“You were told wrong,” Toshiro said. “You’d better go back to the road and ask again.”

The boy did not move.

Toshiro frowned, raised his arm, and pointed.

“The road is that way,” he said.

The boy stayed put.

Stubborn, stupid—or both? wondered Toshiro. He nodded to Kichi, who stood up and brushed dust from his clothes before ambling over to the intruder.

Kichi looked the boy up and down, and sniggered.

“Does your father really let you play with that big sharp sword?” he said. “He must be as big a fool as you look.”

The boy stiffened slightly, but his voice was calm as he said, “I’m not looking for any trouble.”

“No?” jeered Kichi. “But what if trouble is looking for you? Think you know how to handle yourself, do you?”

“I don’t want to fight you,” the boy replied.

Kichi sighed.

“That’s a real shame!” he said. “Because me and my friends figure you’ve seen a bit too much, so now I’m going to have to kill you.”

Kichi’s fingers closed around the hilt of his sword, but before the blade had cleared its sheath, the boy drew his own sword and lopped off the bandit’s head with a single, graceful stroke.

Uproar broke out in the clearing. Men struggled to their feet and fumbled for weapons.

“Don’t let him escape!” yelled Toshiro.

But the boy, it seemed, had no intention of escaping, for instead of fleeing from the bandits, he attacked them. He was everywhere, running, leaping, and twirling like a dancer. The blade of his sword glinted in the dappled sunlight.

One bandit died from a blow that almost chopped him in two at the waist; another died before he could notch an arrow onto the string of his bow. A third received a wound in the neck that severed an artery.

Swinging his sword and bellowing like a bull calf, Toshiro bore down on the boy. The boy waited calmly and then, with perfect timing, drove the point of his sword up under Toshiro’s ribcage and penetrated his heart.

When the surviving members of the gang saw that their leader was dead, they turned and ran.

“A demon!” one of them shouted. “We were attacked by a demon!”

The boy cleaned his sword on the sleeve of Toshiro’s kimono and approached the driver of the oxcart.

The driver trembled.

“Don’t kill me, sir!” he gibbered. “I’m just a poor trades-man who never hurt anyone!”

“I’m not going to kill you,” said the boy. “Lean forward.”

He cut the ropes and freed the driver, who crouched on all fours at his feet.

“Bless you, sir!” the driver sobbed. “May the ancestors shower a thousand—”

“Do you know the way to Mitsukage Castle?” interrupted the boy.

The driver dared to raise his head and peep at his rescuer.

“Keep walking northeast and you’ll pick up a drovers’ road. Follow it for three days and you’ll find Mitsukage Castle. The lord of the castle is—”

“I know who is lord there,” said the boy.