The moment that Gintaro could tell that his apprentice was in a deep sleep, he got up and left the temple. He had lain awake for some time, listening to Nō’s soft, shallow breaths until they turned into the heavy exhalations of deep slumber. Gintaro had not slept at all that night, but he did not worry about fatigue, for his heart raced within his chest and would likely not settle until it was all over. His mind was made up. He was as close as ever to being able to rescue his daughter, and he would attempt this feat for her sake. But another part of him knew that he was facing something that was far beyond him, and that this could be the day that he finally died. It was a strange thought; one he had a few times in his past. Once was before his first time in battle, another before the raid on the old Shadowhand, another was at the last stand within Akira’s Keep, and now today.

  Before he departed, he glanced one last time at his apprentice and then at the aged monk who had not moved from the position where they first met him. The old man’s eyes were closed, and he made the faint hum of a gentle snore, but he wore a strange look upon his face, not unsimilar to a smile.

  Once outside, Gintaro roused his steed and then transferred the baggage with the armor of the Tengu to it. He took nothing else, as the monk had advised, not food or water or anything else other than what was required to carry out the task set before him. He rode up the mountain silently, in the direction of the cave’s mouth.

  Unbeknownst to Nō and even Saru, Gintaro had been mentally planning for this occasion for some time. Though he had, for some strange reason, let them accompany him on his journey, he had never once considered taking either of them into Oboroshi. The fact that Saru went her own way worked to his advantage, for she would have been more difficult to leave behind. Nō, as promising as he might be, had no chance of survival against such a creature. Yet the boy was persistent and resourceful. All he could hope for now was that he would be able to finish the job before Nō could find him on his own.

  Gintaro had spent many hours considering how this day would go, which is why he had been so quiet for the last several weeks. He knew that he could not approach this as a man going into battle against man. Instead, he searched back, far back into his memories of his time as a young man, training to be a Kaijin. Those days, almost lost to him, began to reform into something tangible. What were once hazy memories slowly became illuminated with great detail. Sights, sounds, smells, even words came to him that he scarcely remembered, but knew had to be true, for what other origin would they have?

  Thoughts of his teacher, Nakoto Jinsai, seemed to pervade his thoughts most of all. The man had taught him much, but after Gintaro had left, the way of the Kaijin seemed so esoteric, and the way of the samurai so glorious, that he had all but forgotten what he had learned.

  He now remembered that day, the day he left his teacher, most of all. His fellow apprentice, Koji Kazekiri, had already left for good, but he had not said goodbye. Gintaro had decided to follow his friend into the world of war, but he could not leave without at least speaking to his teacher. Though Nakoto was strange and had left the two of them countless times to fend for themselves in the wilderness, he had raised them, in a sense, and taught them much. At eighteen, both of Nakoto’s apprentices were highly skilled swordsmen, and they could survive the harshest environments. They had even slain their fair share of yomi and were on the path to becoming true Kaijin.

  Gintaro had entered the clearing where his teacher had slept. He remembered it being a warm summer day, and even in the early morning, it was already quite warm. He remembered looking upon his teacher, lying directly upon this grass atop a small hill, staring up into the sky as if reading the wind. His hands were behind his head, and he seemed infinitely relaxed.

  Gintaro stood there for several moments, trying to conjure up the words and the strength to tell his teacher that he was leaving for good.

  “So, you have decided to go,” said Nakoto, correctly guessing his intent. He did not turn to look at his pupil but continued gazing up at the sky. “Go then on your own way.”

  “I have,” Gintaro spoke, his voice cracking with anxiety.

  “It is well,” Nakoto said, and this answer surprised Gintaro, for he had assumed his teacher would be furious with them for leaving. He had poured so much time and energy into them and taught them the way of the Kaijin. Now it would all be for nothing. “Someone must keep an eye on that brother of yours.”

  “About Kaze,” Gin began. “I am sorry…”

  “No need to apologize for him. Kaze is different from you, Gintaro. He could not face me, and that was his way of respectfully saying goodbye.”

  “And I?” Gintaro asked, ever wondering what his teacher was thinking of him.

  “And you have come to respectfully say goodbye, as it is your nature to do so. What is worse? A dagger from the back, or one from the front? Both accomplish the same purpose.”

  “Teacher!”

  At this, Nakoto laughed and rose to his feet to face Gintaro. He did not seem angry in the least, and he wore a warm smile. “It was a poor metaphor, I apologize. I enjoyed our time together. More than you will ever know. But now you must choose your own way.”

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  “I do not want to go!” Gin explained. “But Kaze...”

  “And thus, you have chosen to follow him, to protect him. I find no fault in this. Nor do I find fault in Kaze’s grand ambitions. Both have a seed of the All-Kami within them. I just…” he paused, and for the first time, perhaps ever, Gintaro saw his teacher’s eyes moisten with tears. “I did not think that this time would go by so quickly. And now it has come to an end.”

  Gin’s facial muscles tightened. “I shall never forget you, Sensei.”

  Nakoto’s face strained as if he were hurt. “But you must. That is the way of things. I must walk my path, and you must walk yours. Perhaps one day they will intersect again, but perhaps not. I cannot see all the outcomes.”

