Three years had passed since he assumed the name Genshichirō, marking exactly five full years since he first arrived in Edo. Genshichirō’s biological father, Tachiki Shinzaburō Tadatomo, had already retired to the shores of Lake Inba in his home province, and his elder brother, Kikunosuke, had succeeded as head of the family.
Genshichirō had gradually grown accustomed to his duties as a hatamoto (direct Shogunate retainer). Managing the granted domain lands and official residence, hearing and judging the petitions of his subjects, and extending loans to the farmers during poor harvest years; hiring laborers to repair bridges swept away by heavy rains or collapsed embankments; and always smiling generously toward his subjects—that was the duty of a domain lord. Occasionally, he would drop by the Shigetsudō dojo to work up a sweat and enjoy discussing martial arts with like-minded hatamoto. He was now blessed with a three-year-old eldest daughter and a newborn eldest son.
On a peaceful autumn day, Genshichirō was summoned to Edo Castle and escorted to the Goza-no-ma (the Shogun’s inner audience chamber). The Senior Councilors (Rōjū) and Junior Councilors (Wakadoshiyori) were gathered in full force. It appeared to be an affair of grave importance.
“Genshichirō-dono,” the Senior Councilor began. “The time has finally come when we require your services.”
So, what was bound to come has finally arrived, Genshichirō thought to himself.
“Is it… a jōi-uchi—an execution by order of the lord?”
“Well, that is what it is usually called,” the Senior Councilor replied.
“Under what circumstances, and what manner of person am I to strike down?”
“Hmm… It is better that you do not know the deeper details. However, I shall tell you as much as I am permitted. The Hida Takayama domain yields timber, silver, and lead from its mountains. There was a certain man who lined his own pockets by illegally diverting those goods. For that, he was ordered to commit seppuku, but he fled before the order could be executed. Now, word has reached us that he is hiding near Kanazawa Castle.”
“Kanazawa? You mean the domain of Lord Maeda of Kaga?”
“Precisely. We are in communication with the Maeda family, but since this matter stems from a disgrace committed by a hatamoto of our Shogunate, we ourselves must go forth and execute him.”
“Where is this man residing?”
“Appearently, at his mistress’s residence. We do not know the exact nature of their relationship, but he likely met a geisha or someone similar while visiting Kaga from Hida, and during his flight, he relied on her to shelter him.”
“Does he have armed men with him?”
“Hmph. It seems he keeps local yakuza thugs with him as bodyguards. Nothing to be overly concerned about.”
“Am I to face him—including those thugs—all by myself?”
“We wish to avoid making a grand spectacle of this for various reasons,” the Senior Councilor explained. “We must avoid a massive siege using a crowd of Kaga retainers and Shogunate officials. If possible, we wish to handle it so that he officially committed seppuku by command of the authorities. Therefore, we wish to carry this out quietly, with a small number of men.”
“What arrangements are there for men other than myself?”
“Nothing has been decided yet. You need not give an immediate answer today. However, this is an urgent matter. Present yourself at the castle again tomorrow. Let us confer further then. Consult thoroughly with your father as well.”
Genshichirō recounted every detail of the meeting to Kōgetsusai.
“You should by all means accept this request,” Kōgetsusai said quietly. “However, you cannot possibly handle this alone. This time, as the final step to grant you full mastery—menkyo kaiden—I shall assist you myself.”
“A duo of you and me, Father?”
“Indeed.”
“Father… I am still far from achieving menkyo kaiden,” Genshichirō protested. “I must learn much more from you, and you must hone my unpolished swordsmanship. Can you not grant me a little more time?”
“I have already taught you all eighteen techniques,” Kōgetsusai said firmly. “I have nothing left to teach you. That is your menkyo kaiden.”
“But—”
“Listen to me,” Kōgetsusai interrupted.
“In other schools, they spend ages teaching forms step by step after entry—first degree, second degree, third degree—and only when you reach the eighth degree do they grant menkyo kaiden. But that is merely a slow scheme to squeeze money from disciples for as long as possible, or to put on airs so that people believe menkyo kaiden holds some grand, precious value. Such nonsense is completely unnecessary!
