Gintaro inspected the man across from him with great intensity. This man, who named himself Kondo, was certainly the man he had fought just a few months ago on the north road out of Kokoro. But much like himself, he too had changed. He stood before him now no longer a merchant in black, but as a captain of the Shin-Shadowhand and as a master swordsman. He wore a black ninja uniform with his hood pulled back so that it hung around the base of his neck. An ash-colored belt was tied around his waist, and there was dark, dried blood spattered across his person.

“He must have been in a hurry, for he did not have even the time to cleanse himself of the remnants of his last victim,” thought Gintaro. Even his face was still marred by earth and gore.

Yet despite his fearsome appearance, he could sense that Kondo was suffering from within. He looked much thinner than he remembered, perhaps from lack of adequate sustenance or sleep, or both. He had a gaunt, skeletal appearance, and his eyes were brooding with the familiar look of self-hate. This man had gone through hell and had not quite escaped.

“Where are you going, Gintaro?” the man asked suddenly.

Gin glared back as if trying to guess this man’s foul intent, but he could perceive little, as he was trying to subdue the wrath rising within himself. “I am going to rescue my daughter,” he finally replied.

“Then you’re too late,” Kondo cried out. “She’s dead!”

These words seemed to stop Gin’s heart. He felt as though he had been pushed off a ledge, and that he would fall forever into a cavernous abyss. His legs nearly went out beneath him, and he struggled to even breathe. “What did you say?” he gasped.

“She’s dead…” Kondo repeated darkly, almost choking as he said it.

Gintaro’s hands tightened into fists, and he could feel a flame rising within him, unquenchable and impossible to subdue. “How do you know this?” he asked, though his mouth could barely utter the words.

“I have sought for her,” Kondo explained, closing his eyes as if envisioning the pursuit. “But she is no longer here. She is gone.”

The word ‘gone’ seemed to echo in the chamber of Gin’s mind over and over again until it was nearly unbearable. “No. No! This cannot be! I was just there! I was just with the Shōgun! He promised me that she was safe!”

“Did you see her?” Kondo asked, his eyes flashing open once again. His voice was grim and bitter. “Did you see her face, Gintaro?”

“No,” admitted Gin, “I did not.”

“Then you were deceived,” the ninja said, his eyes seeming to shimmer in the light of the moon. “The Shōgun needs you for his errand, but even if you succeed, you will never see your daughter again. Her light has gone out. And now, so too shall yours.” Kondo then lifted his head and stared at him with unbound malice. “You could not save her because you were too weak! And for that weakness, I shall destroy you.”

Gintaro studied the man who now was fixated upon him like a ravenous beast. He could sense great danger in the air about him mingled with fear, despair, and hate.

“You could not protect her from me,” Kondo maintained. “And you could not protect her in her last moments of desperate need. You are cursed, Gintaro! Cursed! You are said to be the greatest swordsman that ever lived, but yet you cannot protect those whom you love. How pathetic!”

Gin felt another blow to his soul. This one, however, was not the shock of grief or despair, but of grim, undeniable reality. This was the truth, crystallized into words and set before him so that he could not turn away. He bowed his head. “You are right,” he admitted. “You are right.”

“I know I am right!” Kondo raged on. “And so, I must remove your curse from this world before it dooms anyone else! Remove those chains of yours,” he commanded, “And fight me.” He tossed over the keys dismissively.

Gintaro was surprised by this gesture but went to work freeing himself. “Will not the Shōgun punish you for trying to hinder me?”

Kondo cursed angrily. “My allegiance is not to the Shōgun but to a greater cause. I have always followed the orders given to me. But this... this is a matter of destiny.”

This was Gin’s first clue to Kondo’s true motivation. “This man truly despises me,” he thought to himself. “And he is acting on his own.”

He ventured a wry smile, glancing over at Kondo’s right arm, which was injured back in Kokoro. “It seems regrettable, for you might have killed me back then and saved us all of this trouble.”

