help me!”

Sumie, who had been running in a frantic daze, spotted a single palanquin and dashed toward it, crying out: “Please save me! Into the palanquin!” Someone—unidentified—shouted. “Save your thanks for later—save your explanations too!” With these words, Sumie concealed herself in the palanquin like a cornered bird. “Move the palanquin!” someone shouted again. The palanquin swayed as it was lifted into the air, carried swiftly toward the highway. Following behind ran a flushed-faced, long-haired figure resembling Shuten-dōji, grinning slyly as he pursued.

It was Inoue Kamon, the horse tycoon—who at Inoshimatsu’s estate had tried to claim Sumie’s body as his own, only to be thwarted by Jinjurō and fail in his ambitions. “Stop that palanquin—I won’t permit it!” “Wait, wait, wait—!”

Jinjurō gave chase, but— “You bastard, Jinjurō! You show up again? We’ll end you this time!” With this cry, Inoshimatsu’s foster children all at once surrounded Jinjurō.

Meanwhile, Otsuma seized that opening and ran and ran—but soon grew breathless and collapsed to the ground.

And there stood a samurai—sword at his waist—perplexed by the surging crowd, dodging left and right. "I see you are a samurai! I implore you to save me!" Repeating her plea, Otsuma clung to the samurai's sleeve. "Who goes there? Very well—anyone will suffice! Having been entreated for aid, I shall dispatch assistance regardless of who it may be! Come!" declared the samurai—none other than Itsumi Tashirō himself, who had crossed blades with Akiyama Yōsuke and been separated from his opponent by the collapsing crowd at the very moment they were about to exchange mortal blows, losing sight of him in the chaos.

“Tōma! Tōma! Come here!” “Yes, Master! “Yes, Master! I am here!” “Where is Lady Genjo?” “Where is Lady Genjo?” “Lady Genjo was swept away by the crowd… to… to whereabouts unknown…”

“Regrettable!... Yet this unavoidable matter cannot be helped. Tōma, come—!” he roared, raising his sword and bellowing at the obstructing crowd.

“Clear the way! Clear the path, or I’ll cut you down!” Startled by the gleam of the sword, through the crowd that had opened a path, aimlessly in one direction after another, the three ran and ran and ran. But even so, unable to let go, “Lady Genjooo—! Lady Genjooo—!” he bellowed. While hearing those calls, Genjo—who had long been under Yōsuke’s care and now spotted his dear figure—though she held no ill will toward Itsumi Tashirō due to his courteous treatment, felt an even deeper affection for Yōsuke. Thus she pushed through the crowd in that direction and ran with single-minded determination at that moment.

“Master Akiyama!” she called out as she finally approached, then knelt on the ground and embraced his legs.

10

“Lady Genjo?!” Akiyama Yōsuke reflexively dropped to his knees on the ground. “You’re here!” “You made it!” “You’ve come!” “Mr. Suginami... Mr. Suginami...!” she cried tremulously, her voice brimming with joy as she embraced him. “I won’t let you escape!” “You’re not going anywhere!” “Mr. Suginami—take Lady Genjo to Rinzo!” “...Tend to her there!” “Lady Genjooo—! You’ve come at last!” Noshinosuke came running up, his voice rising with emotion, “Now, Lady Genjo—over there, over there!” “...and we must bring Master along with us too...”

“No, no—I am Itsumi Tashirō! —” “In this chaos, this turmoil, we’ve lost sight of those above us...”

“Do you not see them? ...Then let us go.” Within this maelstrom of human chaos, rampaging like an Asura was Jinjurō—Sumie wrested from him, Otsuma vanished from sight, encircled by Inoshimatsu’s foster children who pressed their assault from all quarters. Having slain or maimed over a dozen men while sustaining multiple shallow wounds himself, even Jinjurō’s formidable strength had now been exhausted! At this extremity—vision swimming and footing faltering—he staggered drunkenly, whereupon Inoshimatsu’s horde of foster children, scenting vulnerability, launched their coordinated onslaught from every direction.

He parried, dodged, deflected—to be cut down by these bastards would be unbearable regret! Retreating, retreating—now retreating! He would withdraw anywhere, just to escape! Finally emerging from the whirlpool of the crowd, escaping even from Inoshimatsu’s pursuing foster children, and staggering his way to the dew-dampened grassy field at the edge of the thicket—by the time he arrived, his vitality had been completely depleted. (Am I going to fall?!) I won't fall! I won’t fall!) But he collapsed onto the grass with a thud and lost consciousness! Jinjurō lost consciousness.

The distant glow of the fire reached even there, casting shadows across his corpse-like pale face and illuminating it. The realm of asura lay over there, but here it was desolate and devoid of people; autumn’s season went uncontested, and the chirping of insects grew thick in the air.

And then, having fled the battlefield to this place, a samurai—equally exhausted and worn out—using his sword as a staff, tottered and stumbled his way here.

“Ah, a corpse? How pitiful,” he muttered, stepping to Jinjurō’s side. But then he suddenly leapt up—leapt up, leapt up—and let out a cry. “Jinjurō——! It was you!” “Shigisawa Mondo has arrived!” “By heaven’s will—this time I won’t let you escape!” “Stand and face me!” “Face me in duel!” The samurai was Shigisawa Mondo. “Get up, get up, Mizushina Jinjurō! “Now I shall settle our accumulated grudges!” “…Get up!” “Stand up!” “Mizushina Jinjurō!”

He swung his sword overhead—if he rose, a single strike! [...] He prepared to strike him down, but Jinjurō didn’t move. (Is he dead?) he wondered, doubt creeping in. He reached out and touched his forehead. He was unconscious, but there was still ambiguity. (Alright—then now’s my chance!) He took hold of his raised sword again and tried to thrust it into his chest, but something deep within his heart stayed his hand. (Didn’t Jinjurō’s mistress, Otsuma, save me when I was unconscious in the Takasaki forest?) (To strike down a man without even knowing his true nature—even if he’s an enemy—would be cowardly. First revive him, and then…)

(Right), Mondo sat on the grass and took medicine from his inro.

Grudge and Grace Entwined

One

The final horse market of Kiso Fukushima— Of course, this does not exist in modern times. The modern Kiso horse markets consist of only two: the Nakami Market held in September and the Oketsuge held around mid-summer. The final horse market had been held until around the end of the Tenpō era, and even that was considerably inferior compared to the previous two horse markets. For by this time, the mountainous region of Kiso had grown bitterly cold, even wintry, and there were not many people out and about.

Even so, the renowned Fukushima Horse Market of the realm! It was by no means meager—around five hundred horses would gather, festival stalls were set up, crowds of itinerant showmen would arrive, and loan bosses from various provinces would come with their underlings in tow, erecting huts to open gambling dens.

As for the loan bosses who had gathered at this time— 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 Tōbee, Mihomatsu Genzō, Fujioka no Keisuke—and others like them—were present, joined by Takahagi no Inoshimatsu and Akao no Rinzo. With mountains flanking both sides and the Kiso River flowing through its center, Kiso Fukushima formed a post town as narrow as an obi sash under the governance of Yamamura Jinbee—a high-ranking retainer of the Owari domain's leading family who served as both checkpoint official and magistrate with a stipend exceeding 5,800 koku, inspecting all travelers passing through. This necessitated stays ranging from single nights to extended lodgings of seven or ten days during busy periods, making its inns thrive. Among them stood an establishment called Owariya.

And then, how boldly was such a standing signboard erected there!

"Akiyama Yōsuke Lodging Here." This was Yōsuke's way. Wherever he went, he would mark his location and publicly announce his whereabouts to all, declaring that if enemies existed they should come attack, and if admirers existed they should come visit—such was the stance he proclaimed. At Mikawaya Inn, situated about two blocks from Owariya, stayed Itsumi Tashirō; being an unassuming and mild-mannered man, he kept quietly without having any nameplate erected.

Now, the day of the horse market arrived.

Horse traders, townspeople, crowds of spectators, horse buyers, horse sellers, male and female showmen, loan bosses and their underlings, inn guards keeping watch for emergencies, checkpoint samurai, traveling men and women—people, people, people filled the inns to bursting. At the gates of houses and along the streets, countless horses meant for sale were tethered—neighing, stamping the ground, biting and kicking each other—while dogs barked at the sight. Voices, voices, voices clamored noisily under the bright sunlight of fair weather; sideshow tents drew large audiences, and gambling dens thrived in the lively commotion.

Outside such prosperity of Fukushima, at an inn called Yamagataya in the post town of Narai, which lay quite some distance away, there arrived two samurai. They were Jinjurō and Mondo. They took two moderately spacious rooms in the back, adjacent to each other, and stayed. Both had come by palanquin, but when Jinjurō emerged from it, Jinjurō appeared so haggard, with bandages here and there on his limbs—demonstrating in brutal clarity that he was both ill and injured—that the inn staff had been taken aback, muttering, "What an extraordinary guest."

After clearing away the evening meal tray, Mondo went to Jinjurō’s room. “How about it, Jinjurō? How are you feeling?” “No good… Can’t… Can’t get up.” Jinjurō, who had had the bedding laid out, settled onto his pillow, and had been faintly groaning, said this and gritted his teeth in apparent frustration. “In this state, I can’t face you in a duel.”

2 “Well, that’s fine. Take your time to recuperate.”

With that, Mondo gave him a sympathetic look. “Let’s face each other once you’ve fully recovered.”

“But tell me this,” said Jinjūrō. “Why don’t you kill me as I am now?” “If I meant to slay someone like you at all—I’d have done it long ago.” “I should have cut you down back then.” “Because it would’ve been no different from hacking a corpse.” “Even so—killing you would’ve fulfilled my vengeance.” “An inglorious vengeance?” “Well—even were I to claim I splendidly faced you in duel and struck you down—not one soul would doubt it! It’d become an honorable act of retribution—my social advancement assured beyond question.”

“My conscience won’t allow it.” “I see—that makes sense... Coming from someone as principled as you.” “Living alongside someone like yourself—you turn out surprisingly decent. I must admit, that caught me off guard.” “Nah, I’m a villain through and through.” “No doubt about you being a villain.” “But even in a villain’s heart, there lies one stubborn spark of decency.” “—That’s how it seems to me.”

“Hmm... Maybe so. “No—if you see me that way, then it’s truly my greatest wish.” “…I did one good thing. …I’ll tell you all about it someday.” “Why not tell me now? What is it?” “Nah, still too soon. “I need to know your true nature better—and you need to know mine better too—or else you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

“Actually,” Mondo said in a serious voice,

“Actually, there are things I too must have you hear—things I want to tell you. But this too—unless you come to know more about who I am…” “Hmm… That’s strange—similar stories. …But I’ve never once doubted who you are. You’re completely different from someone like me. I’m not just being polite—you’re an admirable man.” “You’re no different—you have your admirable traits.”

The two men remained silent for a while.

It was a room in an inn along the Kiso Highway. The sliding doors were old, the paper screens were old, the tatami mats were old, the ceiling was old, and here and there were traces of rain leaks—all these features appeared as ghastly shapes under the dim lamplight. A disheveled topknot, a pallid face—Jinjurō's countenance emerged from the bedding's collar. It was enough to evoke images of a monster painting.

“Hey,” Jinjurō said in a sentimental voice, “You and I were related by blood, weren’t we?” “……”

Mondo nodded silently. “You and I were distant cousins, weren’t we?”

“……” “So even if we became enemies…”

“……” “So this is how we can coexist, huh?” “That’s right,” Mondo said sentimentally. “That’s right—though our connection may be thin, we are indeed bound by ties of kinship.” There, the two men fell silent once again. The lamp’s light dimmed. Perhaps a clove had caught on the wick. “Cold,” Jinjurō muttered. “An autumn night in Kiso… It’s cold, isn’t it? …Catching a cold would be troublesome.” “I’ll lay my bedding over you.”

Mondo said and went to his room.

3

During the great brawl at Oiwake Inn, Mondo spotted Jinjurō, who had fallen in that moment, and attempted to strike him down—but one cannot cut down an unconscious man. When they revived him, Jinjurō had sustained countless injuries and lost all will to rise. However, he resigned himself, sat upon the grass, extended his neck, and prepared to be solemnly struck down.

This, conversely, led Mondo’s heart to sympathy and compassion, rendering him unable to strike the final 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 he bring such a wounded person and go to Fukushima?

It was because Jinjurō had said this.

"Inoue Kamon, that horse tycoon, had joined Inoshimatsu's gang of gamblers and was in that night's brawl." "It was there Lady Sumie fled." "Then Kamon put her in a palanquin and sent it rushing toward Fukushima." "That Kamon had been obsessed with Lady Sumie since before then." "If we don't hurry to take her back, we'll face irreversible regret." "...There are complicated reasons here—things too difficult to put into words." "And through certain circumstances, I know those reasons." "But they're hard to explain now." "Just trust me." "Trust what I say." "Then let's go to Kiso together and reclaim Lady Sumie."

And so, the two set out on their journey. Mondo himself found it strange that he had seen Sumie’s figure at Oiwake Inn. He had learned about Inoue Kamon, the horse-obsessed tycoon, from the innkeeper at Kamigo 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. Jinjurō seemed to know. He seemed to know the detailed circumstances.

But for some reason, Jinjurō showed no inclination to elaborate further, so he found himself unable to press for details. Even so, if Sumie had been taken by Kamon under such circumstances, they had to hurry to Kiso and take her back. And so, they set out on their journey.

The two departed Yamagataya the next day, boarded a travel palanquin, and had the bearers proceed toward Fukushima.

They approached Torii Pass.

This place was a famous ancient battlefield and a land of peerless scenery, one that the venerable Bashō among others had composed verses about. A pass where larks rest above the clouds— The Five Trees of Kiso—juniper, cypress, golden pine, hinoki cypress, and podocarpus—grew thick and verdant, creating places so dark even at noon, while others suddenly opened up to reveal bright expanses where farmland spread out below. Because the ascent was quite steep, the palanquin bearers constantly wiped away their sweat.

Mondo was concerned about Jinjurō's condition. (I hope he doesn't suddenly take a turn for the worse while crossing such terrain in this cramped palanquin.)

So, periodically stopping the palanquin, he let both the passenger and the bearers rest. It was when they reached the midpoint of the pass.

“Bearers, halt the palanquin.” Without warning, Jinjurō barked. “Mondo—let’s survey the view.”

“Very well,” Mondo said, also getting out of the palanquin. “Can you walk, Jinjurō?” “I’m fine. I can manage to walk.”

Jinjurō took the lead and walked toward the forest. 4 In the Meiō era, Kiso Yoshimoto fought against the Ogasawara clan and achieved victory in battle; with this, they erected a torii gate and called it Torii Pass. The forest where that torii gate stood. The forest interior was dim, though here and there sunlight filtered through, creating mottled patterns on the grass—yet it was as dim as twilight.

The two walked through there.

