“I apologize for dropping in without notice,” said the figure in black. “I enjoy walking in the light of day sometimes, even if the day is overcast. And this is my first time meeting true Japanese swordsmen. I am Count Dracula.”
He regarded the men with a hawklike air, and someone in the crowd gasped in awe.
The count heard the man; he tilted his face in the direction of the sound and curled his lip. It was a smile. He had recognized Shirô in the crowd.
“This is rude indeed,” said Isanosuke stiffly. “At the moment, we have guests at this dojo—government dignitaries. You must go.”
Count Dracula grinned. It was a wicked, bloodchilling smile, entirely different from the one he had given Shirô.
“Of course. But first I must apologize. The one who injured your followers yesterday was my servant. I had given him a sword, and I suppose he wanted to test his skill. Although I was not aware of his actions, I’ve come to ask for your forgiveness. It’s not much, but I hope this will be of some help with the hospital fees.”
The count produced a leather satchel from inside his cloak. It looked heavy.
Without looking, he tossed it aside. The student, who quickly reached out to catch it, nearly buckled under the weight of the satchel.
“Now I am done with apologies. I have a request to make. I would like to challenge the best fencer in this dojo to a match.”
The crowd, at first dumbfounded by the count’s arrogance, now buzzed with activity.
It had been bad enough that his “servant,” as this man had said in such archaic fashion, had come to the dojo and injured several of its students. But now the servant’s master had the audacity to return to the dojo and demand a match with a master fencer. And there was nothing apologetic about the arrogant way in which he spoke and threw down the satchel.
“As I said, we have important guests. And we do not accept challenges from foreign fencers. Please leave at once.” Isanosuke made his refusal clear.
The count smiled again. This time, it was more of a mocking sneer.
“Far away, on the other side of the ocean, in my country, I had heard that Japan was a land of warriors. And once I met a warrior who seemed proof of this rumor. But perhaps I was mistaken. A day will come when you have no choice but to fight a foreign enemy. However, I suppose you will merely make excuses, as you are doing now, and lock your gates. If the warrior I met long ago heard of this, he would commit hara-kiri out of shame. Fortunately, he is no longer here. Pardon me.”
“Wait!” someone called out. The count stopped.
“I am Kanô Jigorô. I am a teacher and student of a different discipline of martial arts.”
“Ah,” said the count, turning around. “Jigorô Kanô—a name I have heard many times since I arrived in the capital. It is an honor to meet you. Could this tiny warrior be one of your followers?”
The founder of judo turned to Shirô with a look of surprise. “Do you know him? He is not my follower but my apprentice. He lives in my dojo, training and studying judo night and day.”
“Ah, it seems your dojo has at least one decent apprentice—unlike this dojo, whose students would rather avert their eyes than match swords with an enemy.”
Isanosuke and the students, who had been under the spell of the count’s imposing manner, became angry again.
“Sensei, Renbei-jyuku does not run or hide. Let me fight this ill-mannered foreigner!”
“No, let me!”
“And me!”
Angry shouts came one after the next out of the crowd. Isanosuke raised his arm to calm his students.
“It appears my students have taught me. Renbei-jyuku does not turn its back on an enemy. I hesitated because Lord Inoue and Sensei Kanô are present, but perhaps they would like to observe how we match up against someone from another style of fencing. Is this all right?”
“Of course.” Lord Inoue nodded without hiding his excitement. He was the one who had persuaded Jigorô to drop in unannounced. His daring was, at the very least, equal to that of the count.
“All of us martial artists will support your decision, Kashiwabara-san,” said Jigorô. “But first, I have two or three things to ask. All right?” He looked at Isanosuke and the count, who both nodded. “Count Dracula, are you from Eastern Europe?”
“You are correct. My home is at the end of the world, Transylvania.”
Jigorô’s eyes glimmered. “I studied medicine long ago. Not formally… dabbled in it, really, hoping it would be of some use in judo. I have a friend who researches the relationship between superstition and endemic diseases. I first heard about Transylvania from him.”
“Oh, so what disease is endemic in my country? And what is its relationship to superstition?”
“Perhaps that is for another discussion,” Jigorô continued, “but I became interested in what my friend had told me and began to study your country’s history and traditions. It was difficult because there was very little information, but I managed it with the help of a book importer.”
“I agree that it is those who improve their knowledge through study who will succeed in this new age,” said the count. “However, false knowledge can often be dangerous to its bearer, as well as needless knowledge.” The count glared directly at Jigorô. It was a look that had the power to intimidate even the judo genius. The count turned to Isanosuke and said, “It seems Jigorô Kanô is done. I’m ready for my match.”
“Very well. Your weapon?”
“Here.” It was only then that everyone realized that the count had been concealing his right hand inside his cape all this time.
That hand emerged from the cape. It gripped a long sword. There was a hemispherical cover between the blade and the hilt. And that was all Shirô could make out before the sword began to dance.
There was not a bow or kiai—no sound at all. It was a total surprise attack, and yet Isanosuke, who had been standing in the way of the sword’s trajectory, had moved to the right in a blink of an eye. To everyone’s amazement, he was now in a fighting stance.
“You coward!” one student shouted, standing up. Isanosuke had barely dodged a sneak attack. The students were in an uproar as others rose to their feet.
“That’s enough!” Isanosuke barked. “It is the martial artist’s duty to be prepared for any attack. There’s no use yelling ‘coward’ once you’re dead.”
“Indeed.” The count smiled. “For what you have just said—and for your skill in evading my attack—I take back everything I said about your dojo earlier.”
“What a relief,” replied Isanosuke, sliding forward toward the count.
His wooden sword shot out. It appeared that only his hands were brought forward, but the count let out a cry and leaped back. The sword came at his chest in a fierce thrust. The count landed on one knee ten feet away, but Isanosuke’s sword menaced him with all the skill its wielder had inherited from the master Kami-izumi Isenokami.
The count’s right arm and sword rose.
Everyone saw his eyes burning crimson.
Isanosuke stood motionless, and several seconds passed.
There was a silent, murderous exchange between the two men, which was not obvious. Only Jigorô had caught it—and Shirô.
Isanosuke lurched forward.
The sword fell from his hand. As it hit the ground, the sound echoed. Then Isanosuke clutched his chest with his left hand and fell to the ground.
“Sensei!”
The students ran to him. Shirô and Jigorô, who had studied some medicine, followed.
Then Chizuru ran in and knelt beside her father.
She looked desperately at Jigorô, who was taking her father’s pulse, her hand resting on his forehead.
“It’s his heart. Get a doctor quickly.”
“Yes,” answered Chizuru. When she got up, a chill ran down her spine.
Automatically, she looked in the direction of the man who made her blood run so cold.
The count was on his feet. With those burning eyes, he stared at Chizuru—
At her pale beauty. At her slender neck.
Shutting her eyes, she ran away toward the main house.
Watching her leave the dojo, Count Dracula put away his sword.
“He defeated Kashiwabara Isanosuke with only his spirit. I can’t believe it,” muttered Lord Inoue.
“Indeed,” agreed Kanô Jigorô. “However…”
“However?” Inoue’s question went unheard, for the students were rising in anger at the count’s imminent departure.
“Wait!”
Dracula stopped in his tracks. Seizing the opportunity, the students grabbed their wooden swords and surrounded him. Then they realized that the count had not stopped because of them.
Standing between the count and the door was Minazuki Daigo.