Kaze said nothing. He concentrated his whole being into his sword. He stood watching his opponent, looking for some small opening so he could once again press his attack. Instead of an opening, he saw that a small fly was buzzing about Enomoto’s neck, attracted by the sweat and the heat of his body. Kaze could see the muscles on Enomoto’s neck tensing, and he knew that Enomoto would soon be launching an all-out attack. In his weakened state, he also knew he would eventually succumb to that attack and die.
In the sleeve of Enomoto’s blue kimono was a scrap of paper that would help him end his quest for the girl. But now his quest and his life would soon be over, and his promise to the Lady would be as dust caught in a whirlwind.
The fly returned and landed on Enomoto’s neck. Enomoto twitched slightly to dislodge it, and suddenly Kaze’s blade shot out, catching the fly and biting ever so slightly into Enomoto’s neck. Kaze’s Fly Cutter had lived up to its name.
A red surge of blood pumped from the cut. Enomoto had felt the sting of Kaze’s blade, and he was surprised that Kaze had made such a rapid and weak cut. It was a cut that would normally be shrugged off, no more serious than the slash on Kaze’s head. The relative weakness of the blow made it seem trivial, but the speed of the blade was a maneuver he had never seen before. At first he didn’t realize that, although the cut was relatively shallow, it was nonetheless fatal. It had severed the carotid artery.
As Enomoto stood opposing Kaze, his life’s blood was pumping out into a widening stain over his shoulder. With his mind focused, Enomoto did not acknowledge the cut on his neck. Instead, he launched his attack. His blade cut right, then left, then right again. Each time Kaze brought his own blade up to counter the blow and keep Enomoto’s sword away from him, but he felt his strength ebbing, and only will kept him from succumbing to Enomoto’s attack.
Enomoto had observed Kaze’s tired stance, but he was surprised at his own growing light-headedness and weakness as he pressed his attack.
He brought his blade up above his head to launch another onslaught but, instead of bringing it down, Enomoto stopped a moment. His body swaying, a sudden infirmity attacked him. Not thinking of Kaze now, Enomoto brought his sword forward and placed it down on the ground to try to steady himself. He looked down at his kimono and was surprised to see his shoulder and sleeve soaked with blood. It didn’t seem possible that all this blood could be his. But his power to comprehend what was happening was rapidly diminishing.
As a dull, gray fog rolled over his consciousness, preventing him from thinking clearly, Enomoto fell to his knees, half expecting Kaze to attack and take his head. Instead, Kaze stood at the ready, closely watching his opponent but not moving to attack.
Enomoto fell forward, the last few measures of his life pumping out of the severed artery and onto the ground. Blackness washed over him. He still had no comprehension of what move Kaze had used to kill him.
Kaze stood a moment and watched Enomoto die. Then he wiped his sword and put the katana in the scabbard, guiding the blade with his left hand while his right held the hilt. He waited to make sure Enomoto was dead, then he walked up to the body and reached into the sleeve.
He found a small piece of folded paper. On the paper, written with a neat brush, were the words “Edo Yukaku Kobanaya.” Kaze stared at the seven kanji on the note for several moments, absorbing both their meaning and their implications-“Little Flower Whorehouse Edo.”
Kaze went to the side of the road and sat down. The duel had drained his energy, but it was not as great a blow as the note. He looked over at Enomoto. “Thank you for this,” he said, bowing and holding the note between his two hands like a prayer offering. “We men can engage in our foolishness, but the child should not suffer for it.”
When Kaze had rested a few minutes, he got up and cut a tree branch. Taking the ko-gatana knife from its place in the scabbard, he quickly carved a statue of Kannon, the Goddess of Mercy. The face of the Kannon was the face of the Lady.
Kaze turned Enomoto over and arranged his body into a state of repose. There wasn’t much he could do about the blood that stained the kimono, but he wiped the dirt from the dead man’s face with his sleeve. He placed the Kannon where she could watch over him until some other traveler discovered the body and reported it to the authorities.
“I’m sorry I don’t have the time to prepare you properly,” Kaze said. “But now I have to go into the hands of my enemies.”
Up the coast road was the junction with the Tokaido Road. At the end of the Tokaido was Edo-the new capital and the stronghold of his bitter enemies, the Tokugawas. His head wound had stopped bleeding, and he felt very tired. Still, he was glad that perhaps his long journey to find the girl might at last be coming to an end. Assuming, that is, that he could somehow survive the blades of his foes in Edo.
Making one last bow of respect to Enomoto, Kaze squared his shoulders and started down the road, which was now bathed in a golden light by the newly risen sun.