Crimson maples burned like fire alongside lacquer trees amidst the cedars, dazzlingly beautiful—but when they came before them, With a piercing “Hiyah!” that split the dappled sunlight, a white blade flashed! “Ah—” Mondo! Letting out a cry, he narrowly dodged and crossed blades! He seemed to have reverted to his villainous nature! Behold! Despite his injuries, Jinjurō raised his sword high above his head, spread his bandaged legs front and back, glared with eyes wide open—their pupils half-hidden beneath his upper lids, revealing the whites below—stared fixedly into Mondo’s eyes, and pressed forward step by relentless step.

Killing intent! Crash! A demon incarnate! Overwhelmed by the battle cry and crushed by the killing intent, Mondo's mind nearly boiled over. Unable to utter a sound, he was forced back step by relentless step, retreating further and further. Critical distance! Quiet yet terrifying—the moment between life and death passed. And then, a sardonic smile rose to Jinjurō's lips. "Pathetic, Mondo. You're not even a challenge. Like this, you'll never manage to defeat me." "…………" "You're an admirable person as far as character goes—but your swordsmanship is utterly worthless."

“…………” “Sheathe your sword—I’ll sheathe mine too.”

Jinjurō descended a few steps and sheathed the sword.

The two spread grass and sat down side by side. Small birds moved from tree to tree, making chirping sounds. “Mondo, train harder.” “Yeah,” Mondo laughed sheepishly, “Yeah… I’ll train.” “I’ll teach you sometimes.” “Yeah, you teach me.” “My Reverse Wheel Technique—unless you invent a way to break this thing, you won’t be able to defeat me, you know.” “It seems impossible for me... “Breaking the Reverse Wheel… such a thing.”

“Then don’t you intend to defeat me?” “I will defeat you! I will definitely defeat you!” Mondo declared in a fierce voice and glared at Jinjurō with sharp eyes. Jinjurō met his gaze while saying, “Defeat me! Go on, defeat me! I too intend to be defeated by you. …But for that, you’d need the ‘Reverse Wheel’…”

Mondo looked down and sighed.

The two remained silent for a while.

On the bright mountain pass outside the forest, two or three travelers passed by, and the faint sound of bells attached to packhorses reached them. “Shall I show you the Reverse Wheel?” After a moment’s pause, Jinjurō spoke these words. “Very well—demonstrate it regardless.” “Stand up. Then take your stance with the sword.”

As he spoke, Jinjurō stood up.

At that, Mondo also stood up and took his stance as instructed. Then, Jinjurō once again smoothly drew the sword he had sheathed and soon quietly assumed a middle stance.

5 “Ready?” Jinjurō said—and in that instant, his sword was drawn diagonally leftward, as though drawing water: quietly, fluidly, yet persistently, as if to bewilder, with a smooth swoosh. What a temptation! The moment he saw it—though he thought he shouldn’t be drawn in, shouldn’t step forward—as if some magnetic force resided in that blade tip and he were a mere piece of iron, Mondo found himself involuntarily taking a step forward. Jinjurō’s sword snapped back.

Haah— Mondo gasped. In an instant—like a raging wave crashing forth—a great downward cut! The sword reversed! It plunged deep into his torso with perfect precision. “Gah!” “What? I’m not cutting you.”

By now, Jinjurō had already leaped back two ken away and laughed as he said, “What do you say, Mondo? Shall we go again?” “No… That’s enough. I’m beaten.” Mondo wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

Again, the two sat down side by side.

“How about it, Mondo? Can you break it?” “I can’t even defend against it, let alone break it…” “If you can defend against it, it’s the same as having broken it.” “Yeah, I suppose that’s true.” “What part terrifies you?” “At first, when it smoothly glides to the left diagonal…” “Are you referring to that feinting draw technique?” “No matter what I do, I end up getting drawn in by that.” “What about the next move—the Kuruma no Kaeshi from the Yagyū school?”

"That one startles me every time."

“The final move—the Great Downward Cut! This is the true Reverse Wheel—but what do you make of it?” “It’s just terrifying, just ferocious—I have no choice but to let it happen.” “I’ve explained every component in detail… So, have you devised any countermeasures?”

……………… In silence, Mondo was thinking.

And then, Jinjurō said as if to himself.

“No technique exists in isolation. All methods are not independent… The ‘Reverse Wheel’ is no exception. If you isolate and study just the ‘Reverse Wheel’ alone, you could never break it. …It’s the context—what comes before and after—that matters! …Under what circumstances does one encounter the opportunity to use the ‘Reverse Wheel’? …Before using the ‘Reverse Wheel,’ how does one bring oneself to that point? …Study this. …The study of this is necessary.”

There, Jinjurō fell silent.

Mondo was listening intently. Even though Jinjurō had said that, Mondo couldn't grasp the meaning. No—it wasn't that he didn't understand the meaning of those words that had been said to him. But when it came to their concrete application—what would happen then, or what should be done—he could scarcely grasp it.

And so, he remained silent for a long time.

“Lady Sumie... How is she faring, I wonder?”

It was after a considerable interval that Jinjurō began to speak—in a tone so utterly filled with yearning.

Startled by the bizarre tone of voice, Mondo involuntarily stared at Jinjurō. Then, a flush of blood shot through Jinjurō’s cheeks and flared up. What’s going on? Mondo wondered.

But what immediately came to mind was that Jinjurō had been in love with Sumie for some time. (Is he still in love with her?) When he thought this, a feeling of discomfort arose. At the same time—Jinjurō’s mistress? Otsuma came to mind. The words had slipped out before he knew it.

“How might Lady Otsuma be faring, I wonder?”

“What? Otsuma?” Jinjurō stared at Mondo in surprise.

6 “Otsuma!” “Hmph! That wicked, poisonous woman!” “There aren’t many women like that!”

Eventually, Jinjurō blurted out. At the night grasslands of Oiwake Inn, they had an encounter that left a bitter aftertaste. It was because they had remembered that incident. "Is that so?" Mondo said, though he himself did not think so. Her persistent, clingy affection—the kindness she had shown by devoting herself entirely to him—had felt like nothing but a nuisance and wretchedness while they were together. Yet now that they were apart, he found himself thinking of it with nostalgia and longing.

But if Jinjurō were to learn that Otsuma and I had lived together like a married couple—what would he think? No matter how he might protest that they hadn't engaged in marital relations, a young woman and a young man had lived together. How could they have maintained a chaste life? Jinjurō would think there had been a physical relationship—that was how it seemed to Mondo.

Because of his distaste for that, Mondo had not revealed it to Jinjurō until today. That said, he would have to reveal it eventually—and so, at the inn in Narai, he had spoken words to the effect that there were things he needed to be heard, things he had to say.

It was Mizushina Jinjurō himself who was gripped by similar thoughts. He had lived with Sumie as an unmarried couple, continuing their travels in such fashion. But even if he were to lay everything bare, how could Mondo ever believe there had been no carnal union? One might safely assume he would first think someone had forced their will through violence. He couldn't confess! He couldn't confess! Thus he still kept silent, yet this impending necessity to eventually speak weighed on his conscience. And so at this same Narai Inn too, he had told Mondo there were matters needing to be heard and words that must be spoken.

The two men remained silent for a while. Having exchanged but a few words about Sumie and Otsuma, they did not try to speak further. For they were mutually avoiding broaching the matter. Though he had come to Kiso Fukushima, Itsumi Tashirō held no interest whatsoever in the horse market itself—his obsession lay solely in obtaining the buried colossal treasure.

“Lady Otsuma,” Tashirō said with a gentle smile in the inn’s guest room. “Shall we venture into Kiso’s remote reaches—to Nishino Village?” “Yes yes! I’ll come along!” Otsuma said happily. “You are spirited and your stories are entertaining. Having you accompany us shall make for a pleasant journey.” “Oh my, what flattery, my lord!” “Tōma, you’re coming too.” “Y-yes, I shall accompany you.” With the two in tow under such circumstances, Tashirō departed from the inn at Fukushima.

They surveyed Kiso's remote landscapes. Though he had told this to the two, the truth was that Inoue Kamon—the horse tycoon—resided in Nishino Village deep within those hinterlands. There might be a colossal treasure there. If it existed, they would seize it—this being their true purpose for going. When they crossed the Kisogawa River, the path immediately beyond its banks became steep mountain trails. With no urgency to their journey, the three of them made their way at a leisurely pace.

The Horse Tycoon’s Mansion

1

It was on that same day that, in the back room of Owariya Inn, Akiyama Yōsuke addressed Genjo and Noshinosuke,

“Now we depart! Hurry and prepare! We’re going to Nishino Village! To Nishino Village!” He urged them urgently.

Ever since Yōsuke had retrieved Genjo and come to Fukushima with her，he had heard these words from her mouth： “This unworthy one has gradually remembered．A vast forest，a great valley，a large mansion，countless horses…a place where there was an old man like Shuten－dōji－that seems to be in the remote reaches of Fukushima．”

Moreover, ever since arriving in Fukushima, he had had Rinzo's foster disciple constantly monitor Itsumi Tashirō's movements, and just now a notification had arrived. Itsumi Tashirō had departed for Nishino Village with two attendants. That was why he urged them so insistently.

The three departed from the inn. (In Nishino Village, there was said to be a horse tycoon named Inoue Kamon who had entrenched himself with about a thousand horses. That might be the old man like Shuten-dōji that Genjo had referred to.)

Yōsuke thought such things.

Now, the three walked on.

Nishino Village spanned what are now Mitsutake Village and Kaiden Village, forming a vast region dotted with small settlements along the Kurokawa River basin flowing into the Kiso River—Kaidaira, Furuya-shiki, Mabashi, Higezawato, and others. Within this area lay great forests, deep valleys, waterfalls, and marshes, while deep in its remotest reaches stood Inoue Kamon’s fortress-like mansion, imposing as a citadel.

By today's standards, one could reach Nishino Village from Fukushima in a single day, but during the Bunsei era, the journey required two days. The ascending path was steep, yet autumn in Kiso's remote hinterlands—living up to its legendary reputation—revealed beauty of unparalleled quality: trees blazed crimson, grasses turned amber, fruits glowed ruby-red, birds trilled without cease, and the sky shone with jasper-like clarity that commanded wonder. Within this pastoral tableau, grazing horses—in groups of five or ten—would cluster together and come galloping at human sight, eagerly pressing their muzzles against travelers.

“This unworthy one is gradually remembering.” Genjo said happily as she began to speak. “This unworthy one does indeed recall passing through such places before, while being carried in a mountain palanquin and jostled about.” “Is that so? Nothing could be better… It appears Lady Genjo’s memories of old are gradually recovering.” With that, Yōsuke too rejoiced. While walking along the arduous path, the three proceeded deeper into the mountains. That day too ended and night fell.

Around that time, Yōsuke’s group stayed at a woodcutter’s house. In such lands, there were no inns, and travelers would request lodging from woodcutters or farmers, staying in their homes as was customary. While gathered around a large hearth, Yōsuke spoke with the woodcutter’s family. “Is the mansion of Lord Inoue Kamon, the horse tycoon of Nishino Village, as grand as they say?” “Oh, it’s truly grand! Once you pass through the gate, they say it’s over a kilometer to reach the main house’s entrance.”

“That’s truly remarkable.” “Are you going to Lord Kamon’s mansion?” “Indeed, we plan to go tomorrow.” “At that place, guests are welcomed warmly—they’ll keep you for ten or even twenty days.” 2 “That’s only to be expected of the master’s estate.” “Even if you stay for several days, you might never see the master’s face… You could leave without ever seeing him… Such things are said to be quite common.” “My, that’s truly remarkable.”

The next day, the group departed from the woodcutter’s house, and by that evening, Yōsuke’s party had become guests at Inoue Kamon’s household.

There were several separate houses built to accommodate guests, and they had become guests in one of them. Kamon’s mansion was more magnificent than imagined or rumored, and the lifestyle there so grand that even Yōsuke was overwhelmed. It was a typical example of what might be called the extended family system. People would generally speak of “Inoue Kamon of Nishino Village” in such terms, but upon actually going there, one would find that Inoue Kamon’s mansion lay several *ri* beyond Nishino Village—closer to Hida Province, in what was practically a separate tract of land—and it would be more accurate to say that his domain extended from that land all the way back to Nishino Village.

A mountain daimyo!

That was exactly it. Encompassing a sprawling area—perhaps three *ri* in circumference—stone walls, earthen ramparts, and towering trees formed a natural fortress wall (indeed, it was precisely a fortress wall). Within lay countless houses, fields, hills, groves, forests, rivers, and marshes; there were farmers’ dwellings and woodcutters’ homes, while in open spaces showmen had even pitched tents to stage spectacles. Moreover, even with all that, this entire expanse stood imposingly as Kamon’s mansion.

In other words, it was Kamon’s mansion while also being a village—one could even say a castle-city. Horses, deer, rabbits, foxes, cows, monkeys, and others lived in the forests and woods, on the hills and fields. Stables stood everywhere.

Even beggars were residing there. Where in the world could Kamon’s main house—the one he resided in—be located? It was nearly impossible to discern its location. However, that mansion stood deep within this district at its northernmost point, complete with stone walls and a gate that belonged to it. The story the woodcutter had told Yōsuke: “Once you pass through the gate, it’s over a kilometer to reach the main house’s entrance.” This measurement began from this very gate.

However, the grand structure and organization of Kamon’s mansion—this estate said to span three ri in circumference—were by no means rare; even in this seventeenth year of Showa (1942), venturing into certain remote regions of Hida and Shinano provinces would reveal a considerable number of such estates. They would build eight or nine houses—new branch families and the like—in a single location, forming an entire hamlet just from those households alone. The families would band together, create shared facilities like harvest storehouses and baths, and during events such as festivals, funerals, weddings, or coming-of-age ceremonies, they would gather at the main family’s residence within the compound to drink sake and eat meals.

Shirakawa-go remains this way even today. And while the Kamon household too followed this pattern, the sheer magnificence of its structure left one utterly astonished. With the main family's head Kamon at its apex—the branch families, the new branch families, branch families of branch families, new branch families of new branch families—that is to say, close relatives and distant relations, along with the servants of such people—this entire district was formed through these individuals and households, and was self-sufficient. The house where Yōsuke and his group were staying was a single-story building within the gate of the main family Kamon.

Now, that night was a moonlit night. Illuminated by the moonlight, two travel palanquins entered.

3 The house where the two palanquins had arrived was also one built to accommodate guests, but it lay about a kilometer away from where Yōsuke and his group were staying. Mondo and Jinjurō emerged from the palanquins. Then they vanished into the house. At such an expansive mansion adhering to the extended family system, guests of every stripe would arrive—those visiting the master, couples, stewards, servants, branch families, new branch families. Some came under pretexts like “viewing the estate” or “seeking a night’s lodging and meal.” Depending on a guest’s status or character, even those ostensibly visiting the master might never meet him—a substitute would receive them instead—while guests of servants might unexpectedly encounter the master himself if he so fancied. It was all remarkably fluid and intricate, yet admirably, Inoue Kamon reportedly never turned away even the most lowly guest. This was likely due to his overflowing wealth, but his nature—fond of keeping retainers—drove such conduct.