  “Perhaps I can…”

  “No, no!” Naoto cried, waving his hands in disdain. “Do not falter now. You have made your choice, now stick to it. One cannot walk the path of a Kaijin and the Samurai at once. You know this.”

  Gintaro, tears also forming in his eyes, bowed low and remained there for some time. When he rose, he noticed that his teacher had bowed as well and kept the bow for several moments after his.

  “Goodbye, Gin-kun,” Nakoto had said, rising again. “May the All-Kami guide you.”

  “Goodbye, Sensei,” Gin said stiffly, and then turned about quickly to hide his tear-stained cheeks.

  “Gintaro!” his teacher called out after he had taken a few steps away from the clearing.

  He did not turn to look back but stopped and stood still.

  “There may be a time when you will need to use your skills as a Kaijin. If such a time comes, remember well what you have learned. Most of all, remember that you, too, have a soul.”

  Gintaro nodded his head. His mind whirred with emotion, and his stomach roiled from the difficult decision he had just made. He walked away from that clearing and never saw his teacher again. Occasionally, he would hear tales of a traveling mystic, exorcising demons in the wild, and he would think fondly of his teacher. He once planned to return to seek him at some point, but the world, once he entered it, became far more complicated than he imagined.

  The War of Ashes, the Kurogumi, his wife, and his daughter all became far more important. Then, just a few months ago, he heard of the death of his teacher when he was convalescing amongst the Truists in the Middle Country. That had been a hard blow, but it was not until this moment that he felt his teacher’s absence the most.

  And now, his last words to Gintaro began to ring in his mind like a bell.

  “There may be a time when you may need to use your skills as a Kaijin. If such a time comes, remember well what you have learned. Most of all, remember that you, too, have a soul.”

  “What did he mean by, ‘You, too, have a soul?’” Gintaro had never considered this before, but now, on the verge of the battle of his life, it seemed of the utmost importance.

  At that moment, he finally saw a break in the tree line ahead. Above it, he recognized the cavernous gateway that the old monk had described. It had been about an hour since he left the Forgotten Temple. He turned to look behind him, and he could tell that he had climbed quite far, for he could perceive the dense woodland expanse of the hinterlands and the sharp, snow-capped peaks of the north. The cave mouth was about halfway up Oboroshi, and Gin reckoned it would take another several hours to reach the summit. The black dome of the cruel mountain could scarcely be seen amongst the night sky, except for a faint glint that reflected the moon when the clouds parted for long enough.

  Gintaro soon came to the cave’s mouth and dismounted his steed. Then, carefully, he began to don the ancient armor of the Tengu. He had done this before, at late hours similar to this, while Nō and Saru slept silently around the dying embers of a fire. He had a feeling that the armor would give him at least a fighting chance against such a foe, and he wanted to make sure he could move well in it. The idea sprang from the memory of his teacher and the few times he had seen him wearing heavy armor. Nakoto did not delight in such armament but would use them when there was a need.

  He once said, “For a Kaijin, the battle begins before swords are drawn. You must try to understand your foe and then prepare accordingly. Some duels are those of finesse, for which speed is most prized. However, other battles are those of fortitude, and for such, armor can be most helpful.”

  Gintaro had worn the armor several times and then moved through moonlit forests like a ghost. Though the mighty Tengu was several feet taller than him, the armor seemed to conform to his body, and though it was strangely light, it was incredibly hard. Gin practiced with both of his swords, trying to get used to the movement that the armor afforded him. He lacked some range of motion, but he felt otherwise unburdened. He did sense a strange aura emitting from the metallic plates, but was not sure how to harness it.

  Staring into the black entrance to Oboroshi, he knew that this was indeed the time to put the armor of the Tengu to the test. He first put on the greaves, the thigh guards, then the gauntlets, followed by the mighty cuirass. He did this meticulously, not passing over any detail. His hands glided over the eternal metal with supreme care, and he fastened the leather pieces just right. Then came the shoulder spaulders, and at last, he put on the fearsome kabuto, the helm of the Tengu, and strapped it about his chin tightly.

  Once the armor was on and he had checked it over several times to make sure it was secure, he took out both of his swords and inspected them thoroughly. Both blades were exceedingly sharp.

  “They have come a long way since Kokoro,” he mused, remembering when his longsword was rusted to the hilt.

  He swung and twirled both swords about, testing their speed and balance, and making sure his armor worked well with his movement. He then patted his horse upon the head and sent him back down the mountain to find Nō.

  When all was ready, he knelt at the threshold of the entrance and bowed his head. Though he had only warmed up for a few moments, he was already sweating profusely, and his heart was pounding in his chest. He took a few moments to steady himself.

  “All-kami,” he whispered, and felt the words come meekly from his lips. “I know not if you are there. And if you are there, I do not know if you will hear me, a fool as I am. But if you can hear me, I ask for your aid. I ask not that you bless me, for I do not deserve blessing, but consider my daughter, who suffers now at the hands of evil men. Help me to save her. If I had to die in her stead, I would do so. You know this. But I cannot yet die, for if I do, she will be doomed. So, I…” Gintaro drifted off, not knowing what else to say. He rose from the ground and looked up. There was no miraculous sign or wonder that confirmed that he had been heard, much to his dismay.

  “Some caves are best not entered…” were his last words before he proceeded within the mountain.