“You sound like you’re challenging what I’m saying,” the samurai said, standing.
“Sir,” the old man replied, “I am old. I have no weapons. Even if I didn’t believe you, why would I challenge you? It doesn’t matter to me how good you are. Whether you are the greatest swordsman in the country or just some guy with a blade, you are obviously better than I am. That’s all that matters, and I am quite willing to admit that.”
“Are you mocking me?” the samurai shouted, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I’m not just ‘some guy with a blade.’ I am the greatest swordsman in the country.”
“I am,” he said to the young mother, who was watching him with fearful eyes. Then he turned to the old woman. “I am!”
Bokuden cleared his throat loudly. The samurai spun around and for the first time noticed him lying back against the rice sacks. The samurai’s eyes looked Bokuden up and down and came to rest on the two swords Bokuden wore on his belt.
“My name is Tsukahara Bokuden,” Bokuden said, hoping his reputation as a sword master would be enough to quiet the loudmouth.
“Never heard of you,” the young samurai replied. “What style of sword art do you practice?”
“The style of no sword,” Bokuden answered continuing to relax against the sacks. “It’s very popular. I’m sure you as a great swordsman have heard of it.”
“The style of no sword?” the samurai replied. “That’s ridiculous. There’s no such style!”
“Sure there is,” Bokuden said. “It’s the style that says that a swordsman’s skill isn’t measured by how many men he’s killed. A swordsman’s skill is measured by how many fights he can walk away from undefeated.”
The young samurai looked puzzled.
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