Yōsuke had his reasons, "I wish to view your renowned mansion and, as a ronin engaged in martial arts training for certain purposes, would like to stay for several days to instruct your retainers..." Under this pretext they took up lodging, while Jinjurō and Mondo,

“We are traveling samurai, but our companions were attacked and injured by several ruffians in this vicinity. We humbly request to stay for several days to tend to their wounds.”

And so, under this pretext, they took up lodging. At Inoshimatsu’s residence, Jinjurō not only knew Kamon well but even attacked him. ――Due to such circumstances, he absolutely could not meet Kamon. Even having his face seen would spell disaster. And so, he had his face wrapped entirely in bandages as if injured. Itsumi Tashirō boldly, “This humble one is Itsumi Tashirō, a country samurai of Bushū Ogawa. Having long known of your renowned reputation, I have come desiring an audience.”

On that same day, Itsumi Tashirō declared boldly at the front gate and approached the entrance, where he was courteously ushered into the main residence; Otsuma and Tōma were also invited in.

Now, it was a moonlit night. Akiyama Yōsuke strolled out of the room with Genjo and Noshinosuke in tow. He had come out thinking to survey the general layout of Kamon’s vast estate. Amidst groves resembling woods stood splendid mansions here and there—few in number. Perhaps because the night had grown late, all were tightly shuttered with no glimmer of light escaping. As the three walked onward, two samurai were moving ahead of them.

They were likely guests staying at this house.

Thinking this, Yōsuke paid it no mind. But human nature being what it was—since he too was a guest of this house and the two ahead were likely guests—he found himself wanting to speak with them and began following slowly behind. Passing through thickets and skirting past several mansions—sometimes walking before them, sometimes beside them—they had likely covered five or six chō when suddenly, grazing the moonlit sky, an exceptionally prominent mansion loomed imposingly ahead, encircled by its own earthen walls and bearing its own grand gate.

(This must be Kamon's residence. What you'd call the main keep. No—truly vast.) Yōsuke was utterly overwhelmed.

4 The two samurai-like guests ahead also seemed to be marveling at the mansion’s vastness; they stood still for a while, gazing at it, then turned right along the earthen wall. Yōsuke and the others also turned to the right. Then, the two samurai stood at a spot before the earthen wall and whispered something for a while, but soon placed their hands on the wall and nimbly leaped inside.

“Oh?” “Hm?”

Both Yōsuke and Noshinosuke cried out. "Master, those fellows are behaving strangely, aren't they?" "Could they be thieves rather than guests?"

The two exchanged glances. Then Genjo/Okumi—who until now had remained silent, alternately surveying her surroundings with intense focus and sinking deep into contemplation, her demeanor transformed—spoke in a voice like one possessed.

“Oh! I’ve remembered!” “This is definitely the mansion!” “I was brought here before and subjected to horrors by an old man like Shuten-dōji!” “It’s here! This very mansion!” “……If this is the mansion, then that hell—terrifying as hell itself, brutal as hell… *Mountains of magusa straw and bottomless rivers, caverns midstream…* That hell—which direction was it?” ……I know now! I’ll find it right away! ……But still I don’t—don’t understand! ……That’s where they attacked me! Where I lost consciousness! ……”

Muttering to herself, Genjo pointed to the right and then to the left.

The two samurai who had scaled the earthen wall—they were Mondo and Jinjurō. They were the pair who had taken a palanquin from Torii Pass, headed into the mountains through Yabuhara, and arrived at this mansion that very day. Their primary purpose was to urgently retrieve Sumie, who had been abducted by Inoue Kamon.

If they were late and any harm came to Sumie's body—to her chastity—it would mean an unrecoverable situation. Thus, the moment they arrived at this mansion, paying no heed to their wounded bodies, Jinjurō for his part devised a rescue plan while Mondo for his formulated a strategy; yet no brilliant schemes materialized. With matters having reached this pass, there remained no alternative—they would infiltrate Kamon's main residence and resort to force to get her back. And so it was that together they slipped inside. Once having infiltrated and seen it, they could not help but marvel at how truly vast even just this main residence was.

Giant trees that seemed to have stood for a hundred or two hundred years towered densely around the main residence, completely blocking the moonlight and plunging the surroundings into utter darkness, allowing only faint slivers of light to spill through the gaps between their branches. Here and there, stone lanterns stood like guideposts, casting a soft glow that illuminated only their immediate surroundings. The main residence building—positioned far in the center with such a layout—was of course fitted with storm shutters, so not a single beam of light leaked out.

Then came the sharp crack of wooden clappers. The night patrolmen must have been making their rounds. The two men hid within a grove's shadows. The clappers' rhythm drew closer. Suddenly, footsteps halted. "Who goes there? Show yourself!" A figure leapt forward! "Gah!" A blade flashed through darkness. Silence fell like a shroud. "Hey—did you finish him, Jinjurō?" "A ridge strike. Killing would raise alarms." 5

The two continued onward. Just then, from ahead, there seemed to be figures resembling a man and woman approaching as they talked.

There, the two hid in the shadow of a tree. The voices of a man and woman drew nearer, but when they reached a point several meters away, “You—go over there… Stay quiet. …Something’s off… Someone’s here…” A man’s voice spoke like this, and after that, there was a period of hushed silence. Then came the sense of someone approaching with composed footsteps.

“Who goes there? Who’s lurking?” demanded an authoritative voice. Neither Mondo nor Jinjurō spoke; they held their breath and remained perfectly still. “Thieves? Or… thieves you must be.” “...I’ll let you escape. Leave quickly.” From the tone of his voice, there was no doubt that the man was a samurai. Bringing his mouth to Mondo’s ear, Jinjurō whispered.

“I’ll handle it. You stay and watch… That one seems somewhat formidable.”

"Mm," Mondo nodded.

Jinjurō slipped out silently. His sword was already drawn. Holding it in an overhead stance within the pitch darkness, he advanced with deliberate footwork to cut down his foe in one stroke. "You dare approach?" challenged the man ahead. "How pitiful... You should have fled... while you still had your life." The samurai maintained unshakable composure. Jinjurō pressed forward.

Of course, he did not return any response. "So be it," said the samurai ahead. "So you're determined to come? I have no choice... Then come!" he declared and fell silent. Gale! Precisely! Mizushina Jinjurō! He cut in with a command: "Become two!" But like willow branches swaying in a spring breeze! In that fleeting instant as he twisted his body aside, the samurai swung his drawn sword sideways! Jinjurō barely managed to leap back, released a heavy breath, and stiffened his posture. What peerless samurai swordsmanship! It possessed both dignity and profundity - truly the work of a consummate master.

"Hmm..." Jinjurō suppressed his admiration yet also felt a surge of fear, but— (Hah! If that's how it is... I'll go all out with my sure-kill "Reverse Wheel" technique...!) As if declaring "Watch this!", he assumed a middle stance, grinding his feet into the dark earth as he gradually pressed forward—then, true to form, drew his sword back leftward like receding water, immediately followed with Yagyū’s Wheel Return technique, and without a moment’s pause struck a grand underhand cut! But— Clang! There was the sound of a long sword… The strike was splendidly parried and deflected, and then a samurai’s voice cried out.

“The ‘Reverse Wheel’! So it was you—Jinjurō!” “So it was you—Jinjurō! Mizushina Jinjurō!” “…This humble one is Itsumi Tashirō!” “Would you raise your blade against your own master? You vile traitor!” “Ah! … Damn it!” “…Mondo, run!” Passing through the trees in blind desperation, Jinjurō fled, and Mondo followed suit, escaping into the darkness. “Oh! Jinjurō! Mondo!” Immediately, a woman’s surprised voice could be heard from behind Itsumi Tashirō.

“Lady Otsuma, do you know them?” “Yes… No… But still…” “Even so… Hmm… Even so… How did I overcome that fearsome evil sword—the ‘Reverse Wheel’?” Tashirō muttered and sank into thought. Even so... Otsuma also pondered. Why were Jinjurō and Mondo-san together like that?

6

The fact that sworn enemies Mondo and Jinjurō were together was something Otsuma found utterly perplexing. (Mondo-san... Could this be a case of mistaken identity?) If so, then it meant nothing at all.

In this world, there exist people who share the same name yet are different individuals. It must be a case of mistaken identity, it must be!

When she thought this, Otsuma felt all the more lonely, yet she found herself wishing that the Mondo-san before her now was indeed the Mondo-san she yearned for, that he would stay by her side—she wanted it to be so.

What was truly terrifying was Jinjurō’s presence. (If I were to meet him, this unworthy one would surely be killed.)

The memory of being chased and nearly killed in the Oiwake Inn brawl began to creep over her like a chilling fever. Tashirō clapped his hands once. "I've got it! It was because of the darkness! And that's how the 'Reverse Wheel' was broken... Then what about during the day? If you were to break it in daylight...?"

He sank intently into deep thought.

“What—” Tashirō said after a moment. “Wha— Oh! So that’s it! “So it was such simple logic after all!” Alright, I’ve got it! With this, I’ve broken it—Jinjurō’s ‘Reverse Wheel’! In my hands, it’s been splendidly defeated!

They were invited into the main house but had yet to meet Kamon. Bored，Tashirō brought Otsuma along and strolled out to see what lay within the night garden. Through this accidental turn of events，he effortlessly shattered that cursed sword technique known as “Reverse Wheel Technique”—the very method he’d struggled daily to defeat. He grasped its secret mechanism. “A fine deed—this was pure profit，” he reflected. The conviction settled upon him unbidden.

Kamon was in the opulent inner room, speaking to Sumie in a nitpicking tone on this very night. “Shall I call it a mysterious fate, or an unusual encounter? To have met you in Takahagi, then again at Oiwake Inn, and now for you to come all the way to my room where we can converse at leisure—isn’t it a curious thing?” He spoke in a persistently nitpicking manner. The mere fact that Kogahōen’s Tiger Brook Three Laughs—a magnificent six-panel folding screen—stood casually propped in a corner of the room spoke volumes about its opulence.

Bear pelts were spread across the seating area, with the fusuma handles' inlays crafted from gold and mother-of-pearl. "Still, I must say I behaved most rudely in Takahagi." "Ha ha! Such outrageous discourtesy!" "But in truth, that was never my true intent." "Rustic though I may be, why would I ever truly commit such acts against a lady?" "That was the doing of Lord Inoshimatsu of Takahagi's foster sons." "I was merely swept up in the moment and sought only to share in that feast." "But even that was an act of supreme thoughtlessness!" "I offer my humble apologies here." "I beg your gracious forgiveness... Now then, with this, our past accounts are settled." "Next comes discussion of our future plans." "...But before we confer, there is something I must declare..."

7 There, Kamon took a puff of tobacco. A thick, long silver pipe—so heavy it seemed cumbersome to hold—he clamped between his thick, large lips with a *clack*, and from between those thick, large lips came thick, billowing plumes of smoke pouring out.

It could only be thought of as a toad spewing mist toward the sky. “To put it plainly—once I, this man here, resolve to do something, I will see it through without fail!” After taking a puff of tobacco with relish, Kamon said unctuously.

Indeed, Kamon said unctuously.

Yet this unctuous manner of speech was no ordinary affectation—it revealed the ferocious audacity of a horse breeder chieftain, a semi-barbarian whose words carried spine-chilling menace. "Now then—regarding what I intend to accomplish this very day—I shall first make you, this 'Lady Sumie,' fully comprehend before bending you to my will!" "...Such shall be our arrangement." Having spoken, Kamon deliberately shook the long hair cascading over his shoulders, snapped open his drooping elephantine eyes wide, and fixed Sumie with an unblinking stare.

Sumie gasped sharply.

Sumie had already steeled herself with resignation and resolve some time ago. When I think about it, mine has been a life of such twists and turns! I couldn’t help but feel that way. On Kamigo Highway, I met my parent’s enemy. When I tried to strike him down, I was kidnapped by horse traders and gamblers. In the end, I was to be offered as a human sacrifice by the leader of the horse breeders. I was saved by the enemy. By Jinjurō—my parent’s enemy! Even this much alone—what a series of strange twists of fate! Moreover, on top of that, I was treated kindly and carefully by that parent’s enemy, lived together with him, and even set out on a journey. A husband-and-wife life that’s no marriage! If this isn't a twist of fate, then what is?

That turmoil at Oiwake Inn! I met and parted with Lord Mondo—my brother-in-law, my lover, and my betrothed—in but an instant! If this isn't fate's cruel twists, then what is!

And then, I was captured by Kamon. And now I found myself in this state!

I truly could not help but call it a twist of fate. (Let it be as it may come. Whatever happens, let it happen.) I could not help but resign myself. (But when the time comes for this loathsome leader of horse breeders to defile my body, I will bite through my tongue and die!) She had made this resolution. Outwardly, she who had resolved herself so firmly appeared as pitiful and wretched as a butterfly targeted by a toad—even gruesome in her plight—yet her mind was crystal clear, serenely composed, even invigorated.

A brief silence fell between them. “How does this strike you, Lady Sumie? Lady Sumie.” Kamon began unctuously.

“Would you not grant this pitiful old man’s humble wish?” “No—once one becomes an old man like this, young beauties will never fancy him again.” “Though crude, I shall employ gold’s power to claim my desires.” “From my observation, your ladyship is a proper samurai daughter—no mere mistress for the likes of me—this I well know.” “Precisely why—were you in my position—I’d make you mine.” “Thus... I entreat you, my lady.” “...Take pity on this senile wretch as virtuous charity... In exchange, whatever gold can procure—why, I’ll gladly bestow.”

Kamon snapped another sharp puff of tobacco. 8

“I will not comply,” said Sumie.

Sumie, who had been enduring silently and listening all this while, now spoke clearly for the first time. "I will never—never—comply with your will, Lord Kamon!" Her words were few, but with a resolute attitude and cold demeanor that revealed an unshakable heart, she spoke, overpowering her opponent. Kamon uttered a low growl. He had surmised this woman was of the chaste type—not one to be swayed by ordinary persuasion—but through her current response and demeanor, he had instantly discerned she was far more resolute than imagined.

Abruptly, Kamon’s demeanor changed. His demeanor transformed into something eerie, brutal, yet insidiously persistent—a demonic visage. Yet his words grew ever softer,

“In that case, though it pains me greatly, I must ask your ladyship to visit a rather unusual place for a time… I simply must insist… Once you’ve been there and returned, we shall have a leisurely discussion anew—yes, that’s how we’ll proceed.” 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—what should I call it... “...In any case, it’s a most unpleasant place… Even the most stubborn mule becomes reborn into docility once thrown in there… The weak-willed go mad—those weaker still promptly take their own lives. …Ah yes, some time ago, a female performer called Genjo or Okumi—equally headstrong—was sent there and went mad… or something quite like it… Now then, it seems your ladyship too must… must pay a visit to that place.”

“To what place could I possibly go?”

Sumie coldly said. She had already prepared herself for death.

She had nothing left to fear.

Agony! Even so—it lasted only while breath remained! Once dead, there would be no pain.

Sumie was coldly and desolately composed. Kamon clapped his hands sharply twice.

At that, the maid waiting in the next room softly slid open the sliding door. “Tell Gonkuro we have a woman ready for transport.” “Prepare the red lanterns.” The maid nodded and closed the sliding door.

