“Well, well. A second warrior.”
The count could hardly contain his joy or, rather, his amusement.
“Ah, now, I remember you had said you were a follower of this dojo.”
“An apprentice. I was watching your match with the sensei from the window. But first, I apologize again for intruding the other night.” Daigo bowed.
“Don’t mention it. But why were you watching from the window?”
Daigo fell silent. He had planned never to set foot inside Renbei-jyuku again. But he had broken his vow because he could not resist the desire to get a glimpse of the mysterious man who had so easily beaten the Shitennô.
Unwilling to enter the dojo, he had watched from the window. He was surprised to see the foreigner in black whom he had encountered at the mansion, but he was even more shocked to discover that this man’s servant had been to one to defeat the Shitennô. If that wasn’t startling enough, he had just witnessed the count defeat his sensei Isanosuke. After seeing his sensei fall, Daigo felt his soul burning—the soul of one who lived by the sword. The reason he had entered the dojo and stood before this man in black was not to redeem his sensei’s honor or to defend the honor of the old-style Shinkage-ryû but simply out of a warrior’s desire to fight when faced with a formidable foe.
“I have a request,” said Daigo in voice so fierce it made the students clamoring around Isanosuke fall silent.
“I’m listening.”
“I would like to challenge you to a match.”
Again, the students stirred. He was still young, but the Shitennô were no match for this kendo prodigy. Perhaps he could… The students buzzed with anticipation.
“I don’t mind. But is it to avenge your master’s defeat?”
“No.”
“To defend the honor of your school?”
“No.”
“Then why do you challenge me?”
“Because it is the way of the sword.”
The count stared at Daigo in an oddly peaceful way. Twisting his body to the right, he looked out the window.
“The rain makes everything hazy,” said the man from the foreign land. “Everything. The past, present, and the future. At least, in my country.
“But your country is different. Soon it will stop raining, and the vibrant sun will shine down on the future. Whatever that future may be.”
Everyone was silent.
The count continued quietly, “Where I come from was a small country surrounded by enemy nations. My countrymen took up swords to beat back the invading armies. As did I. Even now, the sultans in Turkey would turn white at the mere sound of the name Dracula.”
Daigo well believed this man was capable of inspiring such fear.
“The pounding hooves of tens of thousands of horses, the sound of arrows raining down, the clanging of swords, so much bloodshed… Have you ever seen the dark earth turned red with blood? The enemy plunged their swords into my countrymen and burned them alive without mercy. And I repaid them for what they had done. I killed every man who turned his blade against me. Then, as a sign and seal of my victory, I impaled them on stakes so high that they could reach the heavens.”
The men saw the count’s lips turn upward into a smile. From behind the unusually red lips appeared white fang-like teeth.
They quickly disappeared, and the count continued, “However, the times are changing. They have taken everything away. My country is weary of battle but has nothing ahead of it. And as a man who risked his life in war, I know this to be true… There is no future in the way of the sword.”
“What do you mean by that?” Daigo realized the stiff voice was his own.
The count replied, “The sword will not perish. However, it will survive as something different from what you are striving for. A world without war has no use for the sword. Soon, the art of the sword will decline until it is merely a method for exercising the body. The world does not desire war and death. Neither do the men who rule it.”
When the count finished, the sound of rain could be heard.
Although, given the present company, the count’s statement had been highly improper, no one raised a voice to dispute him.
Everyone—the count, Daigo, the students, as well as Saigô Shirô, his master, and the politician—silently listened to the rain come down.
Then the count spoke. “However, it appears that the true way of the sword survives within you. I will gladly honor your request.”
“I am grateful.” Daigo bowed his head slightly, without taking his eyes off the count. The match had already begun, and he could not complain if the count attacked him while he was at his most vulnerable.
The count did nothing, but only followed Daigo to the center of the dojo.
It would not have been so extraordinary years ago, but for the men who had lost the instinct, it was a most unusual sight to witness two men who were ready to fight to the death.
The palpable tension between them had shocked everyone into stillness.
Only Shirô reacted. “I must stop them,” he said to Jigorô. However, Jigorô put out a hand and stopped him. “Sensei!?”
“Watch.”
“But they’re serious. One of them will die. Both of them could die!”
“Only one will die.” He might have been right. But Shirô could not help but feel there was something eerie about Jigorô’s confidence.
“What?” When Shirô looked at his master, he suddenly felt something, a powerful, murderous wave of some kind, hitting the side of his face.
The count had unleashed a massive thrust, which Daigo had evaded. But Daigo could not counterattack. Against the count’s swift thrusts, it was all Daigo could do to sidestep the attack and press himself against the wall.