“I should have finished you then and there,” Kondo agreed, revealing his frustration. “But things were different then.”

The chains finally fell from Gin’s wrists, and he cast them aside. “You could have also finished me when I was bound just now. I could not have stopped you.”

Kondo shook his head slowly. “No, no. That would not do, What do you take me for? I wish to kill the famous Gintaro, the Thunderlord, the Raijin, the last Captain of the Kurogumi, the Sword of Yoshimitsu, one-on-one, and prove to the world that I am now the greatest swordsman on these Islands and that you are nothing but a lie!”

“You wish to avenge Yukiana. You believe that my death will calm the storm in your mind. Yet you are not so different than me. You could not save her either.” He could sense that this man was unhinged and could not see through his own hypocrisy.

His adversary forced a sneer, but his eyes grew wide as if he had been struck. He knew that Gin had spotted a weakness and it made him wild with rage. “Silence!” Kondo roared. He tossed Gintaro’s katana over to him, but kept the short sword for himself, tucking it tightly in the sash at his side.

The katana landed vertically in the soft grass before Gin like a stake. Kondo then drew his sword from his side and held it aloft.

“I challenge you, Gintaro, upon your honor and mine, to a contest to the death! Let there be no interference, no quarter, and no mercy until the best man prevails!”

Gintaro bowed his head. He had uttered the old words, the words that had been used by swordsmen for generations. A challenge made in this way was supposed to be binding, permanent, and most importantly, it could not be refused. “Why?” he whispered to himself.

“Shall I say it once more?” Kondo shouted back.

To this Gin lifted his head and looked upon the man standing across from him with a look of great wrath. “Slaying me will not bring her back!”

“Have you no honor?” Kondo lashed out. “I took your daughter! I took her from under your very roof! I caused her unimaginable suffering, unimaginable pain!”

A shot of adrenaline coursed through Gin’s veins with this painful reminder.

“If it were not for me, she would still be alive!” Kondo screamed, his voice seeming to unravel with madness. “I was the one who doomed her! I was the one who killed her! Have you no love for her at all? Will you allow her murderer to stand before you unpunished?” Kondo was smiling now, but it was sharply contrasted by the feral gleam in his eyes. “You are right! I am also to blame, Gintaro. It was as if I did it with my own two hands.” There was a cruel elation in his voice that made Gin shudder. “You see, we are both complicit, you and me. That is why destiny brought us together on this night. That is why we must destroy each other!”

Gintaro closed his eyes and exhaled long and slowly. He had heard the words of the ninja and saw the truth in many of his accusations. He was weak. He was pathetic. He had failed everyone he ever loved. But there was one thing he did not believe, one thing he could not believe. Yuki was not dead. He did not know how he knew this, but he could feel it. And if she were alive, he could not abandon her now. He could not give in to despair like he did back in Kagiminato. He had to continue to believe she was out there, somewhere. And if she were still out there, he had to fight on until he could see her face at least one more time. He could not give up, not while there was still a chance.

“So be it...” Gintaro said at last and pulled out his long sword from the ground. He held it in his hands, examining it carefully, and then slowly unsheathed it from its black scabbard, which was darker than the void of night. He then tucked the scabbard at his side, widened his legs and adopted a fighting stance. He then held out his sword so that the tip was pointed directly at Kondo. “I accept.”

“Good!” Kondo answered with a wicked grin, settling into a stance himself. “Good…”

What followed was a prolonged silence where the only thing that could be heard was the fresh autumn wind blowing across the grass and through the tall trees in the distance. In those brief moments when the breeze utterly stopped, it was almost as if one could hear the black sky faintly roaring from above. Both men were still, utterly still, like statues that had been placed there ages ago.

“This is to be a true contest of swords,” Gin thought as he prepared himself. This was not a battle against unsuspecting guards or a standoff with a yomi. This was not even like his duels with Saru or even the lieutenant back in Kagiminato. This was a brilliant swordsman who stood across from him now. He could tell by the way he carried himself, the way he handled his sword so effortlessly, his stance, his breath, his eyes. This was a man who, as he had once done, dedicated his soul to the sword.