“What—?!” Genjo’s voice startled Yōsuke and Noshinosuke not long afterward. The three had been wandering around the outer perimeter of Kamon’s main residence compound at that time. “They’re moving—oh, the red lanterns!”

Genjo shouted while pointing, her voice filled with utter terror. "There! The guiding fires sending people there! To hell—no, to the Living Hell! To the Living Hell where I was tortured! Ohhh... someone else is being taken tonight! How pitiful! How pitiful! Yes—just like how I was tied to a bareback horse under those red lanterns' light and taken there myself!"

9

“After them!”

Yōsuke declared resolutely. “Let’s retrieve the person being taken!”

“Let’s do it!” Noshinosuke said.

Piercing sharply through the darkness of night and hidden among the thicket of trees, blood-red Odawara lanterns swayed like fruit as they moved toward the foothills, their progress visible in the distance.

The three of them gave chase. However, upon approaching the group and observing them, they realized that rashly attacking by force would be perilous with little chance of success. For there was a single bareback horse—to which a person, indistinguishable as man or woman, had been bound and covered with an oilcloth from above—surrounded and escorted by over a dozen rough men who carried firearms, bows, spears, and other weapons as they marched. (They couldn’t match projectile weapons.) The three of them all thought the same thing.

Then, Yōsuke said to Noshinosuke, “Let’s follow them secretly all the way and confirm their destination. Then, when a good opportunity arrives, we’ll cut through them and seize the victim.” He whispered this into his ear. “That would be most agreeable.” Noshinosuke also said.

In the opulent main house room of Kamon—after he had sent Sumie off to the Living Hell—Itsumi Tashirō sat in formal seiza.

He had sent the woman he coveted to the Living Hell. Not a trace of such intentions showed on Kamon’s face as he cheerfully offered an ingratiating smile and immersed himself in idle conversation with Tashirō. Though nominally a scholar, Itsumi Tashirō was a man of esteemed status—treated with utmost courtesy as an honored guest by Matsudaira Yamato-no-kami, the local lord, and moreover served as the swordsmanship instructor to Inoshimatsu of Takahagi, whom Kamon himself favored. Even the arrogant Kamon had no choice but to receive him with utmost courtesy.

From talk of horse breeding to discussions of famous landmarks and historic sites, to stories of regional customs and human affairs—after such topics had run their course and a lull fell in the conversation, Tashirō spoke in a casual tone. “In the Chichibu region, there has long been an old song that goes: ‘In Ogawa Village of Chichibu District, beneath the roots of Lord Itsumi’s garden hinoki trees, it is said there once lay…’ and so forth.” “According to legend, this song’s meaning relates to gold buried in the Chichibu region by Minamoto no Yoriyoshi and his son Yoshiie upon their return from the Ōshū campaign. Yet in the song’s latter verses—‘Now changed to a thousand horses, five hundred horses of the breeder…’ and so forth—it is said such lines exist. I surmise this indicates that the gold is preserved in the hands of that remarkable horse breeder…”

"Wait," Kamon said abruptly. He then gave a sardonic laugh and, "Ah-ha! So you came to this mansion to obtain that gold, Lord Itsumi?" "To speak frankly, that is correct—for there is no great horse breeder of a thousand or five hundred horses other than yourself." "Your will be done." "However, if that is indeed the case, I find it somewhat regrettable." "Why is that?" "And why might that be?" "Why do you ask when it is not so? Since I am preserving such an immense amount of gold, I absolutely never, under any circumstances, would hand it over to anyone."

“That is, of course, a matter that goes without saying. However, as for this unworthy one, there is a slightly different consideration…”

10

“A different idea? What might that be?” “If you truly possess that gold, why would this unworthy one take it from you? ...But if even you don’t know its exact location and are secretly searching...” “Ah, most reasonable. Then have you come proposing we join forces to find it, Lord Itsumi?” “Indeed—essentially correct.”

“This case has grown intriguing. But... well, I find myself at a loss for how to express this.”

Kamon fell silent there. A strangely stifling air of earnestness lingered between the two men. Eventually, Kamon spoke haltingly. “The horse breeder mentioned in the song is indeed myself.” “And as the song states, within my mansion and territory, in a certain era, that gold did exist—so it is said. …It was precisely because that gold existed that such absurd prosperity came about, allowing me to possess these vast territories as I do now.” “For without it—no matter how desperately a mere horse breeder like myself might toil—such prosperity as we see today would be utterly unattainable. …Thus do I offer humble gratitude to my ancestors, who skillfully wielded that gold to amass our fortune.”

“Inferring from your words, it would appear the gold is no longer in your possession today…” “Well, whether that be so or not… this humble one finds it somewhat difficult to declare…” “How preposterous! This ambiguity knows no bounds!” “Oh yes yes, most ambiguous indeed, good sir.” “Let me rephrase my inquiry.” “In the latter verses of that song—‘A mountain of fodder and bottomless river, within midstream’s rocky cavern’—such lines exist. This unworthy one believes the gold likely lies buried there. Does such terrain exist within your domain…?”

“Oh yes yes, it certainly does exist.” “Then allow me to have you guide me there…” “No!” “Why?” “You’ll die!” “You’ll die, you say?” “Because it’s the Living Hell!” "......" “Ah-hah-hah! Hell, hell, hell! “That place is a terrifying Living Hell!” “If you go there, you’ll die!” “Even if you do survive, you’ll go mad!” “Ah-hah-hah! You’ll go mad!” “But tonight as well—poor thing—a woman was sent.” “Exactly, exactly—to that Living Hell!”

Having said this, Kamon adopted an expression akin to that of the legendary Shuten-dōji of Mount Ōe—said to have drunk the fresh blood and devoured the flesh of young women—and glared fiercely at Tashirō.

Even Tashirō—ordinarily unflappable—was struck speechless by Kamon’s monstrous expression and demeanor, collapsing into silence. And once more, a stifling feeling pressed down on the room and its occupants. But after a moment, Inoue Kamon spoke these words in an enigmatic manner. “That gold was buried earlier—as sung in that ballad—at the base of the hinoki cypress in Lord Itsumi’s garden in Ogawa Village, Chichibu District—that is to say, within *your* garden. …Perhaps that gold may yet return to Lord Itsumi’s garden…”

11

“What nonsense,” Tashirō laughed. “If that gold were buried in this old man’s mansion even now, why would you go to the trouble of coming to such a place…” “No, no,” said Kamon.

"There are several households of Lord Itsumi." “......”

“Among those of renown in relatively nearby regions, in Owari exist the Three Itsumi Houses…”

“Ah! So it is indeed the Three Itsumi Houses!”

In Nagoya stood one house, in Inuyama another, in Chita a third—three houses in total, all related by kinship—where wealthy magnates bearing the Itsumi surname resided. Collectively known as Owari's Three Itsumi Houses, they were regarded by society with a peculiar mix of reverence and suspicion. The wealthy are respected because they are wealthy! Taking this as a matter of course—what exactly was this suspicion? When speaking of Owari’s great merchant magnates, there were Hanai Kan'emon at their forefront, the ninety-eight Kiyosu-goe merchants, and twelve other houses—including Kosaka Shinzaemon—who received stipends from the Owari clan. All these people interacted closely through social and business ties. Yet the Itsumi Three Houses alone refrained from such interactions, keeping exclusively to themselves. While other wealthy families maintained official connections to the Owari clan—serving as purveyors, members of the Three Houses faction, tax-exempt landowners, kitchen purveyors, the Ten, and other such titled ranks—the Itsumi Three Houses alone maintained no dealings whatsoever with the Owari clan.

This is precisely the point that invites suspicion. “Ah, of course! The Three Itsumi Houses!” Tashirō exclaimed, his eyes widening. “Regarding the customs of the Three Itsumi Houses—though this old man has long been aware of them from afar and harbored suspicions about these peculiar magnates—are you suggesting there exists a connection between those houses and buried gold?”

“Whether such a connection exists or not—I cannot state with certainty at this moment… But since I *cannot* state it immediately, and since you have gone to the trouble of visiting, I implore you to extend your stay here. In due course, I shall speak of this matter at length.” Kamon spoke ambiguously there as well. This evasive attitude was no small irritation 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 bound Sumie to a bareback horse, and guarding her, Gonkuro and his group advanced in silence along the mountain path.

Yōsuke and his group followed after them.

Had they traveled about two ri? At that moment, several red lantern lights suddenly appeared ahead, scattered like fireflies in the darkness. (Hm?) Yōsuke and his group tensed with suspicion. Yet Gonkuro’s procession showed neither surprise nor alarm—as if this exchange had been prearranged—and raised their lantern high to wave it through the empty air. Those beyond responded in kind with matching sweeps of crimson light. When less than a dozen ken separated the two glowing points through the night, the landscape ahead gradually took shape before Yōsuke’s watchful eyes.

Ahead, there seemed to be a valley. In the valley, a river seemed to be flowing. Across the valley, a cliff of rock—like a folding screen—stood vertically and imposingly tall. At the cliff’s peak was a moon, and by its light, the cliff’s shoulders could be seen gleaming silver.

The Living Hell

1 Then, at that moment, Genjo—who had been silently following Yōsuke and his group—spoke in a terrified voice as if possessed. "The Living Hell lies there, at the valley's depths! To go there would mean disaster! You'd either take your own life or lose your mind! How pitiful, how pitiful! That person bound to the horse! Oooooh! We must save them!"

“Let’s do it!” Yōsuke said in a hushed yet fierce voice. “Cut through and rescue the victim!” “Master, let’s do it!” Noshinosuke responded.

But at that moment, the people who had been guarding the victim and encircling the bareback horse as they marched—Gonkuro’s underlings—halted in unison, spun around, and aimed their firearm muzzles in this direction. They trained them on Yōsuke and his group. “Damn it! “They’ve spotted us! “It’s too late!”

The moment Yōsuke shouted that— Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat—! Gunfire echoed through the night-shrouded valleys as crack-crack-crack-crack-crack—muzzle flashes split the darkness. Then— The horse's terrified neigh!

Behold! With the victim still bound to it, wasn't that very bareback horse now dashing headlong toward the valley entrance! "Ah! Ah! Ah! It's too late! That person's been driven to the Living Hell too! Like me! Like the me of old!" Genjo shouted and stamped her feet. Resolutely! The horse plunged toward the valley floor like an avalanche. The firearms had never recognized Yōsuke and his group, nor had they been fired with the intent to shoot them down.

They had fired to startle the horse and send it—along with the victim—down into the valley floor. They had been nothing more than blanks.

All was silent! A shiin stillness reigned. Then came into view Gonkuro’s group—now horseless and victimless, empty-handed—idly swinging their red lanterns in midair as they turned back the way they had come. Passing by Yōsuke and his companions who hid in the shadows watching them depart, the group left; after their passing, the surroundings sank into desolate silence.

Then Yōsuke said to Noshinosuke, “We’ve finally failed to save the victim, but this too is fate’s doing—nothing can be done about it... Well, since there’s no helping that, let us behold the sight of the Living Hell.” “That would be most proper.” “Lady Genjo, please come along.”

“This unworthy one must decline.” Trembling, Genjo spoke these words from a heart that feared how standing before that place would force her to vividly recall the horrors of her past. “Very well. Then you may wait there, Lady Genjo.”

Having said that, Akiyama Yōsuke turned his steps toward the lower entrance of the valley together with Noshinosuke. Then, the several red lanterns that had earlier appeared and been waved in response to Gonkuro and his group’s red lanterns—now visible near the lower entrance of the valley where what appeared to be a guardhouse stood—emerged once more from within it. “Who goes there? Hey! Don’t come any closer! If you come any closer, we’ll shoot you down without hesitation!” A voice came from among the red lanterns. The figures aiming firearms came into view.

2

As the horse galloped down the slope, the rope that had been tied snapped, and Sumie was thrown to the ground. She plummeted down the valley slope toward the bottom, followed closely by the horse.

How bizarre! The valley slope was soft and smooth—it hardly seemed like soil at all! Thus Sumie reached the valley floor without sustaining even minor injuries. As the pitiful sight of the horse falling before her eyes passed by, it stood up upon reaching the bottom—though having risen, likely from terror—and continued running forward while letting out a high-pitched neigh.

There was a river that shone like silver foil under the moonlight.

That’s right—there was a river ahead.

And then, it ran all the way to that river. The horse jumped into the river.

*Will it swim?*

Sumie thought. Appearing shallow, it walked five steps, ten steps, then over twenty steps. As it walked on, the horse gradually grew smaller. And then, it eventually stopped walking. Its stature appeared much shorter.

Then, the horse lengthened its neck, turned its face toward the moon that silently watched the tragedy, and neighed sorrowfully several times. Its stature gradually grew shorter. At last, the horse's form vanished completely from the river's surface. Without a single ripple to disturb it, the water flowed listlessly—neither here nor there—while upon that surface, only the moonlight now shone flatly like a sheet of hammered silver. The river was quite wide. And on the opposite bank stood a towering, sheer cliff like a folding screen—steep and stretching far into the distance.

Sumie felt a shuddering chill.

(I wonder why the horse sank...) If the river were deep, the horse should have swum across. If that river were shallow, the horse should have walked across.

Yet it had sunk. Oh! The river is bottomless! Yes, that must be it. The water itself was shallow, but the bottom consisted of accumulated mud that stretched down immeasurably deep. And those who step into it are sucked into that mud and sink forever. Sumie felt a shuddering chill. (I can't escape if I cross the river.) Sumie staggered to her feet. Then, she looked up at the mountain slope she had tumbled down.

The slope was truly gentle, with not a single stand of trees, hill, or rock—nothing at all. The lower reaches seemed high and distant, not easily reachable, but climbing up appeared effortless. Sumie began climbing the slope. Immediately her feet slid smoothly, and she was driven back to the valley floor in an instant. Hm? she thought, and climbed again. Just when she thought she had climbed a little over one ken, she slid back down to the valley floor very smoothly and effortlessly—almost pleasantly.

(What in the world was happening?) To Sumie, it was utterly perplexing.

And then, she picked up some soil and examined it.

It did not seem to be soil. It was parched and brittle, though resembling plant stems and leaves. Plant stems and leaves that, after being exposed to wind, rain, frost, and snow for long years, had turned into fine, fine sand! That was how it seemed. Such substances covered the slope thickly and high— And if someone stepped onto it, their weight would cause it to crumble—endlessly, infinitely crumbling—sending them sliding back down!

Then I can't climb up!

Sumie felt a shuddering chill once more.

3

(Then I’ll try testing it once more.) With this thought, Sumie began climbing again.

And then, a laughing voice came from behind. Startled, Sumie turned to look. When and from where they had come, five or six people now stood huddled together in a cluster several yards away.

Since she was seeing them in moonlight, the details remained unclear, but among them there seemed to be women, old people, and young people. What startled Sumie most was their emaciation—they resembled withered trees, trees shaped like humans and clad in tattered rags. —they were gaunt exactly as stories had described. Yes, they wore clothes. But those garments were torn to shreds, having lost all semblance of form.

