Five long years followed the night both Kaze and Gintaro first discovered the Shadowhand ninja. In that time, many deeds of good and ill were done, some known to many, some known by only a few. Over time, the Kurogumi changed significantly from its original iteration. Senbara Nanae was slain in a duel by the leader of the Shadowhand, a merciless prodigy of the sword known as the Hoin-nen. Matsuda Daichi had also been killed. He was captured and tortured by the Shadowhand but was unbroken by their devices. This left Koji Kazekiri as the Second Commander of the Kurogumi, and Gintaro as the Vice Commander. Both had earned their reputation as the Kaminari Kyoudai many times over and were referred to by their subordinates and enemies alike as the Fujin and the Raijin.

  The Kurogumi itself had grown from just eight original members to several dozen. The scope of their mission had changed when they realized that the Shadowhand was far more powerful than they originally thought. Full-scale battles with the ninja organization occurred more than once, with neither side gaining clear dominance for long.

  But since the day Senbara died, Kazekiri had sought the Hoin-nen unceasingly, realizing that the Shadowhand could reform from even dust, so long as its infamous leader lived. At last, when word had come to him that they had discovered the Hoin-nen’s whereabouts and that he was vulnerable, Kazekiri planned to strike and assembled the Kurogumi’s best for the assault.

  While Kazekiri assumed the position of First, Gintaro was arguably the better swordsman. At this time, he was nearing the pinnacle of his skill, for he had recently lost his wife, and his secret daughter had been sent away to live with the Truists. Filled with remorse and rage, Gintaro had become a weapon of callous death, and frightened even those who remembered him as the exuberant and lighthearted young man he once was.

  When the appointed night came, both men gathered in the twilight, along with their comrades Tachi Ushiro and Sukemon Hageshi. They each bowed to each other silently as they assembled. They did not speak, for they did not need to. They had fought countless battles by this point, and this mission, though of grave importance, was just another in a string of life-and-death encounters. It had become business to them, and each took their work with the utmost seriousness.

  When all was prepared, Kazekiri led the way, pushing into the dense forested lands of the northern boundary of the Old Capital. They had received intelligence that the Hoin-nen was holding out in an old mansion several miles north of the city itself. Still nestled within the basin of the Old Capital, this place was secluded and secure, and if they got into trouble, there was no easy way to call for backup.

  They soon came to the outskirts of the estate and waited for darkness to fall in earnest. Then, they spread out and went to work.

  Ushiro was up first as Scout, and he crept close to the walled compound unseen. Once he had identified the defenses, he climbed a tree, notched his bow, and quickly took out the two guards standing at the front gate. Then, he nimbly hopped down from the tree and ascended the wall of the estate with a metal hook. Within minutes, the gate had been unlocked and opened, and the three others proceeded inside.

  Next up was Sukemon, who had emerged as a preeminent Wallbreaker. He dashed towards the front entrance of the estate, slew the two guards there before they had a chance to rally or call for help. Before him stood two massive oak doors, and they were sealed from the inside. Sukemon reached inside his cloak and pulled out three sticks of explosives and set them along the outside of the doors where they would have the greatest effect. Then, he lit them with a deft flick from the edge of his spear and backed away.

  The explosives went off, but did not wholly break the well-fortified doors. Sukemon then reapproached and plunged two metallic hooks into the wood. With tremendous strength, he tugged at them, and with a great sundering, the door gave way, being pulled off its very hinges. This gave the others the room they needed to get inside.

  However, at that moment, many defenders poured from beyond the threshold before Sukemon could enter. He hacked away at some and was supported by the fell arrows of Ushiro and the quick blades of Gintaro and Kazekiri, who had joined him at the front.

  Within minutes, the counterstrike had been quelled, and Kazekiri, Gintaro, and Sukemon proceeded inside, while Ushio waited without. Kazekiri was looking for a path downwards, and they sped through the mansion in search of this. Few remaining dared to forestall them, and many simply fled, seeing both the Fujin and the Raijin approach in their wrath.

  Shortly after, they found the pathway that led to the bottom floor. Here, Sukemon remained, turning his back to the stairway to block anyone who would try to follow them. Both Kaze and Gintaro proceeded down, not slackening their pace whatsoever. The stairway, however, wound downwards much further than expected, and before long the two knew that they had gone a dozen or so stories under the earth.

  Eventually, the two reached the bottom of the stairway, and there they paused momentarily. They had reached a kind of natural antechamber, and before them was a stone-hewn gateway followed by a long tunnel. The gateway was ancient and, in a style, unfamiliar to Gintaro, but not to Kaze, who had seen this kind of thing before. Thanks to the teachings of Yoshimitsu Tenma, he could now read the archaic letters that hung over them.

  “Behold the Lord of the World.”

  Kaze eyed the inscription apprehensively, but continued onwards, with Gintaro close behind.

  They proceeded through the dark tunnel warily, for they had no torches or sources of light. They might have used their own magatamas, but for the clear brightness at the end of the tunnel. When they reached the end, they could see that the tunnel opened into a great cavern. Their very steps seemed to echo off the distant walls, and they could neither see the roof nor the far sides of the great chamber.