As a soldier in the open field of battle, a swordsman may be vulnerable to the various mishaps or random misfortunes that are inseparable from such events. As a servant, a swordsman may be brought down by the careless decisions of his master. As a man, a swordsman was like any other and could succumb to any of the myriad perils that plague humanity.

But when a swordsman held his weapon in his hand and faced another like him, he was as close to a god as there could ever be. That was the very essence of swordsmanship, the ability to strive with another of equal or greater skill and to contend with them to the death. All it would take is one misjudgment, one errant stroke, one premature firing of a muscle, and it would all be over. A swordsman had to be perfect, and that is why in those moments he was nearly divine.

Kondo took up a sturdy, well-grounded stance, with his sword gripped tightly before him and held at the level of his chest. This was a very conservative way to begin, and as such, difficult to read. He did not want to give away any of his secrets too early. Gin, on the other hand, adopted a deeply staggered stance, with his right leg forward under his right arm, which held the katana outwards, like a fencer. This was an unusual stance for the primary reason that it was unorthodox to grip a longsword with one hand. To hold it with one was either incredibly foolish, for it was much easier to be disarmed, or incredibly brave. Gin’s left hand was free, which told Kondo that he preferred freedom and flexibility over form and safety.

At last, as in any match, one of the swordsmen would have to initiate the battle. This was one of the most important moments of any duel, for as in shogi, this one decision could dictate the entire strategy of the rest of the bout. As it was, Kondo moved first.

Gin shot forward a fraction of a second later, and they met with a violent clash. The ringing of their swords was so loud that it could be heard throughout the entire castle grounds, and even beyond the high walls and into the slumbering city itself. The impact was so great from this collision that it forced both men backward. But this was not to last long, for they rejoined half a moment later, as the first round of swordplay commenced with great ferocity.

The force and speed with which these two men wielded their swords was incredible to behold, though there was none around to bear witness to this mesmerizing combat. The two men slashed, dodged, parried, thrust, sidestepped, advanced, and retreated with such precision and accuracy that even a well-trained swordfighter would have great difficulty discerning what was going on. All an untrained eye would be able to see were two dervishes of steel, and would, perhaps, dismiss this as some erratic demonstration of swordplay. In truth, these were two prodigies of the craft, and they were merely getting started.

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This initial phase of the battle was very telling for both fighters. For Gin, his suspicions were confirmed in assuming that his opponent was the genuine article. This was a man who had trained relentlessly since childhood and had fought many duels, clearly winning most of them. It was also apparent that this man had found an able teacher, or a few able teachers, who had fostered his abilities and had added to his style. His inclination was to use his youth and thus his endurance to his advantage. He was a fighter who preferred to play it coy, not intending to overpower his opponent right away but to find a weakness and then exploit it.

Kondo was also able to learn much from this initial exchange. The first and most important fact was that Masaki Gintaro was indeed mortal. He was a man just like he was. To put it another way, he could be defeated. This was a crucial mental wall that he needed to deconstruct, for, despite everything that he told himself, the legends that surrounded the Raijin were still indelibly written into his subconscious. He had been a kind of myth, a figure larger than life, and had made such an impression on him in his past, that the notion of fighting the last Captain of the Kurogumi in single combat felt like a dream or even a fantasy. But it was not a fantasy, this was real as the man who stood across from him. He was not a ghost, despite what was whispered all over the country. This was a man, and as such, he was flesh and blood, and he could be killed.