“Sensei.” Shirô tried to run out and intervene.
At that moment, one student had helped Isanosuke sit up where he had fallen. Shirô did not hear the words Isanosuke had muttered so quietly. “Fool. No thrust can touch Daigo.”
The count pulled back his sword.
A final strike. It was unmistakable.
No one could tell which had been faster—the thrust or Daigo.
The black blade appeared to pierce Daigo’s chest. And Daigo’s sword blazed white as it struck the count’s heart.
Letting out a sharp cry, the black figure flew backward and crashed against the wall. The dojo shook.
Daigo also fell forward on the floor. He coughed, clutching his chest. The floor below him turned red. With blood.
“Daigo-sama!” A sorrowful cry pierced the air. “Daigo-sama!” Chizuru cried out again and ran to his side. When she had returned from sending a maid out for a doctor, the match had already begun.
As he looked at the excited students, it was Kanô Jigorô who announced, “It’s a draw!”
Though no one could argue it was not an impartial judgment, it did not make the decision any less regrettable.
Someone yelled out, “No, victory belongs to Minazuki Daigo!”
All eyes turned to the count.
Peeling himself off the wall, he said, “He struck me in the chest and evaded my sword brilliantly. I haven’t felt such pain in four hundred— Well, in a long time.
“However,” he said, looking at Daigo, who was still coughing up blood, “It appears you and I are destined for the same place. I may, therefore, be of some service to you.”
Nobody understood these words.
The count moved toward the door uneasily.
After he had disappeared from sight, the students heard him say faintly, “We will meet again.”
Daigo was still coughing, and everyone knew what had caused Daigo’s coughing fit.
A few moved away from the horrible sight.
Daigo continued to cough, staining Chizuru’s knees with blood. The poor seventeen-year-old suffered from pulmonary tuberculosis.
“Quickly, both of you come inside.” Chizuru turned to the door and gasped. Someone new was at the door. It was Akane in her nightgown. One of the students groaned at the sight of her pale, waxy complexion. “Akane. Go back inside.”
Akane did not seem to hear her sister.
“The man… he’s gone,” she said in a deathly voice.
“Who do you mean?”
All eyes were focused on the sisters.
Akane smiled knowingly. The teeth that protruded from her mouth were sharp like an animal’s.
“I will… see him again… sister.”
She fell over unconscious. Kanô Jigorô came to her side.
The incident ended with the arrival of two doctors; and finally, Kanô Jigorô, along with Lord Inoue and Saigô Shirô, decided it was time to leave. Once the three were in the carriage, the words came pouring out of the minister’s mouth.
“Well, I never knew there existed foreigners so skilled with the sword. We should invite someone like him to our next party. Don’t you think, Kanô-kun?” he asked, hardly able to contain his excitement.
“As you wish,” answered Jigorô indifferently. “Shirô, where did you meet that man?”
“At the count’s home. The mansion in Kôjimachi. The one that belonged to the trading company.”
“Oh, that place?” The minister raised his voice. Owing to his position, he knew the names and addresses of most international trading companies. “Then I simply must send him an invitation right away. If we can learn something about Transylvania, perhaps we can open a new market.”
Ignoring the rather overexcited minister, Jigorô asked Shirô for the details of the events of two nights ago.
“A man who prefers an overcast day… who destroyed Millet’s cheerful painting… and who has bats flying inside his mansion …”
Jigorô’s nervous expression made Shirô grow wary. He asked, “Sensei, do you know him?”
Without changing his expression, Jigorô replied, “Minazuki-kun’s illness… I hope there is a cure.”
“He is an extraordinary young man,” said Lord Inoue, leaning in. “The count said some strange things, but I believe that young men like Minazuki-kun are the future leaders of our country. The martial arts are not dead in Japan, nor should we allow them to die. If necessary, I will procure the best doctor in Japan for him.”
“Please make arrangements for Sensei Kashiwabara and Minazuki-kun.” Jigorô bowed. “However, the count might require a doctor of a different sort.” His eyes gleamed.
Shirô shuddered. Based on the company he kept, perhaps it was more accurate to call Jigorô a politician than a warrior, but every once in a while, he had an expression on his face that reminded Shirô what a demon he had been in the dojo and in the martial arts. Now was one of those times.
“Why has he come such a long distance to our country? That is what I want to know. And I saw him staring at the girl’s throat wound.”
The judo founder’s voice echoed not only inside the carriage but inside Shirô’s and Inoue’s minds as well.