Shunkan of Kikaigashima from the tales I’d read! People exactly like that were gathered there. “It’s no use, girl. You can’t climb up.” “No matter how much you climb, you’ll never get up,” said one of them in a parched, small, feeble, strangled-sounding, unpleasant voice. “It’s a fodder mountain, girl. That thing you’re desperately trying to climb—that’s a fodder mountain.” “It’s the slope of a fodder mountain… Try to climb it and you’ll slip; try to get a foothold and you’ll slip.” “No one’s ever climbed more than two ken up there.” “It’s futile, so stop.”

“Ah hah hah!” “Hee hee hee” “Fuh fuh fuh” “Heh heh heh” They all burst into laughter together.

It was a laughter that sounded mocking, despairing, sinister, pitying, eerie, and utterly repulsive. Sumie encountered hell's lost souls! Though akin to such thoughts—feeling terror and eeriness—she had until now believed herself utterly alone in this realm. Yet upon learning others were here, this fact filled her with such joy that she hurried over to them at a trot. “Though I do not know who you all may be, this humble one is Inoue Kamon’s…”

“I know, I know,” said one of the old men among them—a one-eyed old man—not letting Sumie speak, “We’re the same. Thrown into this Living Hell by our terrible master—Lord Inoue Kamon—no, no, no, not ‘lord,’ a demon, a monster! That monster Kamon made us hopeless revenants with no chance of return. “You must be the same—thrown here by that monster Kamon. “Looking at you—such a pretty young lady—I can guess why you were cast down. “……You probably didn’t obey Kamon. “……There was such a woman before. “……A woman called Genjo or something……”

“Grandfather,” Sumie said with a desperate clinging tone as she asked. “Where are we?” “What kind of place is this?” “It’s an execution ground! A dumping ground for people!” “It’s also a graveyard that buries alive those who disobey Kamon’s orders and those who’ve become useless invalids.”

“What a terrifying place this is.” “Come along, follow me, and I’ll show you by example just how terrifying this place is.”

The one-eyed old man started walking. Then the rest of the lost souls and starving demons—people who resembled lost souls and starving demons—followed wearily behind, on the verge of collapse, gasping for breath. In the pale blue moonlight, the sight of those people walking along was truly a hellish tableau.

And then, they came to a tree. A young man was hanging limply.

4 He had hanged himself and was dead.

The one-eyed old man explained. "He was a guest who arrived about twenty days ago." "The young fool got involved with one of Kamon’s favorite maids—which enraged him—so he got thrown in here." "He kept raving about missing the woman and wanting to escape like a madman, but once he realized there was no way out, he suddenly turned quiet." "And then, early this morning, he hanged himself." "...Those who hang themselves, those who drown in the river—one every five days, one every ten days—it happens without any mystery at all." "...So in the bottomless river, hundreds of men and women are said to be sunk... Look there—at the base of that rock!" "Can’t you see the pile of bones?" "They’re bundles of bones from those who hanged themselves or bit their tongues and died."

When she looked, sure enough, there across the way—at the base of a large rock illuminated by moonlight—lay a faintly white pile of something. “Grandfather,” Sumie said, trembling. “What do you eat to survive?” “Horse meat—from dead horses... They occasionally throw it down to us from the lower entrance of the valley—the guards above.” “The meat of dead horses? ……That’s the food?” “There’s no rice or wheat. There’s no vegetables or pickled things either... As for water—it’s that thickly murky river water, like mud... That’s why we can’t survive long. They die within a month or two... Though among us, there are those who get used to it and live three or five years... Someone like me is one of them...”

“Where are you all?” “Where do you reside?” “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, horse bones—and what appeared to be similar remains—could be seen scattered ash-gray among tree roots and the bases of rocks. And then, ahead—illuminated by moonlight—a mound-like shape came into view.

Indeed, it was a hill. A small hill formed of rock, soil, moss, and scrub brush, with an entrance roughly twice a man's height in width and a long interior depth. When they reached its base, from the hill's main entrance—for this hill was in fact a rock cavern with its opening at the front—there emerged a swarm of skeletons: men and women as emaciated as skeletons themselves, old men and crones, boys and girls, welling up like bubbles from foam.

And then they all began shouting at once. “Another guest has come.” “Our comrade?” “Did she bring any food?” “Strip off your clothes!” “Tear them off!” “A young woman.”

“What a beautiful woman.” “You’ll get filthy soon enough.” “Nah—you’ll be hanging yourself and croaking before half a month’s passed.”

Then the one-eyed old man raised his voice in a scolding tone. “Shut up, you bastards! Keep quiet!” “…This guest seems a bit different from those up till now.” “Don’t you dare lay a hand on her!” 5

The one-eyed old man appeared to hold authority. He seemed to be their group's recognized leader. At his single command, their uproar quieted. "Come now, go inside and see." "Go in and look for yourself."

Having said this, the old man took Sumie and entered the rock cavern. What struck her first upon entering was an indescribable stench. The stench of filth, the stench of animal hides, the stench of rotting flesh, the stench of rags—all manner of foul odors combined into one indescribable stench that assaulted her nostrils, and Sumie felt herself on the verge of vomiting. The cavern's interior was cold.

It was cold enough to freeze one to the bone. It was dark, low, and narrow.

Fires were burning here and there.

The inhabitants were making bonfires. Gathered around them or lying at the base of the rock walls were a surprisingly large number of people. At that moment came the hoarse voices of two or three people humming: Chichibu District, Ogawa Village Lord Itsumi's garden hinoki roots They say there once was... Now changed to a thousand horses Five hundred horses' grooms Kiso's horse breeders and mountain lords' The depths of mountains lie far beyond Fodder peaks and bottomless— The rock cavern mid-river's flow Enshrined in sacred chambers, they say

Change is but the way of things. Life exists yet form does not, Form is inherently earth, water, fire. Shift through three realms and return to their origin, Life exists yet form does not

This was the song.

“Grandpa,” Sumie said. “What is that song?” “Everyone sings it... It’s nothing special round these parts. They sing it ’cause they’ve got nothin’ better to do... It’s an old song from way back—likely don’t mean a thing.” “Is this cavern deep?”

“They say it’s deep, they say it’s deep. But no one’s ever gone there. No one’s ever gone there... I alone went pretty deep. But I turned back halfway... Whether you’d call it terrifying or astonishing, awe-inspiring or what—I just couldn’t shake this strange feeling, so I turned back in the end. ...’Cause there’s human pillars standin’ there... Skeletons—real skeletons! ...Ones keepin’ their original shape perfect-like. They’re lined up neat on both sides of the cliff walls—right and left—don’t you see?”

Villain Reversion

1

Jinjurō walked silently toward the mountain path. Mondo followed from behind, but he too walked in silence without uttering a word. They exited the grounds of Kamon’s grand mansion and walked aimlessly.

Jinjurō didn’t know which direction they were walking in.

He had been thinking of nothing but how his Reverse Wheel Technique had been broken by his master Itsumi Tashirō. There was a moon, but along the mountain path stood massive trees—ancient giants and gnarled thickets—that canopied the sky, plunging the surroundings into darkness and blocking the moonlight, rendering the two figures nearly invisible from outside.

A considerable amount of time had passed. (Why would Master Itsumi be residing in such a place?) This concern lingered in his mind, but far more oppressive was the shattering of his invincible technique—the Reverse Wheel he himself had devised with absolute confidence. Nothing filled him with greater dread than this: anxiety clawing at his gut, terror freezing his veins, and an overwhelming sense of futility crushing his spirit. Before his expulsion, there had been multiple matches at Tashirō’s dojo where he’d challenged his master using the Reverse Wheel technique—each time either achieving victory or forcing a mutual strike!

Yet only on this very night had it been so splendidly thwarted. (If Master Itsumi had truly meant to strike then—if he'd stepped in and cut—I would've been split clean in two.) (With the Reverse Wheel Technique broken like this, I stand almost no chance of winning. Should Master Itsumi go on teaching that countermeasure to others, I'll be utterly helpless.) This terrified him. (Or was my arm simply duller than usual back then? I used the Reverse Wheel Technique, but my execution lacked precision—maybe that's why it got temporarily countered. If that's all it was, I can still rest easy.)

(Then...) Jinjurō thought with brutal clarity. If I could just take someone—anyone—fully prepare the Reverse Wheel Technique, and cut them down! If I could cut them down! That would restore my confidence! He clung to this thought.

(Alright... Should I cut someone down?) When he thought "Who?"—Mondo's image flashed through his mind instantly. (Hmm... I'll cut this guy down!)

The villain’s true nature revived.

Thinking about it, Mondo was an extremely dangerous companion to have along. He was someone who had targeted me as his enemy. And someday, because of this guy, I was supposed to be killed... Get myself killed? What nonsense! What a fool I had been—to have even entertained the thought that I would let this man kill me someday... Moreover, people’s hearts are fickle things. My heart can change... And that Mondo might change his mind, listen to my breathing as I sleep, and try to slit my throat... Alright—I’ll cut him down right here and sever the root of this calamity.

Jinjurō turned around sharply. "Mondo! Hey, Shigisawa Mondo!"

“What is it?” Mondo stopped. “I’ll use the Reverse Wheel Technique one more time in this pitch darkness to show you.”

2 "There's no need for that," Mondo said. When one harbors a plan, it naturally manifests in their voice—and Jinjurō's words carried an ominous resonance unlike his usual tone, precisely because of this.

It was because he found this terrifying... Jinjurō pressed insistently. "Day and night differ by nature. In this darkness... I'll show you the Reverse Wheel Technique. Draw your blade." (He would demonstrate it - feigning instruction - make Mondo prepare fully, trap him with the Reverse Wheel, and kill him to avoid future trouble.) This was Jinjurō's true intent. "I see," Mondo said reflexively. "Day and night differ by nature. In this darkness... the Reverse Wheel Technique... Yes. I should learn this properly."

“Sure thing—go ahead and draw your sword now.” Having said that, Jinjurō drew first. “Alright… I’ve drawn… Now get ready.” Mondo also said as much and did exactly that.

Both men drew their blades and faced each other in the darkness. “Mondo, be fully cautious. …Don’t think of this as a mere match. …Think of me as your father’s enemy—which I undeniably am—and come at me seriously, resolved to slay that foe here and now.” “Hmm. Alright. Then I’ll proceed with that intent.” “I too intend to come at you thinking—‘I’ll cut you down in retaliation.’” “Hmm. Come at me with that intent.”

“In the darkness, the Reverse Wheel Technique... might just slash through your left flank for real!”

“......” “In this pitch darkness... There’s no telling what might occur...”

“…………” “I might truly cut you down.”

“......”

“It’s pitch dark… You can’t see well.” “......” “Then it’s a counterattack… Even if you get struck down in return, don’t hold a grudge. Strike incoming—!” he hissed in a hushed yet sharp voice charged with killing intent. That struck Mondo’s ears.

Danger! Mondo thought in that instant. (This is strange! This isn't like usual! ...Could he truly not intend to cut me?)

Mondo naturally became utterly focused. He positioned his sword squarely at middle guard and glared through the darkness at his opponent. In the pitch darkness, Mondo could make out his opponent’s form—a black, menacing silhouette standing before him—and even the sword held in middle guard seemed to emit a faint, pale glow. To that pale blade alone, Mondo’s eyes were drawn. The opening! As usual, a breathless, life-draining moment passed.

Then, the blade was drawn swiftly to the left diagonal, like water receding. Mondo darted forward. In an instant, the sword flicked back slightly. “Hah!”

The instant... A thunderous battle cry—"Ka—!"—resounded through the air, a voice brimming with full force that seemed to come from nowhere. “Ah!” Mondo bent his knees and collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud— “Hmm,” Jinjurō staggered and took two or three faltering steps backward. Then in the next instant, he passed through the dark grove and went running headlong down toward the foot of the mountain.

3

The one who had called out was Yōsuke.

When he tried to see the sights of the Living Hell and approached the valley's lower entrance, he was blocked by guards who then aimed a firearm at him. He was no match for projectile weapons.

So he veered away and retreated. They had traveled over a ri (about four kilometers) when it happened. An indescribable aura of murderous intent and lethal blades—such a presence could be felt. (Someone is trying to kill someone.) Masters possess a different kind of sense. Masters skilled in gambling—such experts could discern the numbers on dice inside a covered cup.

For masters of kendō, the murderous intent approaching them—such things were naturally understood. Even if it did not deliberately target them, they could also sense the slaughter and bloodshed occurring nearby—such things.

That was what Yōsuke had sensed. Crush the one who cuts, save the one who is cut. In that instant, Yōsuke thought. At the same moment he thought this, reflexively, “Ka—!” he shouted. Then, from a dozen ken away, the rustling sound of leaves could be heard as someone fled through the trees. Yōsuke immediately realized he’d fled.

“M-Master…! Wh-what happened…?!” Just as Mondo was brought down at the waist by the battle cry and collapsed flat to the ground, Suginami Noshinosuke—who had likewise been brought down at the waist by the battle cry and collapsed to the ground behind Yōsuke—let out a scream.

“Mr. Suginami? What a state you’re in!” “Wh-what k-kind of state… Sensei… Even if y-you say that…” “Ahahahaha! Up you get! Up!” “I had a dreadful encounter.” As he spoke, Noshinosuke stood up. “What on earth happened?” “Na—nothing. Just dispelled some malevolent energy.” “M-malevolent energy…? But… what do you mean by ‘malevolent energy’?” “Never mind—I’ll explain later… At any rate, I’ve purged it. Stay perfectly still for now.”

And so he stood perfectly still. Before long came the sound of footsteps descending toward the foothills. “Ah—the other one’s fled too.” “Master? What do you mean—they’ve fled?” “One meant to kill another. …I thwarted it.” “…The would-be killer fled first—then the near-victim followed suit.” “In such utter darkness—you could perceive this, Master?”

“If one possesses keen eyes and ears, even in darkness or while asleep, such things can be perceived.” Mondo was running frantically. Fear, anxiety, and a peculiar anger had left his mind reeling. If only he had maintained greater composure—if he could have sought out and met the owner of that fearsome battle cry who had saved him from danger, he might have encountered Akiyama Yōsuke, master of chivalrous swordsmanship, with whom he shared a connection!

4 But for Mondo, there was no such leeway. (Damn Jinjurō—he’d changed his mind. He had indeed reverted to being a villain. It seemed he’d tried to kill me. If he hadn’t done that, that breath—that murderous intent—wouldn’t have manifested! Even so, that piercing “Ka—!” battle cry that had saved my life in that instant—who on earth had shouted it?) Even as he ran, these thoughts raced through his mind.

(Anyway, I can no longer live together with Jinjurō. ...Then I can't even return to Horse Magnate Inoue Kamon's guest quarters. ...What should I do? What should I do?)

He thought this as he ran headlong. (That "Ka—!" battle cry!) ...This was a terrifying battle cry, entirely different from that of any ordinary human! ...I thought my life would be cut short)

While thinking this, Jinjurō too ran single-mindedly toward the foot of the mountain—ran and ran and ran. (But I’ve failed to execute the Reverse Wheel Technique once again with this!) Another failure! Another failure! (Hmm—another failure of the Reverse Wheel Technique!) This was nothing less than a fatal blow for him—indeed, in fact, another fatal blow. In this state, all restraint vanished—whoever they were, whoever they might be, he’d slash them all… He’d vent this seething rage.)

