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In ancient legends stood a woman so relentlessly unhinged many rather be blind than encounter her. This woman in one life was a world-class level kendo practitioner who traveled the vast world. She had no training, nor prior teachings from a master so to believe. This woman was the pure pinnacle of home-grown mastery. A wielder who stood before her opponents in an unwavering, non-surrendering stance. So steadfast she would take opponents’ offense completely unharmed, only in her uniform cloths, this was one of numerous things she gained notoriety for. However, this was one of many actions the traditional kendo committee consistently shunned her for.
Her upbringing into kendo along with her unorthodox style of being this sword sponge with a fierce look had been heavenly scolded by the committee and traditionalist mindsets alike. And yet she was winning the hearts of the lower class and the children by choosing this path with only the skills that she herself knows. It was a perilous war between herself and the committee. Should her kendo uniform get tampered with, she will fight with what she can wear, should her sword be broken by “bandits”, she would arrive with a new hand-carved kendo sword. A stoic trail of pain, anguish, determination, and balance.
Unfortunately, the downfall to infamy catches the best of us.
When asked around nobody had even noticed the changes that had come to the people’s Hero. It was a recent tournament held in Miyazaki, Japan, the woman, who then was a defending champion on her second year was scheduled for another consecutive title defense. A young prospering finalist stood in wait for a chance to lock swords with a legend...the legend did not share the same stoic feelings. The committee had taken note of the woman, she arrived swaying left and right in an intoxicated, bumbling-like manner, her face, neck, collar bone, and hands were wrapped to the brim in bandages. Her uniform was tattered but it wasn’t news to them, what was news was the sword that was dying in her death grip. Stood as long as a 28-inch pole. An aged brown sword with a carved slightly blunted tip, no guard, no wool, just a pure sunuke bokken sword with a handle big enough to comfortably grip. It had silenced everyone the way she’d enter the room, when locking eyes with the finalist they did not see a stoic woman, they saw something horrifying in her eyes. It was the last thing they ever saw before their skull cracked open in a single head-level swing.
No one had the stomach to watch as a beast tore their prey open maliciously. Strings of red painted the mats where champions before her had stood. That stumbling-off-looking woman sparked alive with an aura that burnt everything around her, destroying everything she had around her. Such an unspeakable sight she was banished with no appeal, to become an obscured blurred memory to the lineage of Kendo. Her followers, onlookers, the committee all could not find the words in what followed that day, they could not find any words to condemn these actions, only express sadness for a life lost, and a life of a hero, corrupted.
Much has passed since the covering of these events, some still wonder about the woman. Some believed she had grown old and died from injury complications, others believe she is still alive roaming among the living in silence. One thing is for sure, the later stories of disappearances far too convincingly tie back to her.
Rumors has it unsuspecting citizens who crossed the likes of her finds out why she lives in infamy in kendo’s black history. If spotted she dons a top-half dragon mask, the inside of the mask is painted black. A kendo uniform with colors unlike a traditional one. Greet her and she would respond mannerly. Stay and you shall see the drawbacks of all her sustained injuries lead to a damaged psyche. Even with wounds long healed, the disconnect with reality is so far gone its no wonder how unhinged one can be to leave someone mangled from concussed blows.
She is only known by many, as “The Latin Dragon”.