Swordsmanship, in the end, can only be truly mastered by passing through the line between life and death. If you postpone it seeking perfection, a spirit of negligence will gradually take root, and years will pass in the blink of an eye. Surrounded and doted on by your wife and children, living peaceful, comfortable days, you will start thinking: Why should I be tasked with dangerous work—dodging bare blades and diving into a hail of arrows and bullets—when I could just live comfortably? And you will turn into a rotten-hearted man, no different from the countless gokenin and hatamoto out there. If everyone becomes like that, who will stand as a shield to protect the Tokugawa realm when crisis strikes?
Sun Tzu’s Art of War states: In battle, engage with the conventional (seishō), and win with the extraordinary (kishō). The eighteen techniques I have taught you are the seishō—the core fundamentals. All application flows from them. Yet, true application is miraculous and unknowable. In actual battle, no one can predict what will happen. By instantaneous judgment in that very moment, you either live or die. The fundamentals (seishō) can be taught and learned, but the extraordinary (kishō) must be forged by the individual through real battle! You have already reached that stage.
There is one more thing. I wanted to fight alongside you at least once. This will likely be my very last opportunity. Soon, my body will no longer move. Look at my legs.”
So saying, Kōgetsusai pulled up his pant legs and pressed his finger into his leg.
“They are swollen, see? When pressed with a finger, the mark remains. It is a sign that my time of death is near. I can still move now. But if we miss this chance, it may never happen again. If you, whose body can still move, die out there, while I, whose body cannot, survive at home… I could never stop regretting it till the end of time!
Listen well. Recall now, above all else, why you came as an adopted son from the Tachiki family to the Tachibana family in the first place!”
The following day.
Shaving their foreheads (sakayaki) clean, clipping and filing their nails, and pressing their formal robes (kami-shimo) with a hot flatiron (hinoshi), Kōgetsusai and Genshichirō set off together. In due order, they crossed the Ōte-bashi Bridge, passed in front of the Hyakunin-bansho guardhouse, went through the Chūjaku-mon Gate, and ascended into the Honmaru of Edo Castle.
They were escorted to the waiting room near the Naka-goza audience chamber and sat in waiting, until before long, the sliding doors in front of them parted to the left and right.
“Old friend,” the Senior Councilor spoke. “May we truly entrust this task to you?”
“Why, I still have no intention of losing to younger men,” Kōgetsusai replied smoothly.
“I see! Reassuring words indeed. With the two of you—father and son—there is no chance he will escape.”
Kōgetsusai’s request was granted.
That evening, Genshichirō said to his wife, Osato:
“Tomorrow, I depart for a certain place with my father. I leave the house in your care.”
“Where are you going?”
“I cannot say.”
“How long will you be away?”
“I do not know.”
“So… you are finally becoming a manslayer, too.”
“…It is forbidden to discuss such work, even with one’s own wife.”
“Then I shall ask no further,” Osato said softly. “However… if both Father and you should die… what am I to do?”
“You need do nothing. Even if we die, the Shogunate will take care of everything. It has been arranged that you and our daughter will be taken in and provided for by the Tachiki family.”
“No!”
Osato turned her back to him.
“Do you not want me to become a manslayer?” Genshichirō asked.
Osato’s shoulders shuddered slightly, but she uttered not a single word in reply.
If I had succeeded as head of the Tachiki family in place of my elder brother, I would have taken Osato as my bride and built the very family she dreamed of. How wonderful that would have been.
Yet that is now an impossible dream. In the first place, had that happened, the person I married would not have been Osato, but Otaki. The same human being, living a completely different life. If only I had not become Father’s disciple back then…
A terrifying thought crossed his mind: If my father dies, and my elder brother dies… could I return to the Tachiki family? His younger sister had already married into another family.
No, these are wicked thoughts. I am now the head of the Tachibana family. I shall live as a man of the Tachibana family.
