Ogata stared at the more than one hundred samurai of the Hirose Domain who had come to take his life, and his thoughts drifted back to the days when he had trained at the Sakakibara Dojo.
Those had been carefree, happy days.
The memories alone brought the faintest smile to his face.
And all of that happiness had vanished because of Matsudaira Gennai’s brutality.
“Ogata Issei!”
A thunderous shout shattered his reverie.
It came from Nanahara, who stood guard at Matsudaira Gennai’s side.
“Put down your swords!”
His booming voice rolled outward from his tall, powerful frame.
“Don’t think that receiving a menkyo kaiden in Sakakibara Ittō-ryū makes you invincible! No matter how skilled you are, do you truly believe you can fight more than a hundred men at once?”
Nanahara’s furious shouts gradually pulled Ogata out of his memories.
Ogata raised his eyes and calmly swept his gaze across the faces of the samurai before him.
Faced with more than a hundred enemies, neither sorrow nor joy touched his expression.
Slowly, he lifted the uchigatana gripped in his right hand.
Its point aimed straight through the wall of warriors surrounding Matsudaira Gennai and Nanahara.
That single gesture was his answer.
At the sight of it, Nanahara felt his blood surge to his head.
His face darkened to a furious crimson.
“Ogata Issei!” he roared again.
“You treacherous villain! You are a retainer of the Hirose Domain—a samurai—yet you would assassinate your own lord! We offered you a chance out of mercy, and you refuse it! Have you no shame as a samurai?”
“Today,” Ogata said calmly, “I did not come here as a samurai.”
His left hand rose from his side and settled upon the wakizashi at his hip.
“Today, I stand before you simply as a man.”
Shing!
He drew the wakizashi in a single smooth motion.
The uchigatana in his right hand and the wakizashi in his left reflected a cold gleam beneath the open sky.
With both blades drawn, Ogata slowly assumed the opening stance of Muga Nitō-ryū.
Matsudaira Gennai watched with open curiosity.
Nanahara’s pupils contracted, and he drew a sharp breath.
He recognized the stance as the beginning form of some school of nitō-ryū, though he could not identify which one.
“Ogata Issei!” Nanahara bellowed.
“You know how to wield two swords?”
“When did you fall under the illusion that Sakakibara Ittō-ryū was the only sword art I knew?”
A murderous chill finally darkened the face that had remained expressionless until now.
“I will take Matsudaira Gennai’s dog head today. Let me see who among you has the courage to stop me!”
Even with more than a hundred samurai barring his way, he possessed no thought of surrender and no intention of retreat.
An icy killing intent surged and boiled from Ogata’s body.
The force of his presence seemed to strike the assembled samurai.
Many of the men blocking his path involuntarily retreated half a step; some backed away several paces.
“Hmph.” Nanahara snorted.
“Stubborn to the bitter end! Do you think holding a second sword doubles your strength? Samurai of Hirose—cut this traitor to pieces!”
At his command, more than a hundred warriors raised their blades and charged with furious cries.
Ogata showed no fear.
Tightening his grip on the long and short swords, he advanced one measured step at a time to meet them.
* * *
Four months earlier—
May 3, Kansei 1 (1789)
Sakakibara Dojo, Hirose Domain
“Ogata-senpai! Ogata-senpai!”
Ogata heard someone calling him.
“Ogata-senpai! We’re in the middle of a match! Why are you staring into space?”
The young man’s voice suddenly rose, making Ogata’s eardrums ache.
His eyes snapped open.
The first thing he saw was a young man standing before him with a shaved sakayaki hairstyle and a bokken in his hands.
He was the one who had been calling out.
Where am I?
Wasn’t I reading in my study at home?
Ogata looked around.
He saw a Japanese-style dojo, rows of bokken arranged along one wall, and a group of people sitting in seiza at the edge of the training floor, all staring at him in confusion.
And directly before him stood the young man holding a bokken.
The young man frowned again and said irritably, “Ogata-senpai, what is wrong with you today? You keep losing focus. If this had been a duel to the death, you would already be dead!”
The man was clearly speaking Japanese, yet Ogata understood every word without difficulty.
Only then did he realize that he, too, held a bokken.
He was dressed in a dark-blue kimono.
Ogata?
A sword match?
What match?
The instant the questions formed, an immense flood of memories—at once familiar and foreign—surged through his mind.
His name was Ogata Issei.
He was twenty years old.
He was an ordinary samurai of the Hirose Domain, employed as a storehouse official and paid the meager annual stipend of fifty koku.
He trained at a kenjutsu school called the Sakakibara Dojo, where he studied a single-sword style known as Sakakibara Ittō-ryū.
Whenever his daily duties ended, or whenever he had free time, he came to the dojo to practice.
At present, he was sparring with his junior disciple, Makino Bunshirō.
Daily matches between fellow disciples were part of the dojo’s regular training.
Ogata was still struggling to absorb the memories that had erupted inside his head when an elderly voice came from one side of the dojo.
“Ogata, compose yourself.”
Ogata turned toward the speaker.
The old man’s eyebrows, beard, and hair were all white.
He was Sakakibara Hanbei, master of the Sakakibara Dojo—and Ogata’s teacher.
When Ogata looked his way, Sakakibara continued sternly, “Losing yourself in thought during a match is nothing like you.”
“My apologies, Sensei…”
Ogata could swear he had never learned Japanese.
Yet fluent words poured from his mouth as naturally as though he had spoken the language from birth.
He slowly raised his bokken and wrapped both hands around the hilt, pointing its tip between Makino’s brows.
The familiar sensation flowing into his palms from the hilt felt almost uncanny.
Seeing that Ogata had finally regained his focus, Makino readied his sword again and tensed every nerve in his body.
They faced one another for a short while.
Makino attacked first.
He shifted the line of his bokken and thrust straight at Ogata.
Although this was Ogata’s first time holding a sword and his first time facing another person in a match, he somehow knew how to grip the weapon—and how to fight.
His body reacted before conscious thought.
He slipped nimbly past Makino’s thrust, then swept his bokken horizontally toward Makino’s chest.
Just before the strike landed, Ogata checked his strength.
The blow hurt Makino, but did not injure him.
“Ugh…”
Makino let out a muffled groan and fell to the floor.
Ding!
You defeated an opponent using Sakakibara Ittō-ryū: Dragon Tail.
Personal Experience gained: 20.
Sakakibara Ittō-ryū Experience gained: 20.
Current Personal Level: LV 7 (570/600).
Sakakibara Ittō-ryū Level: Rank 3 (420/500).
A strange voice rang inside Ogata’s head.
What is this?
He had already been bewildered by his situation.
The inexplicable voice only plunged his thoughts into greater chaos.
“That was an excellent Dragon Tail, Ogata.”
Sakakibara, who had been watching from the edge of the dojo, praised him before adding, “Still, are you feeling unwell today? You have done nothing but lose focus and stare into space.”
“No… I don’t feel ill.”
Ogata rubbed his face.
“Sensei, forgive me, but may I go wash my face? I may not have slept well last night. I seem to be a little drowsy…”
It was an excuse he invented on the spot.
Sakakibara readily waved him away.
“Go, then. But come back quickly.”
“Yes, Sensei.”
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