He ran and ran.

It was on this night that Inoue Kamon’s territory—a den of hypocrisy—was thrown into chaos. A young woman holding a nursing infant wandered through the territory late at night, trying to track down her wayward husband. A figure passed by like a demon.

"Agh—!" The woman let out a scream. The woman was already dead. The pet dog had gone somewhere. An old farmer, trying to spot it, walked by while leaning on his cane.

“Kuro, Kuro, come here, come here.” He walked on, calling out like this.

A figure slithered past beside him.

A flash! A blade's gleam! “W-w-w-w-wa—!” The old farmer collapsed and lay still. They were being cut down over there, and they were being cut down here as well. People rushed outdoors.

Gambling den chaos

1 Kamon was by no means a person of integrity, nor was he a skilled administrator; he was merely in the position of family head, traditionally exploiting that position to tyrannize, rule autocratically, and intimidate.

And so, the subjugated people had secretly harbored grievances and discontent in their hearts for a long time. These people, whose realm had been thrown into chaos by intruders, seized that moment to erupt. Over there a mob, here a mob, in the alleyways a mob, in the vacant lots a mob, in the groves a group, in the woods a group—gathered everywhere to argue, brawl, and grapple. They made no attempt to verify the truth—why, by whom, for what purpose, or what kind of disturbance had been caused—and driven by formless terror, formless fury, and formless desperation, same factions banded together to attack dissidents, same parties united to assault rival factions, cursing, demanding, and clamoring in tumult.

“Rescue the people of the Living Hell!”

“Waaah!” Dozens of people raised a battle cry and surged toward the foothills. “Let us make Lord Kamon leave this land!” “Waaah!” With this roar, dozens charged recklessly toward the mansion. “Your labor practices are too cruel!” “Keeping useless guests housed here is a mistake!” “Expel all visitors!”

With a "Waaah!", the crowd gathered as one, surged toward the houses where the guests were staying, and began raising a clamor. Screams! Groans! Cries! Angry shouts! The guests, also in disarray, left their houses and blended into the crowd.

Akiyama Yōsuke, Noshinosuke, Genjo, and Mondo were all among them. Kamon also seemed panicked and terrified.

He stood at the entrance, utterly bewildered.

At that moment, Tashirō appeared. “Lord Itsumi, what should we do?” “Might there be a method to quell this disturbance?” “Well... With people’s spirits so heightened...” “Would it not be better to withdraw temporarily?” Otsuma and Tōma also stood trembling by his side, as if frightened. Bamboo horns blared, battle bells clanged, and eventually even the report of firearms resounded. The large closed gate was on the verge of being breached. It was not long after that when over a dozen of Kamon’s retainers, guarding a palanquin carrying Kamon, Tashirō, Otsuma, and Tōma—four people in total—fled from the riotous domain along the back mountains toward Fukushima.

The next afternoon arrived. Fujisaku, Rinzo’s adopted son, casually stepped out of his own gambling den and turned his steps toward Inoshimatsu’s gambling den.

Inoshimatsu’s gambling den was in Uenodan, and that night it was packed with guests.

2

Fujisaku was drunk. And he had not forgotten how Inoshimatsu’s adopted son Hachigorō and his men had beaten him down when he tried to rescue Sumie from danger on Kamigo Highway. Someday I’ll repay this grudge—such thoughts had occupied his mind.

Now he came to Fukushima.

Inoshimatsu’s gang had opened a thriving gambling den in Uenodan. “With all these respectable loan bosses from various provinces gathered here—if Inoshimatsu makes the first move, that’s different—but we mustn’t be the ones to start anything.” Though Boss Rinzo had cautioned him, Inoshimatsu’s gambling den also housed Hachigorō—*I’ll crush this bastard no matter what*—and fueled by drink, Fujisaku, the adopted son, headed for Inoshimatsu’s gambling den.

Entering inside with hands tucked in his sleeves, Fujisaku stood abruptly behind the guests and glared around his surroundings. Long straw mats had been spread over the wooden floor—with these at the center, the guests sat lined up in a row, waiting. Though Inoshimatsu himself remained absent, his chief adopted son and acting manager Kan Minekichi occupied the central position, a silver-mounted long wakizashi thrust through his belt as he kept the piece box at his side. The middle attendant—the one shaking the dice bowl—proved to be Hachigorō. Wearing nothing but a bleached loincloth, he bustled about managing the game with remarkable vigor.

Before the knees of the guest who kept winning, game pieces were piled up like a mountain, and this guy was grinning broadly. Horse owners, mountain landowners, local magnates—whichever one looked at, the guests were all upstanding individuals, and there wasn’t a single shady character among them. Fujisaku did not attempt to place bets himself; instead, he stood there indefinitely, glaring around as he looked for some pretext to pick a fight. From the moment Fujisaku entered—That annoying bastard showed up!— Minekichi and Hachigorō both 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 signaled each other with glances and continued the game without uttering a word. Then, suddenly, Fujisaku bellowed.

“Halt the game! There’s cheating going on here!” Simultaneously leaping forward, he grabbed the gambling mat and tore it off with a violent motion.

"You bastard!" Hachigorō leaped up. "It's a raid—!" The guests sprang to their feet and scrambled about in panic.

3 "What do you mean cheating, you bastard!"

Hachigorō abruptly lunged. Fujisaku skillfully dodged the smack to his cheek, but, “Cheating—! Cheating—!” “…The dice shaker at Takahagi Inoshimatsu’s gambling den—Hachigorō is cheating here!” “…Honored guests—it’s a cheat—!” he shouted. “Fujisaku!” Kan Minekichi shouted in a voice that could no longer contain his fury. Grabbing his long wakizashi, he stood up and strode resolutely forward.

“Take one look—you’re dealing with Fujisaku of Akabane! Don’t act like you don’t recognize me!” “I ain’t lookin’ to stir up trouble here, but if the Takahagi gang gets accused o’ cheatin’ at their own gamblin’ den—well, I just can’t let that slide.” “Come on—tell me! Where’s the cheating?!”

“What’re you yappin’ about?! It’s rigged—! If the dice’re fixed, then the bowl’s fixed too! The whole Takahagi gang’s crooked—!” Though Fujisaku had roared this, he hadn’t actually uncovered any cheating to justify his outburst. Rather, he’d simply wanted to stir up chaos—to make enough racket to take Hachigorō down—and had launched this gambling den raid with that sole purpose. Thus, when Minekichi cornered him, he naturally couldn’t produce a shred of evidence for his claims.

He just kept shouting, "Cheating—! Cheating—!"

“Bastard!” Minekichi grew increasingly angry. “So you bastard came to trash our gambling den and steal the takings!” There, he sneered mockingly and spat venom. “Rinzo of Akabane—for all his youth, I’ve heard he’s praised among his men as a boss who attends to every detail. But seems he’s too tightfisted to even give his adopted sons pocket money—leaves their purses empty! “Your adopted son came to steal the gambling den’s money! “Do you think the Takahagi gang would let ourselves be trashed by the likes of you?! “...Everyone! Beat this bastard to a pulp and drive him out!”

At the command, Hachigorō and five or six adopted sons of the Takahagi gang surged forward, surrounding Fujisaku as they beat, kicked, and dragged him about. “Kill! Kill! Kill him now!” “The boss’ll handle the remains!” “Kill! Kill! Kill him now!” Fujisaku lay sprawled in a大字 shape—overpowered by numbers—yet kept up his blustering shouts. The Takahagi gang’s adopted sons hauled him outside and flung him into the street. “So Fujisaku messed up at Inoshimatsu’s gambling den and got beaten senseless?”

Rinzo of Akabane, who had been drinking in the back of the restaurant, heard this report—specifically, when he heard it from his adopted sons—and grabbed his long wakizashi. “We can’t just sit around like this! Everyone, with me!” Taking the surrounding adopted sons with him, he ran toward his own gambling den. 4

Inoshimatsu of Takahagi had also been drinking with four or five of his adopted sons in a private room of a restaurant, but when he learned of this incident through their report, his face turned pale. “If they’d had no grounds to speak and still been accused of cheating, we’d have beaten him to a pulp.” “...But their opponent was trouble.” “After all, he’s one of Rinzo of Akabane’s own men—someone who’s been nursing grudges against us for ages.” “...This won’t end quietly.” “...In any case, fall back to the inn.”

So they returned to the inn. Rinzo first went to the gambling den, administered emergency treatment to the injured Fujisaku, had him carried back on a plank to the inn, then returned to the inn himself. "Even if Fujisaku's methods were wrong—to be accused of coming to steal gambling den money—I can't stomach this! Those Takahagi gang bastards already have enough grudges piled against them. Let's wipe them out in one go!" They began preparing for a raid.

The news reached Inoshimatsu’s side. “Now that it’s come to this, there’s no helping it. We’ll launch a raid ourselves.” Gathering bamboo spears, long wakizashi, and even firearms, the Takahagi gang began their preparations.

The ones who were alarmed were the other moneylenders—Sukegoro of Koganei, Wasuke of Ejiri, Tōbei of Kajikazawa, Genzō of Miho no Matsu, and nearly all other lenders—who gathered at one inn to deliberate mediation strategies. As a result, Sukegoro of Koganei went to Inoshimatsu's faction while Tōbei of Kajikazawa approached Rinzo's side, each explaining the situation separately. "When that Fujisaku from Akabane's crew—drunk and making trouble—started yelling about cheating at your gambling den, I know even you must've been boiling mad, Inoshimatsu. But with this lucky streak keeping the horse market thriving and our gambling dens packed—everyone shouting 'congratulations!' left and right—if you start a war with Akabane now? The whole market'll go to hell! Can you imagine the mess for everyone?" "That horse market's got just one day left." "...So swallow that anger for now. Do us this favor—keep things peaceful here." After Sukegoro made this appeal to Inoshimatsu, Tōbei then addressed Rinzo with,

“Fujisaku’s drunken antics—that bit of gambling den trouble—were likely just high spirits from the bustling market. But when Takahagi’s men accused him of coming to steal their takings and hurled insults… Well, we of Akabane can’t just swallow that. Still, with the horse market ending tomorrow, let’s settle this quietly.” “If a feud breaks out, the merchants and all the inn staff will face hardships.”

Having said this, he tried to settle the matter. Neither Rinzo nor Inoshimatsu were inflexible. When told this, they could not press through and engage in private combat. “Then we shall leave it to you,” they said.

However, Rinzo thought. (Sooner or later, Inoshimatsu and I aren't meant to walk the same path.) Before long, we'll inevitably cross blades in a life-or-death clash. Every day we delay just means more misery for both sides. ...Let's end this here and now. ...As long as we don't drag others into it, any method's fair game.) Thereupon, he drafted a challenge letter and secretly had it delivered to Inoshimatsu.

The challenge letter proposed that without involving others, just the two of them would settle their score tonight in the field at Kurokawa Crossing on the outskirts of the post town. "A reply came: 'Agreed.'" 5 Kurokawa Crossing lay half a ri from the inn—a thickly wooded area with scarcely any houses, save for a single ferryman’s hut standing on the riverbank. To reach Nishino Village, one would cross there to the opposite shore. Rinzo arrived at the ferryman’s hut.

“Old man, get the boat ready.” “Oh! If it isn’t you, Boss... Operating the ferry at night is strictly forbidden, but...” “I’m well aware of that.” “Truth is, I just took someone across not long ago.” “Forbidden or not, secret passages stay secret—yes yes, I’ll take you across.” The old man launched the boat and ferried Rinzo to the opposite shore. “Another fellow like me will likely come wanting to cross. When he does, ferry him without complaint.”

“Would that be the Boss of Takahagi, perhaps?” “Well now! How’d you know that?” “He’d just crossed over moments ago and said much the same thing.” “As expected of Inoshimatsu—crossed ahead already? Damned impressive.” “...Listen here, old man.” “Either I or Inoshimatsu’ll be headin’ back to the inn soon. Keep your boat tied up here—don’t go returnin’ to t’other shore.”

“Right, very well… But… will only one of you be returning?” “That’s right—only one will return.” “Another will embark on a distant journey... The kind you don’t return from.”

Having said this, Rinzo advanced. Then, from within the thicket of mixed trees,

“You from Akabane—I’ve been waiting,” came Inoshimatsu’s voice. “Takahagi—forgive my lateness.”

“I only just arrived myself.” In a moonlit spot where light filtered through the trees, the two faced each other. “Now then, Takahagi,” Rinzo said. “This is our third duel—let’s settle it for good this time.” “Yeah, I’m of the same mind… The first was on the Kamigo Highway, the second in the field on the outskirts of Oiwake Inn, and the third here at Kurokawa Crossing…” “This time for sure, it’ll be settled.” “This third time will be the decisive one, I tell you.” “If I die—hey—Takahagi’s lot, my turf, my boys—you look after every last one of ’em.”

“Understood. I’ll make sure to look after ’em.” “In return, when I die...” “I’ll look after every last one of ’em.” “I’d say there’s nothing left to regret.”

“This tangled mess between us two will finally be cut clean tonight—just thinking about it lifts my spirits.” “Until now there were always people watching when we dueled—constraints everywhere—but tonight it’s truly just us two. Let’s cross blades without holding back!” “Then let’s begin.” “Come at me, Takahagi Inoshimatsu!” “My blade’s drawn! Face me, Rinzo!” Kōgen Ittō-ryū versus Shinkage-ryū! Two gambling bosses perfectly matched in strength!

Their stances—both in the same middle stance! They were two who had formally studied kendo under Itsumi Tashirō and Akiyama Yōsuke—top swordsmen of their time—as their teachers. From their positioning to their breathing, everything was precise, sharp, and without openings. However, being young, Rinzo of Akabane grew slightly impatient to settle things in one strike and, as if sharpening his opponent’s blade, had just begun to inch forward and leap in when— “Mmm—” A human groan sounded from nowhere in particular.

Convergence of Grudges

1

Rinzo wondered, *Huh?* *I was certain there were only two of us here—so why do I hear someone groaning?*

Because his attention wavered, his stance naturally faltered.

Seizing that opening, Inoshimatsu struck with lightning speed, slashing at the torso. "Hah!" With that shout, Rinzo leaped back in the nick of time, adjusted his posture, and corrected his stance.

Not an inch of opening remained. The two measured each other's breathing, maintained a six-foot interval between them, and remained locked in a glare without moving. Then another groan was heard. (Huh?) This time it was Inoshimatsu of Takahagi who wondered—and as his attention wavered, his stance naturally developed an opening. (Now's my chance!) With his signature two-handed thrust, Rinzo of Akabane charged forward like a battle arrow. A metallic clang rang out for the first time—Inoshimatsu of Takahagi having deflected Rinzo of Akabane's blade leftward and twisted it right—and in the instant after the sword's resonance, their positions had shifted only slightly, stances still both in middle stance as silence reclaimed the scene.

But where were those groans coming from?

Several yards away from the two men lay a large boulder covered in thicket and shrubs. Behind it, a samurai lay collapsed—the source of the groans.