Osato spoke with her back still turned:
“In truth… I simply want to live quietly with you and our children. Anywhere would be fine. Won’t you take me with you to somewhere in your domain lands? I do not care how rural or how poor we might be.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Genshichirō said softly.
A samurai could not travel or relocate at will. If one gave up their office, the fief lands had to be returned as well.
The next morning, Genshichirō tucked a silver hairpin into the hair bun of Osato, who was cradling their infant son. It was the very hairpin Genshichirō had bought for Otaki long ago, which had remained unused ever since.
“How uncharacteristic of you to do such a thing…”
Osato wept as she spoke.
At first light, he picked up his daughter, then held his newborn son close to his chest before handing him back to Osato, and took his departure.
On their journey, the two visited Zen’in-ji Temple to offer prayers at Sakurai’s grave. Whenever ordered to carry out a jōi-uchi, his father made it a rule to pay respects there before setting out.
Tracing the Nakasendō highway, when they worshipped at Suwa Taisha Shrine, Genshichirō remarked:
“The deity of Suwa was the guardian deity of the Hōjō clan of the Kamakura Shogunate. Pray well for everlasting fortunes of war.”
“Father… was the Hōjō clan truly comprised of genuine samurai?” Genshichirō asked.
“Indeed,” Kōgetsusai replied. “For the sake of the people of Hinomoto, they willingly took upon themselves the bloody, troublesome, and despised work that the Emperor, court nobles, and monks all loathed to touch. Had the Hōjō clan not existed, there would be no unbroken line of Emperors in Japan today; like China or Korea, it would have become a country where merely the strongest survived and dynasties replaced one another with every turmoil. No, before that, we might have been conquered by the Mongols and turned into a mere fragment of China’s four hundred provinces.”
“Must a samurai live such a harsh and relentless life?”
“Having become one yourself… did it exceed your imagination?”
“For now, I am somehow enduring it,” Genshichirō confessed. “You, Father, are a strong man, so you can endure. But my colleagues, my wife… they could never withstand such crushing pressure. I feel it strays far beyond the bounds of humanity.”
“I know nothing of others,” Kōgetsusai said coldly. “Those who hold the power over life and death of men—is this not how they ought to be? That is what it means to be a samurai.”
Crossing the Anbō Pass from Suwa, they entered the Hida Basin and took lodging at the Takayama Jin’ya official residence.
That evening, they learned that the former Shogunate Deputy of Hida had been abruptly dismissed and had subsequently gone missing, and that his successor had not yet arrived. Genshichirō, who had hoped to gather various useful pieces of information from the Deputy, was left disappointed.
“It appears,” Kōgetsusai said quietly, “that the target we are to strike down this time is none other than Shibayama—the previous Hida Deputy.”
“What? You know of him, Father?”
“Not well. But among our fellow hatamoto, he is famous as a master of the Jigen-ryū style. He will be a formidable opponent.”
We went down into Toyama and finally arrived at the encampment near Kanazawa Castle. Listening to the current situation from the retainers of the Maeda clan, we devised a plan.
“Tomorrow’s task will be carried out in total darkness. So that we do not strike down our own allies, we shall decide upon a code word (fuchō).”
“What is a fuchō?”
“It is like a password. Pay attention: my name is Kōgetsu (Crooked Moon). Yours is Kōun (Plowing Clouds).”
Saying so, he wrote the characters on a sheet of Japanese paper with a brush, added kana phonetic readings beside them, and continued:
“Now, let us practice. If I call you Kōun, you shall call me Kagetsu. Understood?
Kōun.”
“Kōgetsu.”
“Kōun.”
“Kōgetsu.”
“Good. Now, this time, you call me Kōgetsu first.”
“Kōgetsu.”
“Kōun.”
“Kōgetsu.”
“Kōun.”
“Very good. Never forget it. If you forget the code word—if I call you Kōun and you give me any other answer—I may end up cutting you down.”
“I understand.”
“Then we shall burn this now.”
With those words, Kagetsusai threw the paper with the code word into the hibachi charcoal brazier, letting it burn away.
“May I ask you one thing?”
“What is it? Speak.”
