But that was only reasonable. Hatsumi’s father, Kuchiba Kiyoshiro, was known as Japan’s greatest swordsman, and the woman Hatsumi faced now was said to be beyond even him. She wasn’t considered the strongest simply because she’d disconnected herself from all worldly ties and thus found the title unpalatable. Her power was the real deal.
Second among the Four Great Sages, the head of the Hyakki Yagyo, the sword master who’d been bestowed the secrets of the blade by the sword god Futsunushi’s manifestation as the eleven-faced Goddess of Mercy—that was Shamon Byakuya. The only ones to have ever attacked her in a head-on confrontation were Hatsumi’s father when he was younger and the man who’d been called a genius swordsman.
“Hatsumi, won’t you attack?” Byakuya asked.
“...Please honor me with this bout,” Hatsumi eventually replied.
Hatsumi knew from the very beginning that she could never win. Trying to search for an opening was ridiculous. All she could do was throw everything she had into a full-on assault. So, that was exactly what she did.
“Hah!”
She didn’t shout, but exhaled, unleashing a straightforward strike that could easily tear even metal apart. However, Byakuya blocked it with a sweep of her sword. The shrill sound of metal grinding against metal resounded through the garden.
Up until Hatsumi had swung her sword, she’d been sure that Byakuya’s blade had still been dangling along the ground. So how had she been able to so casually block Hatsumi’s blow? It didn’t make any sense. Well, comprehension was beyond the scope of this battle. The gulf between their skills was simply too wide.
Hatsumi was overwhelmed by Byakuya’s strength and was flicked back with ease, and she dug her heels into the garden soil to skid to a stop.
“Ugh...”
She groaned in pain. Her hands had gone numb, as if she’d stopped an enormous iron ball with only her palms. Byakuya then thrust her sword into the ground. In that instant, Hatsumi could no longer judge the distance between them. She backed away. Byakuya looked so defenseless without her sword in her hand, but if Hatsumi tried to take advantage of that, she had a premonition she would be cut in two with a strike from below. The chill running down her spine told her so.
“Phantom Sword of the Kurikara Dharani, Esoteric Technique—”
The moment Byakuya began muttering, a wind assaulted Hatsumi, a devilish storm from the pits of hell that ran straight through her, from the ground up to the heavens.
Before she knew it, she found herself on her knees. She raised her head and saw Byakuya, her sword above Hatsumi’s head, staring quietly at her.
“That was...” Hatsumi muttered.
“What I imparted to Kiyoshiro twenty years ago,” Byakuya said. “It’s too early for you to master, but it should help.”
With that, the beautiful boy who was Byakuya’s companion sang a verse. It was the martial poem for this technique.
“Hatsumi, remember this song well,” Byakuya said. “The time will come when you’ll depend on it and this technique, then make it your own.”
“Yes. Thank you for your instruction.”
Byakuya then put away her sword and petted Hatsumi’s head again as the beautiful boy pulled a purple bundle out of nowhere. It was a long bundle, like a bag one would use for a bamboo sword.
“Hatsumi-san, take this,” he said.
“What is it, Gikou-sama?”
“Open it and see for yourself.”
Hatsumi did as he said and unfastened the rope, revealing an odachi. It had the same length and width as the blade she always used at the dojo. Its make was of the Kokushitsu Tachi style and had a certain haze along the boundary between metals.
“Take it,” Byakuya said, holding a gentle hand to her jaw.
“What is it, granny?” Hatsumi asked.
“This is my parting gift to you for the battle to come. I figured you’d need it in the future and had one of the old swords reforged. We had plenty of Hihi’irokane.”
“You made this just for me?”
“Indeed. Use this odachi to cut down what you must.” Byakuya paused there before continuing in a serious tone. “Hatsumi.”
“Yes?”
“When a swordsman draws their blade,” Byakuya began.
“They accept where they stand as their final resting place,” Hatsumi continued.
“Only death awaits once the sword is drawn,” Byakuya said.
“Only death awaits once one is struck,” Hatsumi replied.
“Precisely because there is only one chance at life...”
“...one path, the warrior’s path, which is found in death.”
After they finished that exchange, Kiyoshiro bowed to Byakuya.
“Founder. Thank you very much for granting my daughter your time.”
“Mm. The fewer reasons to worry about the children’s safety, the better,” Byakuya said as if it was no big deal. “Especially when they’re headed into battle.”
Her eyes then wandered, stopping in the direction of the Yakagi mansion.
“And what is that youngster Yakagi up to right now?” she asked.
“Suimei is at home,” Hatsumi answered. “He refrained from coming here. He says it’s ’cause he quit.”
“I see. Such a trifling matter shouldn’t concern him.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“But if he doesn’t want to come, we can’t exactly force him to,” Byakuya said. “Hatsumi, tell him he’ll do well to focus, now more than ever. Tell him that what awaits him goes beyond the danger before his eyes.”
“Granny, what does that—”
“You don’t need to give it any thought for now,” Byakuya said, cutting her off. “It’s in the future, beyond your current fight.”
As Shamon Byakuya gazed at the bloodred moon with her glowing eyes, it really seemed like she was capable of seeing through anything and everything.
Recalling the sight of that sword and keeping it close at heart, Hatsumi returned to the present and steeled herself.
“I’ll bring it down,” she said. “You two cover me.”
“Hatsumi-sama?”
“Hatsumi?”
“Please. Just give me an opening.”
Hatsumi concentrated in order to deliver the finishing blow. She’d practically forced this request on the others, but they complied without question.