The blades of the yakuza met only air, but Ichi’s steel found the gaps in their armor and the rhythm of their strikes. In ten seconds, the circle was broken. The men lay in the dirt, groaning—wounded, but alive. Ichi did not believe in unnecessary death, even for fools.
Ichi stood, his cane tapping a rhythmic code against the packed earth. He wasn't looking for trouble—he never was—but he was looking for a master. He had heard whispers that his old teacher, the man who first taught him to use his ears as eyes, was living in the village ahead.
The traveler laughed and moved on, unaware that the "blind man" was tracking the weight of his footsteps, the slight rattle of a concealed blade, and the scent of expensive gambling-den incense clinging to his kimono. Ichi knew the man was a scout for the local yakuza boss, Shigezo. subtitle New Tale Of Zatoichi (1963) [BluRay] [...
Six men. Two with spears, four with katanas. Their breathing was ragged—amateurs fueled by sake. Ichi sighed. He hated the mess.
As he entered the outskirts, the air grew heavy with the smell of scorched wood and fear. He felt the vibration of many feet—men circling him. The blades of the yakuza met only air,
"A beautiful sunset," a traveler remarked, pausing to catch his breath.
He drew the blade fully. A single, silver arc flashed in the moonlight. One. Two. Three. Ichi did not believe in unnecessary death, even for fools
"Forgive me," Ichi whispered to the empty air, bowing to his fallen opponents. "I really am a very poor masseur."