“Yes. Is there any connection between this code word and the title Kagetsusai, which you, my father, go by? If there is a story behind it, I would like to know.”
“Haha. A story, you ask? Not that there isn’t one. Well then, since you ask, perhaps I shall tell you. I once had an irreplaceable friend. Sakurai Seiichirō, whom Nagaharu mentioned. Seiichirō was much younger than I—in his early thirties at the time, while I was past forty. Young as he was, he was a man of extraordinary talent; with a sword in hand, he won every battle. He yielded to no one. Lord Sakai of the Senior Council (Rōjū) often had us secretly dispose of masterless samurai (ronin) and spies from outside domains who snuck into Edo disguised as commoners. In short, those whom the town magistrates and officers could not handle—those who would cause troublesome complications if made into a public scene—were made to vanish as if snatched away by spirits. Commanding us to carry out such missions was his standard practice.
Kōgetsu-Kōun comes from a phrase in a poem by Zen Master Dōgen, followed by the line mo kofū (aspiring to ancient ways).
‘Kōgetsu, Kōun, kofū wo sitafu’—the repetition of the alliterative ‘Ko’ sound creates a pleasant rhythm, does it not?
Its meaning is: reaping under the moonlit night, plowing above a sea of clouds, and admiring the Buddhist teachings passed down from ancient times in a pure mountain temple away from worldly dust. We often acted as a duo. To distinguish each other in pitch-black darkness or torrential rain, it was arranged that Seiichirō would take the name Kōun, and I, Kagetsu. We were dispatched anywhere—Edo, Kyoto, Osaka, or any territory under the Shogunate’s direct control. It happened in Gion, Kyoto, on a pitch-black night when rain turned to heavy, falling snow. Our targets were two men walking together down a narrow alley, holding bamboo umbrellas.
The plan was for Seiichirō to block them from the front, while I struck from behind. First, I split one man’s skull open right through his umbrella. At that same instant, Seiichirō was supposed to cut down the other, flustered man. Yet, for some reason, the two remaining figures did not move.
Wondering if the enemy was a master swordsman and causing Seiichirō to hesitate, I called out, ‘Kōun!’ to assist him. But neither figure uttered a word. I called out once more, ‘Give the password, Kōun!’ Receiving no answer, I slashed the man in front of me diagonally across the back. Believing the remaining one must be Seiichirō, I called ‘Kōun!’ again, only for him to suddenly strike at me. In a sword fight, the one who hesitates loses, so I instantly slashed his torso and brought him down. Strange.
There should not have been a third enemy. Moreover, Seiichirō was nowhere to be found. In other words, either the second or the third man I cut down was Seiichirō. When the inquest was held the next morning, as I had feared, the second man I slashed diagonally across the back was Seiichirō. Why Seiichirō did not respond, I still do not know to this day. However, I heard from his wife that he had caught a cold that day and had a sore throat. Perhaps his throat was dry, or choked with phlegm, making him unable to utter a sound in that instant. Or perhaps he had simply forgotten the code word. I was interrogated directly by the Senior Council and other high officials, but the matter was settled as an unforeseen accident. Furthermore, due to my frequent meritorious service, I was praised for my devotion and appointed as one of the Junior Councilors (Wakadoshiyori). I agonized over it. Could it be that the man Seiichirō was about to strike was an acquaintance of his? Seiichirō was a man who liked to mingle with rogues and outlaws from various provinces. If the target was someone who had saved his life or a sworn brother, he would not have been able to cut him down, even on official orders of the Shogunate. Hesitating like that, perhaps he was unable to call back the password to me. If so, it was unavoidable, and no fault of mine. Seiichirō was meant to be cut down, and so he was cut down by my hand.”
When I took up the post of Junior Councilor (Wakadoshiyori), I found that I was nothing more than the ringleader uniting hitmen like my former self and Seiichirō. I was the magistrate of the “Manslayer Squad.” I was used like a handyman by the Senior Councilors and other Junior Councilors. Even jobs that should have been handled by the officers (yori) and constables (dōshin) under the Town Magistrate were passed to us under one pretext or another. Despite putting on airs with titles like officer, those men held their lives dear too. They lacked confidence in their swordsmanship. They were terrified of dying, getting injured, or seeing blood.