Illuminated by the pale moonlight, the samurai with disheveled hair, exposed clothing, and wounded limbs became discernible as Mizushina Jinjurō. He was the one who had barely escaped the turmoil in Kamon’s domain, managed to walk this far, and then collapsed from the injuries to his limbs and mental exhaustion. On the other side of the boulder, Rinzo and Inoshimatsu were crossing blades in battle. Though he knew that being spotted would spell disaster and that making noise was unthinkable, he could not help but let out a groan.

Those who had fled Kamon’s domain appeared to be of considerable number, for in the distance from this spot—far beyond Suyama and Akiyama’s mid-slopes—torchlights seemingly heading toward Fukushima could be seen dotted here and there. (Why are Rinzo and Inoshimatsu crossing blades in a place like this?) Of course, Jinjurō didn’t comprehend it, but his mind wasn’t calm enough—nor his body healthy enough—to dwell deeply on such matters. (And yet, the strange and eerie twists of events in Inoue Kamon’s territory! What should I call it?)

Though he was a villain, the thought of this matter made his body tremble; yet Jinjurō, in his agitated state, found himself unable to calmly recollect even this. (I can’t die in a place like this!) Hurry to the village! (Hurry to Fukushima!)

He had been fixated solely on this thought and, lying prostrate, had been letting out groans since earlier. By now, for both Rinzo and Inoshimatsu, the groans had ceased to be a concern. Gradually steadying their approaching breaths and resolved to settle the match in one decisive strike, they inched forward with measured steps. However, once again at this very moment, an unexpected obstacle arose. From between the grove of trees, several torchlights shone forth, 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, Itsumi Tashirō, Otsuma, and Tōma. “Why, it’s Master Itsumi!” Inoshimatsu involuntarily shouted and ran several yards around the boulder. This was no act of fleeing; rather, he felt deeply ashamed that his kendo master Itsumi Tashirō—who strictly forbade unnecessary displays of swordsmanship and wanton slaughter—should witness him here in such a state, brandishing a drawn blade in this manner.

However, he immediately reconsidered, gave a bitter smile, and stopped in his tracks. "Isn't that Inoshimatsu there?" Having apparently been first to spot the figure, Tashirō shouted from within the palanquin.

“Stop the palanquin for a moment.” Tashirō emerged from the stopped palanquin and approached Inoshimatsu. “What are you doing brandishing a drawn blade?” As he spoke, he shot a sharp glance at Rinzo of Akabane—who also stood beside Inoshimatsu, also brandishing a drawn blade, also wearing a bitter smile— “You must be Lord Rinzo of Akabane Village.” Because Inoshimatsu had run several yards, Rinzo had run several yards alongside him; because Inoshimatsu had stopped, Rinzo had stopped too. Now addressed thus, Rinzo bowed his head—

“Is it Lord Itsumi? To encounter you in such an unexpected place—I am utterly overwhelmed.” Since it was none other than Itsumi Tashirō—a man whose face he knew well—Rinzo of Akabane spoke with sullen resignation. Tashirō too had seen Rinzo’s face before and recognized him. He also knew this man was the rival of his own kendo disciple, Inoshimatsu of Takahagi. And the scene before him now struck a deep chord within his heart.

“Inoshimatsu,” he said sharply. “A duel?” “Indeed!”

“…………”

Inoshimatsu bowed his head. “Inoshimatsu!” Tashirō said again.

"A duel! Very well! ...But after they duel, what good could possibly remain?" "…………"

“A duel! “A duel... Well, the result is one person dies! “……That’s right! One will be killed! Unless there’s a damn good reason… one shouldn’t engage in duels.”

“…………”

“What’s the reason? Speak.” “Yes,” Inoshimatsu said solemnly. “Among Rinzo’s men here, there’s one called Fujisaku. When this man came to my gambling den and caused havoc, my own men couldn’t hold back their anger—they all ganged up and gave him a thrashing…” “So it was over raiding the gambling den.”

“Yes, that is indeed the case.” “If you say everyone beat Fujisaku together, then I suppose the conflict stands at fifty-fifty.” “Well, that may be so, but…”

“Then why would you two go so far as to duel here again?” “A subordinate’s grudge falls upon those above…” “So you mean it becomes the oyabun’s grudge?” “Not only that—Rinzo and I have been worse than dogs and monkeys since long ago…” 3 “I’ve heard such rumors myself, but isn’t this discord ultimately about territory disputes and power struggles?” “Yes indeed—but for us itinerant gamblers, what we call territory holds great importance…”

“By whom were you permitted to establish something like territory?”

“…………” “The land belongs to the authorities and the lords. How dare you gamblers presume to call it your own sphere of influence—your territory?” “…………” “What manner of business do you people claim to be in?” “…………”

“You speak of an itinerant life, yet you engage in gambling forbidden by the authorities, skirting the law to survive in shadows—you gangsters! You scoundrels!” “…………” “Given your station, you ought to act with discretion in all matters! Refrain from violent clashes and live humbly as befits your position!” “How dare you call this a duel?!” “Inoshimatsu… you were one who studied kendo under me.” “I have received your instruction.”

“Then you are my disciple.”

“There is no need to say more.”

“Repent!” Tashirō said fiercely. “I shall execute this unworthy disciple!” Then Rinzo, who had been silently listening to Tashirō’s words until this moment, slowly sheathed his drawn sword and stepped firmly before Tashirō to speak. “Master Itsumi, I humbly request that you grant me the same execution.” Rinzo smoothly extended his neck. “What?” Tashirō fixed his gaze on Rinzo. “It is this Rinzo who caused your prized disciple Lord Inoshimatsu to fall into unworthiness.”

“…………” “As long as Rinzo does not instigate conflict, the mild-mannered Lord Inoshimatsu of Takahagi would never engage in a duel.”

“…………”

“Please grant me execution as well.”

Tashirō gazed intently at Rinzo’s earnest face when “Truly worthy of a man—such noble spirit! “This Tashirō is thoroughly impressed… Therefore, I have a request. “…Lord Rinzo, reconcile with Inoshimatsu…” “…………” “How regrettable that two such remarkable men from Chichibu’s same soil should clash rather than stand together! “Should you fight, both tigers will bleed. “You must unite your strength through reconciliation.”

“Lord…” Rinzo bowed his head. “Your words are most reasonable, and they have deeply moved me—if Inoshimatsu of Takahagi does not refuse, I would gladly seek reconciliation—” “Oh! Even I of Akabane consent!” Inoshimatsu of Takahagi declared resolutely and joyfully. “Let’s wash away our past entanglements and reconcile as friends!”

At this moment, a voice called out from the shade of the trees. "This Yōsuke also gives his full approval indeed!" Akiyama Yōsuke came out from the shade of the trees.

4

And then, following after them came Noshinosuke and Genjo. All of them had escaped from the maelstrom of great chaos in Inoue Kamon’s territory and made their way down here.

And then Yōsuke stood in the shade of the trees and watched Tashirō’s handling of the matter. “I approve of the reconciliation between Inoshimatsu and Rinzo. Furthermore, let us also reconcile the conflict between Lord Itsumi and this humble one.”

Magnanimous Yōsuke laughed with these words. "Oh! To have the honor of meeting Mr. Akiyama in such an unexpected place." "The reconciliation between Lord Rinzo and Inoshimatsu, and the reconciliation between you and this humble one's martial arts dispute!" "You have approved both matters, and Itsumi Tashirō is satisfied."

Tashirō also spoke with evident delight. “Even so, Lord Akiyama, what brings you to a place like this?” “That is something this humble one would rather ask you—what business brings Lord Itsumi to a place like this?” “In truth, I was staying at Lord Inoue Kamon’s estate when…” “Well now, this is a curious matter—for this humble one was also staying at Lord Inoue Kamon’s estate…”

“Ah, indeed. I was entirely unaware and could not have the honor of meeting you there, which I deeply regret.” “In light of this recent commotion! I withdrew and returned here, so…” “so I withdrew and returned here.” “In truth, this humble one was also in the same situation.” At this moment, Kamon exited the palanquin and greeted Yōsuke anew.

“There is no point remaining here. Let us withdraw to Fukushima for now.”

When Tashirō said this, the group agreed. After the group departed from this place, it once again became a quiet, uninhabited realm of deep woods and moonlight. However, behind the rocks, Jinjurō was groaning in pain from his injury. Because he had been behind a large rock, he had gone unnoticed by both Tashirō and Yōsuke—a circumstance he considered fortunate—but though he caught sight of Otsuma and Genjo, being unable to do anything about it struck him as regrettable.

*There’s no point staying here.* Thinking this，he stood up. “It hurts! It hurts! “It hurts!” Jinjurō cried out，immediately collapsing and clutching his right knee. “Ah… The bone’s shattered.”

Before long, autumn arrived.

In the castle town of Nagoya, domain of the foremost Owari branch among the three great Tokugawa houses, cherry blossom leaves too began to scatter, lured by the wind.

Around this time, a moon-viewing banquet was held at the estate of Ishikawabara Higashiichishō, a 10,000-koku fiefholder, and senior retainers and young samurai of the household were invited to that estate. Takekoshi Tajima, Watanabe Hanzaburō, Hiraiwa Tosho, Naruse Kenmotsu, and other high-stipended samurai sat together with their lord Higashiichishō, truly refined and quiet as they engaged in reminiscing about old tales, while the young samurai—for their part—were in a separate room slightly removed from them, carrying on as if in informal revelry through boisterous laughter, wild boasts, and tall tales: stories of women, accounts of supernatural beings, and discussions of gambling matches.

and Saeki Kanroku, a twenty-eight or twenty-nine-year-old samurai,

“Have you heard the rumors about the Street Slashing?” he said, surveying the group.

At the moon-viewing banquet,

1 “What kind of Street Slashing are these rumors about?” asked Maeda Shuzenn, a samurai. “They say it’s a lame samurai with a T-shaped cane committing the slayings—” “I’ve heard that rumor.” “They claim he uses an unusual swordsmanship style.” “They say he flicks his blade into the Reverse Wheel stance and immediately follows with a torso-encircling slash—or so the stories go.”

This story came to an end here.

Cups were passed around and sake flasks were carried as the comely young samurai serving drinks moved splendidly through the gathering. "This humble one obtained a new Osafune blade at Bizen-ya's shopfront several days past, but in this peaceful era one cannot perform test cuttings—the sharpness remains unknown to this day, which is rather vexing." Kawakami Kajirō said, surveying the area with drunken eyes. "You've also acquired a new blade, I see—well, this humble one did likewise... It's said to be a Sōshū-made piece, but its edge remains unknown still."

The one who had spoken these words was a twenty-five- or twenty-six-year-old samurai named Furusu Uchinosuke. “Hah! If you want to test that blade’s sharpness,” said Kanda Shin’nosuke—a samurai leaning back against a pillar, his flushed face illuminated by lamplight and clearly deep in his cups—“just go to the Ōsone rice fields nearby and cut down some beggar or something. You’ll find out quick enough.” “Lately, ill-natured beggars seem to have multiplied in the castle town—one ought to cut them down whenever the opportunity arises.” “Ah, now this is an excellent plan indeed.”

"If they're beggars, then cutting them down should be permissible," two or three samurai chimed in unison. Yet this discussion too reached its conclusion, giving way to talk of women. "This humble one endured a most dreadful ordeal, I assure you."

A twenty-two or twenty-three-year-old samurai named Seto Kin’ya began to speak with a wry smile. "A few nights ago, while I was walking in the precincts of Ōsu, a young woman approached me. Given that area’s reputation, I surmised she might be a streetwalker. When I approached and lightly took her hand, she twisted mine back—and just like that, I fell over. Seems I was thrown by a woman."

“Ah ha ha ha!” laughed the group. “We know about knocking women down—but being knocked down by a woman? That’s upside-down!” “So that’s the true nature of a charmer, eh?” “So that woman knows jujutsu, does she?” “Indeed,” said Kin’ya. “She had the appearance of a fallen samurai’s daughter—her clothing was filthy, but her face and figure were beautiful and refined.”

At this moment, Kawakami Kajirō and Furusu Uchinosuke whispered to each other and leaned in to murmur into Kanda Shin’nosuke’s ear. Shin’nosuke smirked, nodded two or three times, and stood up. Then Kajirō and Uchinosuke rose and slipped stealthily from the room. None among the others, engrossed in idle chatter, noticed this—save for Akiyama Yōsuke alone, who had been leaning against a pillar in peaceful feigned slumber, repeatedly nodding off. At that moment, he opened his eyes sharply, watched the three depart, and furrowed his brows as if appraising them.

However, he merely furrowed his brows, did not call out nor rise to follow, and soon closed his eyes again, resuming his peaceful feigned slumber.

2

Why was Yōsuke in a place like this?

As soon as the Fukushima horse market concluded successfully, Rinzo of Akao and Inoshimatsu of Takahagi reconciled and grew close, departing together for their hometowns. Thereupon, Yōsuke sent his disciple Noshinosuke back to Edo with Genjo in tow, while he himself journeyed alone to Nagoya. This was because Isahaya Kanbei—a senior retainer of the Owari clan—numbered among Yōsuke’s acquaintances. Having made the journey as far as Fukushima, he resolved to visit Nagoya after so long a time, pay his respects to Lord Kanbei, and tour the castle town—and thus he had come.

Akiyama Yōsuke’s formidable martial reputation was known even within the Owari Domain, so tonight he had been invited to the Ishikawara residence alongside Kanbei. Initially, Yōsuke had mingled with the senior retainers and exchanged pleasantries in a separate room, but for someone as unconventional as him, the atmosphere of such gatherings felt unbearably stifling. Then he quietly slipped out and came to this room where the young samurai were, and while listening to their conversation, he gradually began to doze off.

The night gradually deepened, but the banquet showed no signs of ending easily, and the people's spirits grew ever more fervent.

Then, the young samurai named Furusu Uchinosuke, who had left the room earlier, returned, his face pale. “What happened? What’s wrong?” “You look pale.” “Where have you been all this time?”

the young samurai asked in unison.

"I have brought shame upon myself through my actions," Uchinosuke said with a trembling mouth. "Intending to test the new sword, I went with Mr. Kawakami and Mr. Kanda to the beggar huts in Ōsone, where from beneath the edge of a straw mat on one hut, a white blade flashed out, and even the valiant Mr. Kanda had his leg severed." "What? Mr. Kanda by a beggar...?" The young samurai fell deathly silent. This was because Kanda Shin’nosuke was a martial artist respected as quite a skilled swordsman even within the Owari Domain.

“Thereupon, this humble one and Mr. Kawakami escorted Mr. Kanda to his residence, where Mr. Kawakami remained behind, and this humble one alone returned…” said Furusu Uchinosuke with evident shame. The group said nothing. Since their colleague had been struck down, they ought by rights to sally forth and exact revenge. Yet given their opponent might be a samurai—or worse, some beggar from a hovel—even cutting him down would bring no glory. And should they themselves be struck down instead—for the foe seemed formidably strong—to fall thus would be the deepest disgrace.

And so they remained silent. At that moment, Yōsuke sprang to his feet.

