I Would Rather Die Than Live Without Dignity

Imaeda Ichirō used to believe he had been born lowly. People like him belonged in the dirt, scratching a living from the soil and spending their lives as their ancestors had.

When he was young, he hadn't understood why he had to follow in his father's footsteps. Backbreaking farmwork and crushing forced labor wore down his body and spirit, often making him want to run away.

He had dreamed of getting rich overnight, of living like the Fukada Family back home: never working, riding in a sedan chair, and surrounding himself with beautiful women.

But poverty ground those dreams to chaff. He swallowed them with the passing years, and they vanished into the mud. He grew dull and quiet, just like his father.

Then war came. There seemed to be a war every year, and he didn't think this one would change anything. It would only bring another group to collect taxes and seize grain. He rarely got to eat what he grew anyway. He was used to it. At worst, he would make a few more trips into the mountains and go a little farther to find something to fill his stomach.

But he was wrong. This war destroyed his life. His home burned, the seeds saved for next year were stolen, and his parents and the wife they had obtained for him with a bowl of wild-vegetable soup all died.

He cried for the first time since becoming an adult. He had thought he couldn't cry. Only when tears blurred his vision did he realize they were warm.

He considered living in the mountains, but even with proper weapons, solid knowledge, and some luck, a person alone could survive there for only a month or two at most. Without preparation, lasting any longer was impossible.

With nowhere to