In most cases, we were not even informed of what kind of person our target was. What crime had they committed? Were they a direct vassal (hatamoto), or a servant of an outside lord (tozama)? Or perhaps a samurai disguised as a commoner? Or a spy from another domain in the guise of a ronin? As a rule, the Senior Councilors and those below them withheld as much non-essential information as possible. Depending on the case, even the Senior Councilors did not know; the orders might have come directly from the Shogun himself. Moreover, since the Shogun and the Senior Councilors were merely human, their judgment as masters was by no means always righteous.
If we were told that someone was an enemy or a rebel and must be cut down, or that they were a criminal of such-and-such a degree, we could strike them down bolstered by a grand cause. But cutting down a person whose name and lineage were unknown—without knowing if they had a family or were alone, or whether they were good or evil—was exceedingly difficult. In truth, rare were the cases where it was clearly determined who was right and who was wrong. Doubt would inevitably surge within me: were we not merely being used as tools of political struggle under the guise of executing a lord’s order (jōi-tobi)?
In short, not every battle in this world is fought for a noble cause, nor is every action of a samurai done for the sake of righteousness. The world cannot be neatly divided into idealisms. The only thing clearly settled is that a retainer, whether wrong or right, must loyally obey the master’s command, carry it out, and die.
Genshirō had long realized the absurdity of this world, even without Kagetsusai telling him. Even so, Kagetsusai’s words struck the young Genshirō hard.
“The Manslayer Squad was a suicide corps for the sake of the Tokugawa. Yet, no one ever gave us proper recognition. If you die, there is a funeral and a pension. But that is all. We were like disposable pawns. And then, I realized that I too had been one. In my case, I lived too long and came to know too many of the Shogunate’s secrets. Thus I was exalted to Junior Councilor, but in truth, I was simply ordered to manage a syndicate of assassins.”
To think that behind the gentle, ever-present smile of Kagetsusai—who was once called “Buddha Gen”—there lay such fierce, righteous indignation.
“If one of my subordinates blundered and died, a new one would replace him. The subordinates I grew fondest of were the ones who died most swiftly in battle. As their superior in the Shogunate, I had to attend their funerals, read condolence messages I had no desire to read, and recite Buddhist prayers I had no desire to recite. Just when I had grown utterly sick of everything, a certain man—a scion of a line of Senior Councilors who was himself a Junior Councilor at the time—said to me with sarcasm, ‘Ah, Lord “Manslayer Kagetsusai.” I hear you cut down your own comrade. I must be careful on night roads lest I suffer a ambush from you as well. Oh, how frightening.’
It is true that during my interrogation, I had explained that we had set the code words Kagetsu and Kōun, but that they had proven useless. Hearing that he had learned of this, I felt he was insulting me, and by reflex my hand went to the hilt of my sword. But he stepped back two or three paces, putting himself out of my reach.
I felt ashamed of myself and resigned as Junior Councilor that very day. Since then, I have lived in a shabby dwelling such as this.”
Genshichirō was shocked by the story.
“Father, why then do you still go by such an ill-omened title—the name Kōgetsusai? And why do you intend to use such an ill-omened code word with me once more?”
“Haha. Genshichirō, the trade of a manslayer is inherently ill-omened to begin with. What use is there in dreading it now? I am without a doubt Manslayer Kōgetsusai. It is the karma I was born with. To ensure I do not forget it, I continue to use it.”
While Genshichirō stood speechlessly astounded, Kōgetsusai said:
“Do not forget, whatever you do. I am Kōgetsui; you are Kōun.”
Kōgetsusai spoke further to Genshichirō.
“You are poor with a sword, but so am I. Do not worry about that. In return, we have technique. Quick-draw martial art (battō-jutsu) operates on the premise of defeating the enemy with the first strike. But in real battle, you cannot always bring down the enemy with the initial blow. If you miss, the enemy will draw his sword, recover his stance, and come at you. When that happens, a man who is tall, possesses brute force, has thick bones, and long arms is overwhelmingly superior. In truth, nine times out of ten, skill in martial art comes down to that. Sakurai was such a man. He had a massive frame and monstrous strength. I was short and weak.