However, he also quickly realized that these legends and tales were well-founded and rose out of a solitary truth. Gintaro might be the greatest swordsman that he had ever fought and was well deserving of the titles cast about him like trophies. The way he moved, the way he slipped so seamlessly from defense to attack, then back to defense, was so effortless that one could call it beautiful. He fought like a man half his age and hit like a man twice his size. This was the point that his master, Henji, had taken great lengths to prepare him for, and the reason why Gin had earned the name, the Raijin. His attacks, despite seeming so natural and effortless, hit with the force of a battle ax. This was the thunder that he brought to every battle, and those who were not ready for it could easily be stunned and broken by the lightning he wielded every time he swung his blade.

Kondo’s hands were searing from the vibrations of each parry, but he had hardened them over many a day to prepare in case of this very moment. The one advantage that he kept repeating in his mind was that Gin was no longer in his prime and that he was. This would be what carried him on, what pushed him forward when he made a mistake, or when his mind began to bow to the great majesty of this man before him. This and his pride, extracted from the bitter memories of his wretched life. Between breaths, flashes of his childhood, where he was treated lower than a dog, and only survived by his instinctual thirst for life, flooded his mind. He remembered his rise to power and the influence he gained by simply being skilled with the sword. He considered all his friends who he watched die as the years went on, passing their flames onto him to keep burning. That fire he would wield against this bitter foe.

The two took a brief respite after a particularly brutal combination by Gintaro, which forced Kondo to leap back and hold a defense. Both men were now perspiring, but it seemed as if Kondo was more affected, as rivulets of sweat rolled down his forehead and he gasped for breath. Gintaro’s brow was also moist with sweat, but he maintained a strange calmness, as his chest rose only a little more than before.

This appeared to infuriate the ninja, whose initial strategy was to wear the old man down to exhaustion, and then commit to a true offensive. He needed to try something different. He needed to press the attack.

The next bout went off with another thunderous clash, as both men, after their initial surveys, were able to elevate their intensity. They both positioned themselves in precise, strategic ways: circling, sidestepping, and at times standing directly next to each other, but always keeping themselves invulnerable. They cut through the night air so hard that the edges of their swords seemed to whistle. And when they clashed it was as if the ground around them seemed to absorb the impact, and shudder in distress. Kondo no longer focused on the defensive, but went blow for blow with the Thunderlord, attempting to surpass him in power and steal his advantage. But with every step that he took to amplify his force, Gintaro rose one step above that, and dealt crushing attacks that Kondo could feel all the way down to his toes.

“Enough!” roared Kondo amid the exchange. He paused briefly, gathered his energy, and then went on such an offensive that it lasted nearly an unbroken minute. This seemed to finally have an effect on his adversary, who began to falter and was almost struck down in the mighty charge. The older swordsman was finally breathing heavily, and his posture appeared to slump. He carefully backed away, allowing himself and his opponent time to breathe.

Kondo knew that the advantage had shifted in his favor. The Raijin could indeed be drained, but he had to give it everything he had and walk the dangerous line of constant aggression. When they rejoined once again, he kept up the assault, and this time landed a glancing blow that cut through Gin’s indigo kimono along the ribs, drawing first blood. At last, the Raijin was beginning to show signs of failure.

Kondo gloated during the following interval, hoping to exploit his opponent’s mind. “This is the Raijin?” he shouted, the veins in his neck dilating from the strain. “This is the Thunderlord? You are not so mighty now, I see. Too many years bowed over, planting rice will do that to a man. It is as they say, you are a ghost of what you once were, and soon, a ghost you shall truly be.”

Taking this insult to heart, Gin did his best to raise himself, despite the fresh and searing wound. “You are right,” he replied. “I am not the Raijin, at least not yet.”

This statement took the ninja by surprise. “Well, then what are you waiting for? I will not hold back and hope you can summon him at a later time. If the Raijin is inside you now, please, give me the honor of killing him.”

The old swordsman wore a plain, uninterested look. “If I become the Raijin, Kondo, you will surely die.”

This drew a hearty laugh from the young swordsman. “Are you babbling on like this to give yourself a longer rest? I can assure you that I can go on like this for much longer than you can.”

Gin merely stared at him, unblinking, emotionless. “If you wish to see me at my full power, you must allow me to use my other sword as well.”

