Chapter 1

Miyamoto Musashi awoke from a troubled sleep with sweat dripping off his face. His breathing was heavy. He sat up and tried to calm himself. He was tired of these nightmares.
Musashi looked around and was surprised to find himself in a room. It was still night.
Momentarily unsure of where he was, he stood up to get his bearings. Musashi couldn’t remember the last time he had slept indoors.
As Musashi stood, he felt a dull pain in his leg muscles. His memory suddenly cleared. He was staying as a guest of Lord Sato Okinaga, at the famous House on the Volcano. He had spent the most part of the previous day climbing to the top.
Lord Okinaga was a powerful Daimyo - Master Samurai. Musashi knew if there was any place in the world where he could get a good night sleep, it was here. Although building a house on the side of a volcano sounded like madness to most people, the truth was, this was the best protected house of any Lord.
Musashi rose from his bed, using the sheets to wipe the sweat off his muscular body. He ran his hardened hands through his coarse black hair and sat crossed legged on the floor. He straightened his back and placed his hands together high above his head. He inhaled deeply as he drew his hands inward to his chest and then exhaled slowly as he extended them outwards in front of him. He repeated this process. All the while concentrating on the rhythm of his breathing.
His mind wandered. The events of the previous morning played over in his head: the duel with Sasaki Kojiro, Demon of the Western Province.
Musashi couldn’t get the look of Kojiro’s face out of his mind. The look of a man incensed with rage. It was seared into his memory.
The duel took place on Ganryu Island. A destination agreed upon by both men.
Musashi knew Kojiro was an accomplished Samurai. He possessed incredible skill in unarmed combat and was a master of Kenjutsu – way of the sword.
Musashi didn’t take any chances. He devised a simple plan to break Kojiro’s focus.
He turned up late.
Kojiro’s reaction was as predictable as it was severe.

“ I am Sasaki Kojiro of the Hosokawa Samurai,” the angered Kojiro had shouted. “Master of swordsmanship and rightful owner of the Drying Pole sword. I wish to advise you that I arrived on time as arranged. I take your lateness as a personal insult. You have brought shame to your Master and to yourself. I will honour you with a warrior’s death.”
Musashi jumped out of the small boat he had travelled to the island on, landing in the shallow water. The servant who had rowed the boat slumped over, exhausted.
“I am Miyamoto Musashi. I am no Samurai, I serve no master and I am the rightful owner of this wooden sword I just carved from an oar.”
Kojiro’s rage subsided slightly as he laughed at Musashi’s wooden sword. “And what exactly do you intend to do with that?”
Musashi said nothing. He simply stared Kojiro down.
“You must want to die,” Kojiro scorned, as he unsheathed his sword. “You do not stand a chance against me.”
He pointed his sword at the crowd who had gathered on the island to watch the duel. “These people have come here today to watch me kill you,” he said restraining the anger in his voice. “They will not be disappointed. I have developed a sword style so deadly; I have never been defeated in combat. My sword is made of the highest quality steel. Not once in over 400 years of use has the cutting edge of the blade been damaged.”
The crowd’s excitement grew as they sensed the moment they had been waiting for coming to a head.
Kojiro threw his scabbard to the ground and held his sword in both hands. “So you see Ronin, your wooden sword is as good as useless,” he menaced, rasing the sword above his head. “And you are as good as dead!”
Sasaki Kojiro charged.
Musashi smiled. His mind was focused, his muscles ready. “You have lost Kojiro.”
Musashi stood his ground and raised the wooden sword above his head. As Kojiro charged he brought the wooden sword slicing down a split second before his opponent could react, cracking his skull open.
Kojiro dropped to his knees. A split second later he collapsed in the shallow water. Blood flowed from Kojiro’s skull turning the calm water red. Musashi brought his wooden sword slicing down one more time and finished off his once eager opponent.
The crowd fell silent.
Musashi knelt beside Kojiro and presented a small cloth. As a sign of respect he placed it over his opponents bloodied face. He picked up the legendary sword that had served Kojiro so well, drying the blade on his sleeve before sheathing it back in its scabbard. He walked over to the crowd. A young warrior stepped forward. It was Kojiro’s student.
Musashi held out the sword in both hands. “I believe your master would want you to have this,” he said, bowing as he offered the sword.
The student returned the bow. He was unable to say anything. He simply looked at Musashi, at the Ronin, totally shocked by what a man with a wooden sword could do.

The sound of distant tapping brought Musashi’s mind reeling back to the present.
A voice spoke through the door. “Lord Miyamoto…”
Musashi wasn’t used to being called Lord. The person on the other side must be a servant.
“Lord Miyamoto,” the servant continued. “You have been invited to sit with Lord Sato Okinaga.”
At this hour?
Musashi was honoured but he was totally exhausted. “Please tell Lord Sato that I am not feeling well. But I will be able to speak with him tomorrow morning.”
The servant persisted “I am not sure that he can wait ‘till then.”
Musashi wondered what could possibly be so important. “I understand that I am Lord Sato’s guest but I really…”
The servant interrupted Musashi by sliding open his bedroom door. The servant was kneeling, his face pressed against the floor. In front of him was a piece of paper. “My orders are to bring you to Lord Sato. Please, you must read this.”
Musashi picked up the piece of paper. He did not believe what he read.

Itto Isamu is dead. The Clan is back.