  The floor, hewn of stone, continued forward and then widened into a large platform in the very middle of this cavern. This stone platform was supported by a great pillar that descended to unknown depths.

  The circumference of the stone platform was lined with lit braziers, and at the far end, staring into the abyss, stood a man, garbed head to toe in black.

  Kaze and Gintaro stepped forward, warily, swords drawn, anticipating the kind of deadly tricks that they had come to expect from the Shadowhand. This time, however, there were no surprises or booby traps. There was no sudden onslaught of defenders. There was no final puzzle to solve.

  The man on the platform had his back turned to them, and his hands crossed behind his waist. The purpose of this platform, this cavern underground, was hard to fathom. Was it an altar of some kind? Was it a kind of sinister dojo? Or was it some place of importance long ago, reused by the resurgence of the Shadowhand?

  “Hoin-nen,” Kazekiri called out once he stood upon the circular platform.

  The man across from them was very tall, about the same height as Gintaro, but sturdier and more muscular. A ninja was often thought to be compact and slender; he was the opposite, standing imposingly like an oak tree. The braziers around flickered as an unwholesome wind blew up from the depths. He then turned to face them, and as he did so, they noticed that his eyes were wholly black; there were no whites or pupils, just utter darkness, like the depths of a mirror.

  His grim voice sounded in the cavern like a dirge.

  “Koji Kazekiri. Commander of the Kurogumi. You have found me at last.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Kazekiri took one step forward, while Gintaro, as tradition for the Second, remained behind, sealing off the only way onto the platform.

  “There was finally a lapse in your legendary secrecy,” Kaze replied. “Your Shadowhand is in shambles, reduced to a fraction of its former glory. We won. You must see that.”

  The Hoin-nen glared at Kaze menacingly but did not move. “You have done your worst, but then again, so have we. Where now is the fabled Shield of Akira, Senbara Nanae? Where is the stalwart Titan, Matsuda Daichi? Where are now so many others who wore your emblem? Fire? Desire? They have gone far away, never to return. And you shall soon join them.”

  Kazekiri continued to creep forward, both swords at the ready. “You are confident, but where shall your Shadowhand be if I defeat you, as I intend. They are fragile and will scatter like flies from a burning corpse.”

  “They may scatter for now, but they will soon gather again. I am one of a vast number who have gone by the title ‘Master of the Shadowhand.’ The Mukade may be cut in half, but it will not die.”

  Kaze nodded, for he knew this all too well. He was drawing closer to his enemy, almost within striking distance, and still the man had yet to draw his sword or prepare himself for battle.

  “Be careful,” he warned himself. “This man is truly dangerous.”

  The Hoin-nen was arguably the greatest swordsman of that time, a holdover from a previous generation that had mostly died off or faded into weakness. Since taking control of the Shadowhand, no one had seen his face, and therefore no one could accurately guess his age. He appeared to be timeless, but he had a real beginning and had fought even alongside Nakoto Jinsai at one time. Now, a survivor of hundreds of duels, he was a force of nature attuned to the sword, and a match for any living duelist, even the Commander of the Kurogumi.

  Kaze suddenly darted forward, but was violently rebuffed by the Hoin-nen, who, with speed unfathomable, drew out his blade and parried his enemy’s strike.

  Fortunately, Kaze had not committed everything to this attack, for if he did, he would have been slain in the first movement of battle. “The speed!” Kaze thought, astonished. “And the power. He hits just as hard as Gintaro!”

  Now it was the Hoin-nen’s chance to attack, and he pressed forward with such a combination that it took nearly everything from Kazekiri to defend. Never in his life had he felt such an overwhelming force put against him. He could almost feel the malice radiate outwards from this massive human being. Even though he used only one sword, compared to Kaze’s two, he moved so adeptly that it felt like he wielded three.

  Kaze then pushed himself to counterattack, and the two met in a flurry of blades. They moved back and forth across the platform, several times drawing near to the edge and to the chasm, but never once did their balance fail.

  For some time, they went on like this, back and forth, slash after slash, cut after cut. Blood was spilled, but no severe injury befell either combatant. They would engage, draw apart, and engage again.

  At last, after what seemed like a lifetime for the two duelists, they broke apart for a more protracted respite.

  Both men were breathing heavily, as evidenced by the rise and fall of their chests, but it was difficult to tell who was truly exhausted. The black eyes of the Hoin-nen seemed unchanged, while Kaze’s were wide and pupils dilated.

  Gintaro stood by, watching the duel with incredible focus. Indeed, he might have been one of the few alive with senses sharp enough to accurately see what was going on. Both men had fought with incredible skill, but there could only be one victor. Soon, someone had to make an error, and that would likely be fatal. “Come on, Kaze!” Gin repeated over and over in his mind. “You must win!”

  In a flash, the two engaged again, and blades seemed to make a melodic chorus in the cavernous hall. Once or twice, Kaze almost connected a crushing blow, but his adversary’s defense was too great. Slowly, and ever so subtly, Kaze’s power began to wane.

  Gintaro could sense it; he was moving but a fraction of a second too slow. But was it Kaze slowing down, or the Hoin-nen getting faster? Gintaro did not believe it to be possible, but the longer this battle went on, the more powerful the ninja became.