Kondo froze when he heard this. He had been warned – explicitly warned by his master, to be wary if Gintaro ever made for his second sword. Up until this point, Kondo had completely forgotten about it, for it was unusual to fight with two swords at the same time. There had been stories of the rare swordsmen who did, and of them, the Raijin was rumored to be one.

“If it makes you nervous,” Gin continued, seeming to exult in Kondo’s hesitation. “You can refuse. You are not required to give it to me by the laws of a duel. But you will never see the Raijin in his true form, I’m afraid.”

Kondo appeared to gnash his teeth. His opponent had cleverly trapped him. If he did not agree to this condition, any victory over the man would be hollow. If he gave him back his sword, his entire strategy could be ruined.

“The blade is not even sharp. You can see that for yourself.”

Kondo stared at his adversary for a moment and then carefully unsheathed his wakizashi. It was true, the blade was rather dull. This was yet another stab at his pride.

“What is this fool playing at?” Kondo wondered. He considered for several long moments, inspecting his opponent carefully. “Is it possible he was fighting at half-strength? No, surely it could not be. He was wounded after all. This is a sign of desperation. Perhaps the sword will give him a slight boost in defense, but the outcome will not change.”

At last, Kondo grinned and then tossed the short sword over to him. “So be it! Now show me the true Raijin!”

Gintaro caught the short sword, unsheathed it, and then held both swords down and at his sides. In his right hand, he held the longsword, in his left - the short. “Because you so greatly desired it,” he said softly, a hint of a rare smile crossing his face. “I will show you who I truly am.” There seemed to be a momentary glint in his eye.

This time Gintaro bolted forward, initiating the attack. Kondo was taken aback by this sudden burst of speed from his older opponent and nearly faltered right away. Gin’s quickness seemed to double now that he had his second sword, but his power remained unchanged. Kondo could do nothing but scramble to the defense, swinging wildly to deflect the constant barrage of slashes and thrusts that came at such a syncopated rhythm, that it forced him into a state of perpetual imbalance.

“Could it be?” Kondo wondered, beginning to panic, “That he was telling the truth?”

This was a new man, a new Gintaro, and his eyes were alit with the fires of rage, and he stormed down upon his foe relentlessly. Kondo abandoned all hope in pressing an attack, and shifted into survival tactics, doing everything he could to keep some space between him and his rejuvenated foe.

Several long exchanges occurred following this, with Kondo unable to mount an offensive of any kind. Yet Gin’s sudden burst of rage had finally appeared to cool, and now it seemed that he was merely toying with his enemy, not willing to claim a decisive victory, but also not allowing him any chance to alter the sway of battle.

“So, it is true!” Kondo forced himself to admit. “The fabled technique! The mastery of both swords at once!” He had never seen it used before, even though his master was also rumored to be a practitioner. If used correctly, it had no known weaknesses. Kondo began to fall into despair. “He is too controlled! He is too steady! I must try and imbalance him somehow!”

Gin allowed his foe another respite, as both men were beginning to grow weary from the struggle. Each could tell that the battle would soon enter its final phase.

Kondo wiped his brow. He had one last idea, though it pained him to have to use it. “Your daughter…” he said suddenly.

His opponent stiffened.

“She truly despised you. She told me so.”

Gin’s eyes seemed to grow larger, and his forehead appeared to twitch with indignation. “You lie!”

“She did!” Kondo insisted, a cruel smile appearing on his lips. “Do you know what else she told me?”

The older swordsmen did not answer but continued to glare at him.

“She told me how you abandoned her. How you left her alone to try and save the world. She told me that it was I who she trusted to save her, not you.”

Gin’s gaze seemed to falter. He believed it.

“Of all the terrible things that came after her capture,” Kondo persisted, “She said that the one good thing that came of it was that she was finally rid of you.” He could see his opponent’s fists squeezing the hilt of his blades so tightly that his hands were utterly white. This is what he wanted. He wanted Gin to become so enraged that he would sacrifice his focus on the altar of wrath. This was his only chance.