If you fail to bring down your opponent with the first strike, instantly judge the situation and take your next move. If that fails too, do not fight in vain. Rather than dying and leaving behind evidence, flee before your identity is known. Do you understand?”
“Is a samurai not forbidden from showing his back to the enemy?”
“Fool. We are secret operatives (onmitsu). We are not warriors fighting on a battlefield with flags bearing our family crests, dying gloriously to leave a name behind. On the contrary, we must not leave a name behind. They say a samurai should always trim his nails, arrange his hair, and starch his robes so he is prepared to die at any moment, but that is so others may witness how he dies. For us, who must never let anyone witness our death, such things are entirely unnecessary.”
Taking a nap until evening, the two of them set out together toward a certain concubine’s residence tucked away in a back alley of Kazue-machi, near Kanazawa Castle.
“What shall we do?”
“According to the spy from the Kaga Domain, he is alone with his concubine tonight. We shall break in from the front and back, and kill them both.”
However, two men leading horses brought them to a halt right in front of the residence.
One of the men called inside, and a man who appeared to be a samurai emerged. He lingered to bid farewell to a woman whose attire suggested she was the proprietress of a ryokan, before mounting his horse and preparing to leave her behind at the lodging.
“This is bad. It seems he is moving to another hideout.”
“Is it not impossible today?”
“No. There are three enemies in total. The two attendants look like nothing more than itinerant travelers (matatabi-mono). We can do this. If we let him escape now, we are back to square one. You take a shortcut, appear right in front of them, and strike the horse. I leave the two attendants to you. I will finish off the man who falls from his horse.”
Genshichirō sprinted through the back alleys, leapt out from a side street, and abruptly slashed at the horse’s thigh. However, the horse’s femur was far too thick and solid; startled, the horse reared up and bolted away with Genshichirō’s sword still lodged in its leg.
Left with no choice, Genshichirō drew his short sword (wakizashi) and cut down one of the attendants.
Kōgetsusai called out to Genshichirō: “Take the man’s sword.”
Scarcely had he spoken when Kōgetsusai brought down the other attendant, and Genshichirō picked up the fallen weapon.
“Will this blade cut properly?” He felt uncertain whether he could handle a stranger’s sword for the first time. Yet there was no leisure to ponder such thoughts.
Turning around, he saw the man who had been thrown from his horse locked in a clash of blades with Kōgetsusai. Sparks flew into the darkness as steel struck steel.
Kōgetsusai muttered to the man: “You… you are Shibayama, the Hida County Magistrate (Gundai), are you not?”
The man grinned and replied: “And you, I take it, are Manslayer Kōgetsusai.”
“A fatal oversight… to think my name was known even to the likes of you.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t have heard rumors of you? I shall cut you down and make a name for myself.”
While Genshichirō hesitated, searching for the moment to strike, Kōgetsusai suddenly seemed to lose his tension. Without missing a beat, the man swung his blade down toward Kōgetsusai’s neck.
“Being of the Jigen-ryū style, I knew you would come at me like that.”
Kōgetsusai threw away his sword and clamped both arms around the enemy’s blade, which had broken his collarbone and lodged deep into his ribs. He called out: “Now! Strike!”
Blinded by desperation, Genshichirō thrust his blade through Magistrate Shibayama’s back, piercing straight through his chest.
Fresh blood gushed forth, and Shibayama ceased to move.
“Genshichirō… you did well for your first battle. Leave this place at once. The men of the Kaga Domain are arranged to dispose of the corpses.”
Though the vital points seemed to have been missed, with a wound this deep, Kōgetsusai would surely not survive.
“Now, go.”
Those became Kōgetsusai’s final words.
The horse was later found dead in a moat, but the heirloom sword of the Tachiki family was never recovered.
Manslayer Kagetsusai — End