  Eventually, the battle became one-sided, and Kaze could do nothing but scramble to save his life. The Hoin-nen was unrelenting and chased him about the platform. It took everything for Gintaro to hold himself back, but it was forbidden and the greatest form of dishonor to interrupt a duel between two warriors.

  Even so, Gintaro was willing to risk it all if Kaze would just give him one look, one single look that indicated that he wanted help. But the look never came. Kaze was slashed once on the left arm, and his short sword tumbled down and clanged upon the stone platform. He still held up his long sword, but he was shuffling backwards, looking for an escape.

  “Kaze!” Gintaro cried out, unable to bear it any longer. “Kaze!”

  His words seemed to fall on deaf ears until his brother finally answered him. “Gintaro, stay back!”

  At this, Gin’s heart was nearly crushed. He knew he could not disobey this order. Not because it was from the Commander of the Kurogumi, but because it was from his dear friend, his brother.

  “No!” he wanted to scream, but he held it within.

  The Hoin-nen was bearing down now, hammering Kazekiri with successive blows. Kaze continued to defend, but he was sweating profusely, and his beautiful face was marred with fear. Eventually, he was pinned back to the edge of the platform, hunched over from exhaustion and pain. He still managed to hold out his sword, but just barely.

  “Now it is the end for you, Koji Kazekiri,” the Hoin-nen said in monotone. “You fought well, but it was not enough.”

  Kazekiri did not reply to this, but for the first time since the duel started, he glanced over at Gintaro, who stood at the far edge of the platform, his face twisted in despair. Their eyes met momentarily. It was a strange look that he wore then, and it was a look that Gintaro never forgot. It was not the look of failure, or sorrow, or even acceptance of death. It was a look of pity, not for himself but for his friend, for his brother. Gintaro tried to understand it, tried to wrap his mind around it, but he could not. Then, a brutal slash by the Hoin-nen sent Kazekiri reeling backwards. His foot missed the edge, and then he fell into darkness.

  This time, Gintaro could not hold back and cried out, “No!” in a guttural roar. His voice seemed to reverberate off the walls and even seemed to shake the great stone pillar itself.

  Hoin-nen did not have much time to contemplate the death of his enemy, nor was he given any significant respite, for Gintaro was immediately upon him. The younger swordsman burst forth, unable to contain himself, and his eyes were alight with a wild rage.

  The Hoin-nen braced his defense, but he could sense right away that this man was different than the first. While Kaze had been tactical and precise, Gintaro was wild and unpredictable. He moved with irregular speeds, and his strikes felt like thunderbolts when parried.

  At last, in a desperate attempt to buy himself a moment of reprieve, the Hoin-nen cast down one of the braziers before him, separating himself from Gintaro with a wall of flame. Gintaro instinctively stepped back, avoiding the momentary explosion of fire, but his eyes still gleamed with wrath, and he seemed to tremble with anticipation.

  “I can see you are not the same as your brother, the Fujin,” the Hoin-nen muttered, gasping for air. “You are of the fiber that might be said to equal my own. Therefore, forestall your anger for but a moment, and give me a chance to recover. Then, we shall duel as equals and accept the outcome as fair.”

  Gintaro’s first inclination was to refuse and continue his relentless assault until he could tear his foe apart. This is what the old Gintaro might have done, the naive, impulsive young boy from a ravaged village, with no family name and inadequate upbringing. That Gintaro, who had fallen in love with the sword and the thrill of combat more than all else. That young man might not have cared, but this version of Gintaro had suffered loss and had given vent to his rage, which had hurt so many. Through this, he had become wiser and more controlled, and though he was still mourning the loss of his closest friend and brother, he could listen to reason.

  He nodded, just as the flames at his feet died out, and he stepped backward several paces, giving his adversary a chance to rest. He did not move until the Hoin-nen indicated that he was ready.

  Then the two went to battle in earnest. Of this duel, no detailed account is given. All true duels are like concerts, for they tell a story. There are different acts in these stories, different movements. There are rises and falls, crescendos and diminuendos, hard notes and soft. There are periods of utter silence, and then there are great triumphant resonances.

  In the end, Gintaro emerged as the victor. How long the duel lasted, he never could accurately guess. Was it a moment, ten minutes, a half hour, or an hour? It felt like a lifetime, and the intricacies of the duel seemed to meld together like a blur. He was so focused and pushed to the very brink of his skill that he did not have any time for contemplation. Every movement simply happened, as if he had no control over it at all.

  He was so tired, so spent by the very end that he felt like he had died, but he somehow managed to climb the long stairway and was later rescued by his remaining companions.

  It took him several days to physically recover, and though he rose to prominence as the third and final Commander of the Kurogumi, he never forgot his duel with the Hoin-nen, nor the fall of his brother into darkness.

  He thought that none but himself had borne witness to that fateful duel, but he was wrong. Someone was watching, and it was the same pair of eyes that watched him now.

  “Beautiful,” Koji Kazekiri whispered, as Gintaro spun his blades, hewing away at the mighty Orochi. “Simply beautiful.”