Hello Redditors! My friend just recently told me an amazing story and I'd like to look into it more, however they were unable to recall any names to point me in the right direction. I think perhaps the events took place in the Onin War (if not the early Sengoku jidai), but it may have possibly happened during the Genpei War too, as I believe the monks mentioned may be sohei monks and my friend said this was definitely before the Sengoku period. As this story was told to me by word of mouth in a state of inebriation from both parties, I'm certain I flubbed up some parts of the tale. Please, if any part of if sounds familiar, I'd love to hear it! This story was really interesting but as my only keywords to search were "yari", "seppuku", and "monk" I've gotten only as far as research above.

The story is such:

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A highwayman robbed travelers as they crossed his bridge, forcing them to give up either their belongings or their lives. Upkeep of the bridges and roads were a costly expense you understand. As he was 7 feet tall and adept at wielding a yari (spear), they usually complied. One day a monk half his size and twice his age walked across the bridge, and the highwayman asked for his toll. This monk, however, calmly refused. So the highwayman asked again, and threatened the monk. Again he was refused. The highwayman readied, and swung his yari towards the monk. It couldn't be said what happened next, but the fight ended quickly. The highwayman suddenly found himself in the ditch below in an intense amount of pain from a broken leg accrued from his fall over the side of the bridge. Surprisingly, the monk walked down into the ditch next to the highwayman and set up camp, intending to nurse the highwayman's injury. The highwayman was amazed by the monk and asked how the old man had done that and why he was nursing him. In return the monk asked why the highwayman could not use his talent (for the monk saw the man was gifted with his yari, it just so happened that he himself was better) for the good of the people. The highwayman admitted he did not get along well with the people, and then asked if the monk may take him on as his student. The monk agreed, and once the former-highwayman was fit enough, the two men traveled together as master and student.

Eventually the old monk passed away and the young monk turned to his master's master for further teaching and guidance. Now this was a time of martial turmoil in Japan, and while the monks tried to remain neutral, eventually they were forced to voice allegiance to one side or another. The monk himself relented and agreed to train a small group of warriors from a small clan of no consequence. Unfortunately, this clan's allegiance was on the losing side. The opposing army had arrived, and this small castle had but a score of men to defend it. The monk looked to his master and asked what could be done. The master answered that they were indeed going to lose, but that he refused to lose and give their enemy the glory of that victory. The master ordered the monk to defend the castle, to hold the gate, so that he may honorably commit seppuku (ritualistic suicide).

The monk exited the castle, walked a short distance from the gate, firmly held the pole of his yari in hand, and waited for the army. They stopped a distance away from the monk, perhaps they anticipated a trap. The general ordered the monk to move, and when he did not, sent a single warrior to dispatch of him. As the enemy warrior confronted the monk and began drawing his katana, the warrior was cut down swiftly by the monk. He resumed his posture, yari pole planted firmly in his befire him. Surprised, but not deterred, the general sent three more men to take on the monk together. With swords drawn, the warriors confronted the monk and again they were swiftly cut down. The monk again planted his yari at his feet before him and waited. So the general sent thirty warriors for certainly this monk could not be allowed to live. The troop of men roared towards the monk as they ran to mow him down, they surrounded him and attacked. While an average man may have been lost amongst the writhing mass of armor and steel, the monk stood several heads taller than the attacking warriors, and so the army saw clearly the monk with the yari who swung and struck down their fellow warriors. After several minutes, the fighting abated with the warriors slain at the monks feet. Again, he planted the butt of his yari on the ground before him, waiting. The general was enraged, the monk MUST be killed, for it was was an insult and humiliation that a single man stood between his army and his mission. The general bellowed, ordering the whole force of his army to strike. And not a single man moved. The warriors watched the monk who stood calmly ahead of them, the same man that had seemingly easily cut down their comrades just moments before, and we're terrified. The general fumed, but not to be undone, called forth his regiment of long-bowmen. They trepidatiously lined up to the front on the force. The monk gripped his yari and further planted it, leaning forward on the pole and waiting. He would not move for this army. The general ordered the bowmen to aim, draw, and loose their volley of arrows, and watched as they rained down on the monk. The monk remained standing.

It took some time ,and a fair bit of courage, but eventually the army again confronted the monk and saw that he was dead. His body was riddled with arrows, and dark blood pooled at his feet to mingle with the rest, but still he stood with his yari as if to defy the army even as his spirit ascended. When the army finally took the castle, the general saw that the castle's lord had successfully committed seppuku, the time granted by the lone monk even in his death.