“Her mother…” Gin whispered, his gaze now falling to the cold earth below, “I could not save her either...”

“Yuki deserved a much better father, Gintaro. Now you can join her in death. Perhaps then you may reconcile. But I very much doubt it.”

Gin shuddered. “No,” he said, almost inaudibly. “No!” He jerked his head up suddenly, and his eyes seemed to glow from the lightning storm within.

He burst forth, as Kondo had expected, and unleashed a reckless assault. He was no longer controlled, and as such, his impenetrable defenses had fallen. Kondo saw his last chance, and thrust with all his might, piercing Gin in what he thought was the center of his stomach. But as his eyes fell downwards to inspect the injury, he saw that he had only glanced the side of his foe’s abdomen, slicing deep, but not fatally.

Gintaro roared with fury and pounded him with successive blows. His power and speed were growing exponentially, and without landing a true blow, Kondo saw the last of his hopes finally slip away. The Raijin had risen so far beyond him that he could no longer see the strikes coming, and felt his body become a pincushion for Gin’s two sable blades. His shoulder was struck first, then his thigh, his ankle, his left arm, his face, his other shoulder, and at last, he felt a sword enter through his ribcage and into his chest.

In an instant, it was over. Kondo realized that he had no chance of beating him, no real chance at all. At that very moment, he remembered his master’s grim warning. “The only one who can defeat Gintaro is himself.”

“No!” Kondo panted, falling to a knee. He held this position for several moments, trying to remain strong, trying to remain dignified as he always had been. Yet his strength finally gave out, and he fell backward, into a pool of his own blood. His chest heaved in and out, and he wore a look of horror on his face.

Gintaro stood over him, his chest also rising and falling, his eyes still gleaming with wrath. But after a moment or so passed, his expression changed, and he appeared calm once again.

“You are indeed the Raijin,” Kondo confessed, crimson blood spilling from his lips.

Gintaro said nothing but continued to stare down at his fallen opponent. There was a semblance of pity in his dark eyes.

“Forgive me!” Kondo breathed, his face twisting to bitter disappointment. “I... I failed her.”

Gin remained quiet for a moment but then produced the small scrap of material from Yuki’s garment from inside of his kimono. He bent low and placed it in Kondo’s bloody hands. “I think I understand now,” he said quietly. “You loved her.”

Kondo slowly lifted the cloth to his eyes and then held it to his lips. His face then softened, and then tears rolled down his cheeks. “She's alive?”

“I do not know for sure,” Gin answered. “But something tells me that she is. I must believe she is.”

Kondo relaxed his head back and wept for some time, but as his wounds were grievous, he soon gathered himself to speak his last words. “She always treated me fairly, despite what I am. She never loved me, though. She loved you and never doubted that you would find her. If she lives, you must...you must prove her right.”

“I will,” Gin promised.

“Gintaro…” Kondo gasped, as his life was steadily ebbing away. “Can you remember...my death poem?”

This drew a brief smile from the swordsman who saw great honor in following the old forms. “Yes.”

At this, Kondo attempted to smile back, but his time was running out. “The autumn wind cometh…chill is its burn…” He paused and looked up at the night sky overhead. His eyes appeared to glitter, reflecting the starlight. “The summer has faded. Not to return.” Then Kondo Daisuke closed his eyes and was still.

Gintaro stood up and took a step back to give this man his final peace, but the fallen swordsman lifted his hand to protest this as if he were fighting against death itself for one final utterance.

“Gintaro!” Kondo choked, unable to open his eyes. “Gintaro! Beware…the Fujin!”

This drew Gin’s intense attention, and he drew nearer to hear him better. “What did you say?” he asked instinctively, but at that moment, Kondo’s hand dropped to his side, and he spoke no more. From his outstretched hand, a golden ring fell, with rubies the color of the young man’s blood.