And then he left the room.

Bathed in the light of the full moon, Akiyama Yōsuke walked toward Ōsone with quiet footsteps. This area was still part of the residential district—a hushed place even in daylight—but now in the depths of night, it grew utterly desolate, with neither the sound of footsteps nor any trace of people walking about.

Siblings Who Doubt Each Other

1

On this night, in a room of a farmhouse in Ōsone, siblings were talking.

It was Mondo and Sumie. As for how Sumie—who had been cast into that Living Hell within Inoue Kamon's domain—came to be in such a place: that night, rioters had surged toward the cliff above the Living Hell and lowered numerous ropes in an attempt to rescue those trapped within. Clutching at them, the people of the Living Hell had been hauled up from that valley. Sumie had been among them. Then amidst the riotous throngs, while wandering through Kamon's territory, she had fortuitously encountered her sworn brother Mondo.

The joy of those two in that moment! While recounting their pasts and giving thanks for their fortunate reunion, they escaped Inoue Kamon's territory and first came to an inn in Fukushima. There, they inquired about Jinjurō's whereabouts. It appeared he had gone to Nagoya's castle town. And so, the siblings came to Nagoya together, and upon arriving in this place, Mondo and Sumie first lodged at an inn and inquired about Jinjurō's whereabouts. However, the castle town was quite extensive, and they could not discover his whereabouts.

Moreover, due to the hardships they had endured thus far, both Mondo's body and Sumie's body were utterly exhausted. They needed to recuperate. Moreover, as their travel funds were gradually dwindling, they vacated their inn in the castle town, rented a detached farmhouse, moved there, and began cooking for themselves while continuing their search for their enemy's whereabouts and tending to their health. The incessant chirping of insects, occasionally mingled with the hushed sound of falling leaves, carried autumn's loneliness into the dimly lit, aged room.

“How are you feeling, Brother?” Sumie asked with concern. “Hmm, I’m not well at all.” Mondo was ill of late. That said, it was not an illness of the heart or lungs or any such organ, but rather a melancholic disorder he was suffering from. (Sumie had traveled with Mizushina Jinjurō, sharing lodgings all the while!) This was the cause of the melancholy. When they had exchanged stories of their pasts, Sumie had told Mondo about this matter—that though they had shared lodgings while traveling together, there was no deficiency in her body—in her chastity—and regarding this point, she had strenuously asserted herself. Thereupon, Mondo also revealed with utmost frankness that he had traveled and shared lodgings with Otsuma, and then spoke of how there was no physical deficiency whatsoever, so that Sumie might be reassured.

After enduring countless hardships, Mondo and Sumie—reunited at long last—rejoiced in their meeting and, without suspicion, forgave each other for those questionable past lives they had led.

But when that joy eventually faded and they returned to a tranquil life, they began to harbor suspicions about this matter. Though referred to as siblings, they were in truth stepsiblings betrothed to one another—destined ultimately to become husband and wife.

And thus, Mizushina Jinjurō’s killing of their father Shōemon must have stemmed from his illicit infatuation with Sumie. The fact that she had journeyed with Jinjurō alone, sharing lodgings all the while! Mondo was compelled to suffer anguish.

2 Just as Mondo suffered anguish, Sumie too was compelled to suffer. (Since he had shared lodgings with that lustful woman Otsuma for days on their journey, it couldn't possibly have been innocent.) (They must have had intimate relations)

She was compelled to suffer anguish. As for dispelling such feelings between them—those painful feelings—there was no way other than Jinjurō and Otsuma appearing to prove with their own mouths that no such relationship had existed. However, though they were two people, they were enemies of Mondo and his allies, and their whereabouts remained unknown. Consequently, there was no opportunity for their painful feelings to dissipate.

"Lady Sumie," Mondo said in a cold, formal tone. “Though we two have endured countless hardships through long months and years trying to kill Father’s enemy Jinjurō—trying and trying—the fact that we still cannot strike him down may be the result of gods and buddhas having abandoned us…… No matter how we search in days to come, Jinjurō’s whereabouts will ultimately remain unknown…… may end up remaining unknown forever…… To me, this is the height of bitterness, but for you, Lady Sumie—ah, perhaps it would be better that way…… Ah hah hah! Better indeed, better indeed!”

“…”

Sumie did not reply and hung her head.

(It seems he's being sarcastic again... I won't say anything more.) Having thought this, she remained silent. "Now, Lady Sumie," Mondo continued in a malicious tone. "I find it utterly perplexing... While traveling together with Father's enemy Jinjurō, you never once struck a single blow to slay that foe."

“...” “Even for a woman’s frail form—having shared lodgings in the same room all this time—there must have been chances to catch him in slumber and strike… Since you let those pass without acting, there must have been reasons you couldn’t…” “…………” “I am cursed!” Mondo suddenly shouted in a voice hoarse with agitation. “To think I must wed a woman tainted by the enemy!” “You!” Sumie’s face paled, her entire body quaking violently as she cried out, unable to contain her rage any longer.

“As I have stated repeatedly before, the reason I traveled together with Jinjurō was that at Inoshimatsu of Takahagi in Chichibu’s residence, when I was on the verge of having this body defiled by Inoue Kamon, the horse magnate, Jinjurō saved me... Gratitude remains gratitude, enmity remains enmity—why would I permit my father’s enemy to defile this flesh?... That I let Jinjurō escape during our journey stemmed from the debt of his saving me... Yet for you—my betrothed husband—to harbor such doubts... I have no desire left to live!” “I shall die! I shall die! This unworthy one will die!”

She suddenly grabbed the sword and drew it.

3 Mondo, startled, stretched out his arm and wrested away the unsheathed blade. Sumie pressed her forehead to the tatami and did nothing but sob bitterly.

Quietly returning the unsheathed blade to its scabbard and pushing it out of reach, Mondo crossed his arms and sank into thought. "This is hellish suffering," he thought. (Enduring this suffering—all of it—was because of Mizushina Jinjurō.)

Again his thoughts circled back there. (By any means necessary, I must find that bastard's hideout and cut him down.) (My travel funds were nearly gone.)

This too was excruciating.

His chest felt tight, and even a headache began to set in.

Suddenly, Mondo 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 step over, across lay vast fields where moonlight shone upon the crops like quicksilver. But to the right stood part of an imposing mansion—resembling the lower residence of a high-ranking hatamoto from the Nagoya Itsumi family of the three Itsumi houses—its black bulk blocking the moonlight and casting the surrounding area into darkness.

(In a place like that, there must be an excess of gold hoarded away until it rots.)

Suddenly, such a thought occurred to him, and Mondo gazed in that direction.

Akiyama Yōsuke passed through the mansion district and was walking toward Ōzone. The fact that a mere beggar had sliced through the leg of a highly skilled samurai from the Owari domain with a single strike from beneath a hut—this remained utterly inexplicable to Yōsuke. He felt certain this beggar must be a man of repute, a former samurai. Being a martial artist himself, driven by scholarly curiosity and fascination, he had slipped away from a banquet and come walking here with the intent to meet this beggar and uncover his true identity.

And he arrived at Ōzone. Scattered farmhouses here and there, the rest a vast expanse of cultivated fields—only the monumentally grand mansion of the Nagoya Itsumi family stood black, towering, and imposing under the moonlight, as if presiding over the entire area. Surrounded on all sides by sturdy earthen walls with thick plantings growing within them that apparently housed nocturnal birds, from which occasional cries fell. Passing by the mansion, Yōsuke proceeded onward.

And there, far ahead, he could see dugout huts scattered here and there, lined up in a shabby formation. Yōsuke proceeded in that direction.

However, he abruptly stopped,

“Hmm,” he muttered and stared intently. For dozens of figures had come leaping out from the huts like grasshoppers, forming a group that now walked toward him. Struck by the oddness of it all, Yōsuke hid himself in the shadow of a straw stack and waited. Wearing woven hats and leaning on pestle-shaped staffs, a band of beggars approached—led at their head by a ronin.

The Samurai with the Pestle-Shaped Staff

1 The band of beggars walked toward the Itsumi Mansion while discussing. "To think Master could cut down the leg of that Owari domain samurai—who'd come for test cutting—with just a single strike from beneath the Komodakuri hut! Truly astonishing skill indeed," one of the beggars remarked in awe. "That was mere child's play," the samurai with the pestle-shaped staff remarked nonchalantly. "Back when my legs were sound," another added musingly, "whether five men or ten, I'd cut them all down in a single sweep."

Yōsuke silently listened to their conversation from the shadow of a straw stack, but when they passed before him, he followed from behind.

(The one-legged samurai with the pestle-shaped staff was the one who had cut down the Owari domain samurai from beneath Komodakuri with a single strike.) This was because he had reached this conclusion. The band of beggars came to a halt before the rear gate of the Itsumi Mansion.

Inside the enormous inner storehouse of the Itsumi Mansion, two men were conversing. One was Inoue Kamon, the horse trading magnate; the other was Itsumi Tashirō. Before their eyes lay several massive Chinese-style chests armored with nails and iron rings. These contained gold ingots, silver plates, and other precious metal implements alongside martial equipment. Converted to Shōwa period values, this hoard might have amounted to hundreds of millions of ryō.

“I see,” Tashirō said with a sigh. “A fortune surpassing even legends.” “Indeed,” Kamon nodded and said. “The portion held by the Nagoya Itsumi family alone amounts to this much… .” “In addition to the Nagoya Itsumi family, the Chita and Inuyama Itsumi families also have treasures of this magnitude stored away, so…” “The one who controls these three families is you, Lord Inoue Kamon.” “Yes, for generations, we Inoue Kamon have governed.” “And to preserve this secret, the three Itsumi families have avoided interaction with the outside world as a family precept.”

“That is indeed a wise approach, but to let such vast treasures lie idle without use…” “Indeed, indeed,” Kamon said. “I humbly believe that continuing with our current method of preservation will no longer be advisable… Moreover, now that I have informed Your Excellency of the treasure’s location, I earnestly wish to receive your gracious assistance in researching how best to utilize this wealth henceforth.”

“Very well. I shall be happy to assist in any way I can.” But why on earth were these two at the Itsumi mansion? Following that disturbance, Kamon, Tashirō, and the others had fled to Kiso Fukushima before making their way together to Nagoya. Since Inoue Kamon himself was the true master of the three Itsumi families, they had simply entered the Nagoya Itsumi mansion first.

2 At that moment, a clamor arose from the direction of the main residence. Kamon and Tashirō exchanged glances, exited the storehouse, closed the door behind them, and ran toward the main residence. What they found was a crisis unfolding. A mob of beggars brandishing weapons—commanded by a ronin leaning on a pestle-shaped staff—were trying to loot the household goods while the mansion's defenders struggled to hold them back. The samurai who had knocked off his woven hat to reveal himself was none other than Mizushina Jinjurō. With his right hand, Jinjurō gripped Otsuma by the collar.

Within Inoue Kamon's territory, he had caused a disturbance but ended up injured and maimed himself. He had wounded his left leg. He went to Fukushima, then to Nagoya. Having no means of livelihood, he had finally been reduced to beggary. He had incited his fellow beggars and raided the Itsumi Mansion that night in pursuit of money. Now upon breaking into the mansion, there before him unexpectedly appeared Otsuma—his former mistress who had betrayed him.

“Damn you!” he roared as he seized her. Kamon and Tashirō came rushing into the spot. “Jinjurō—!” “Ah! Master Itsumi!” Startled, Jinjurō tucked Otsuma under his arm, flung away his pestle-shaped staff, and broke into a run. “Wait! Jinjurō—!” The beggars blocked Tashirō as he gave chase. “Stand aside!” roared Tashirō while drawing his sword—and in that instant, someone felled a beggar from behind.

That was Akiyama Yōsuke. “Ah! You are Akiyama-dono!” “Ah! This is Master Itsumi!”

“Akiyama-dono, what brings you here?” “Having observed the beggars and a suspicious crippled samurai infiltrating this mansion together, I followed them to confirm their presence, judged it to be a raid, and wishing to alert you, I too infiltrated the premises.” “That crippled samurai is none other than Jinjurō.” “What? Jinjurō?” “So it was indeed him.” “……So that bastard Jinjurō is…?”

“He has taken a woman called Otsuma and fled mere moments ago.” “Let us pursue them. We must not allow their escape.” “By your will! Let us give chase—they cannot have gone far!” Tashirō and Yōsuke broke into a run. The beggars had already scattered in flight. Jinjurō, clutching Otsuma under his arm, raced through the cultivated fields. Footsteps pounded in pursuit behind him. (Somewhere to hide... I must find shelter.) Ahead stood a farmhouse, lamplight seeping through its shutters.

(I'll have them shelter me there.)

Jinjurō ran in that direction. One of the wooden shutters was open, and the dim figure of a person could be seen there.

“I was attacked by ruffians—please shelter me awhile.” “Very well,” said the man, stepping aside to one side.

Objective accomplished

And then, lamplight shone faintly through the wooden shutters into the front garden. “Ah! You are Mizushina Jinjurō!”

“Who’s there? Ah! Shigisawa Mondo!”

The one who had been standing on the veranda was none other than Shigisawa Mondo himself. By the lamplight that spilled into the garden, Shigisawa Mondo—who had recognized Jinjurō—grabbed the sword the moment he shouted, leaped into the garden, and driven by accumulated resentment, slashed almost in a frenzy.

“Gah!”

Jinjurō collapsed to the ground. He was holding Otsuma under one arm. Moreover, one of his legs was crippled. He had been cut around the thigh of his intact right leg. And in that instant, Sumie drew and poised her sword, then leaped from the veranda into the garden. “Lady Sumie!” Jinjurō shouted in a voice thick with impending death. “It was only because I became infatuated with you… and though we traveled together along the Kiso Highway, I never once harmed your body or virtue—I take heart in this as proof that this Jinjurō’s true nature still held some goodness… Now, Mondo—strike this humble one down!” “Before that—this woman!”

He released Otsuma and with the freed hand drew his sword, slashing her from shoulder to chest.

“Eee—!” With that scream, Otsuma collapsed and convulsed. But even in her death throes, “Lord Mondo… To meet you one last time in this world is my greatest solace… Though we traveled together, in the end, we remained strangers… Now I am Jinjurō-dono’s wife… I die by my husband’s hand.” “Strike, Mondo! Now, strike nobly!” “Good resolve! I’ll strike you down, Jinjurō!” Under Mondo’s descending blade, Jinjurō’s breath ceased, and leaning against him, Otsuma too died.

Soon, those who came rushing there were Itsumi Tashirō and Akiyama Yōsuke.

It was in the following year that Mondo and Sumie were wed, and as a happily married couple at the Sakakibara household, they became the envy of their colleagues. Tashirō and Yōsuke became close friends and consulted on matters regarding the utilization of Inoue Kamon's great treasure. Genjo regained her sanity and achieved renown as a performer, while Suginami Noshinosuke acted as her patron, attending to her needs in every regard. Though Akao Rinzo and Takahagi Inoshimatsu had temporarily made peace, being two great rivals who could not coexist, they eventually resumed their opposition—though this would unfold in days yet to come.