[Status — Sora |
Date: November 1512 |
Location: East Blue, en route to Shimotsuki Village]
Level: 10
STR: 25(+50 with Shiro)
AGI: 62
VIT: 21
INT: 21
PER: 21
LUK: 21
Unused Stat Points: 0
Monarch Skills
Warden of Spirits (Lv 1) — Hold up to 15 spirits; must defeat or surpass a target to bind; 3 rebirth attempts; loyalty check at 1 year.
Companion:Bayyako "Yako," the White Tiger — Lv 9
Skills (Active):
Ghost Step(Dash → Rank D, ~2%) — Burst that leaves an afterimage; great for feints/evades.
Slash(Grade F, ~40%) — Quick cutting strike; costs stamina.
Skills (Passive):
Tough Skin(Grade D) — Damage reduction + pain tolerance.
Burn Resistance — Reduced heat/burn damage
Swordsmanship(Grade F, ~89%)
Hand-to-Hand(Grade F, ~40%)
Tracking(Grade F, ~20%)
Axe Mastery / Woodcutting(Grade F, ~20%)
Titles:
Hmmm, this is crazy. In what right mind did I think I could just head out to sea in a fishing boat? My boat's a little bigger than a normal one, but it's still just a fishing boat.
I really thought the System would help me with a map or something. Damn—nothing.
But it wasn't the end of the world. My compass still pointed south, and I had food in my inventory for days. I just hoped I'd reach the village.
[Ding] Navigation skill learned. Map available.
"Let's go! I won't die… hopefully."
"System, show map." A map of the places I had been lit up; everything else was fogged out. A thin line traced my course south. Hmmm. It doesn't do much right now, but this will be super useful later on, for sure.
After three days of sailing, I made it. It was a quiet village with paddy fields and a river running through it. It was around November 1512, and there was still some time before Kuina's tragic accident the following year. I traveled through the village, drawing the wary stares that a stranger always gets.
"I'm here to find the Isshin Dojo. Could you help me?" I asked an old man.
"Hmph. It's that way. You'll find the dojo there," said the old man with a hunchback and blue hair.
As I walked to the dojo, I passed the river, where a green‑haired kid was squatting with a heavy rock tied to a rope clenched between his teeth.
"It's none other than Roronoa Zoro," I whispered to myself.
He dropped the weight and looked my way. "What are you looking at?" he asked.
"Oh, just directions to the dojo."
"Turn around and go that way," he replied, pointing behind me.
"Really? Thanks. I'm going to see what's this way first."
I kept walking in the direction I knew the dojo was. Zoro had just told me to go back the way I came. I held in my laugh as I walked away.
I finally reached the dojo. A man with long black hair tied back stood at the door. "Young man, can I help you?" he asked.
"Yes. I would like to learn the way of the sword," I said, trying to sound confident.
"Well, you're welcome to join the dojo. My name is Koushirou—you may call me sensei."
"Oh, really? Thank you. Then I would like to challenge your strongest student," I added with a smirk.
"Oh? Is Zoro here?" he asked his students. "Ah—no, he's out training by the river."
"Father, if he wants to fight the strongest, then I'll fight him," a blue‑haired girl said, stepping forward.
I was given a shinai (a bamboo sword), and Kuina and I faced each other. Zoro jogged in to watch. "Kuina, duel me next after you beat him!" he shouted.
"Hmph. You want to get beaten up too?" She focused back on me, eyeing how I held the shinai. "Have you ever even held a sword before?"
"Yeah… here and there," I replied. Hopefully this duel isn't too hard, since I'm not using any of my skills.
We bowed. Chūdan‑no‑kamae. My tip trembled; hers was still as a pin.
We slid. She tested my guard with a quick tap. I flinched. She smiled.
She snapped a vertical strike. I braced high; bamboo rattled my arms.
I shoved and stepped right, slashing for her ribs. She pivoted, blade kissing my guard away.
A feint—her shoulder dipped for my head, but the cut scythed for my wrist. I yanked back barely in time.
All those points in Agility weren't for nothing, I thought, bursting forward with a diagonal cut.
She met it softly, let my force glide past, then snapped a kote to my forearm—sting blooming hot.
I circled left, changing rhythm—one short step, one long—and whipped the tip across her guard.
She didn't chase. She vanished in place—weight sunk, hips square—then caught and turned my blade.
Her shinai dropped like a hammer onto my crown. Stars. I stumbled but stayed upright.
I gritted my teeth and surged under her guard, aiming a desperate thrust—she slipped aside and touched her shinai to my neck.
"Match," she said, breath even. A red welt throbbed on my scalp.
"Loser," she added, but there was the smallest tilt of respect in her eyes as she walked off.
"That was pretty good," said Koushirou.
"Thank you, sensei, but it seems I have a lot to learn."
From then on, I joined the training: daily swing drills and runs around the village. It was funny seeing Zoro sprint with someone riding piggyback. At night, I'd watch Zoro and Kuina duel. He was on his 1,900th loss. It didn't faze him—he just trained harder the next day. My daily training went on like this for three months.
I wondered how Luffy and Ace were doing. I was swinging my shinai by myself when Koushirou came up, straightened my back, and adjusted my grip.
"Who are you swinging at?" he asked.
"No one," I answered.
"Try swinging at someone in your mind—either your fear or an opponent."
I closed my eyes and thought of Bluejam. My shinai cut through the air with a sharp hiss.
"Good swing," he said, and walked away.
[Ding]
Swordsmanship → One‑Sword Style (Ittoryu Iai) Rank D
The shinai felt like an extension of my arm now. Every swing had purpose—not just motion.
Koushirou returned with two bokken and handed me one.
"Shinai for sparring, bokken for form," he said. "We start with breath."
He stood beside me. "Inhale through the nose. Exhale with the cut. Don't add strength—remove waste."
We raised the bokken together. "Ten‑uchi," he murmured. "The snap at the end of the swing. Wrist, not shoulders."
I mirrored him. The blade tip hummed when my breath and hands matched. When they didn't, it dragged like wet rope.
"Footwork," he said, tapping my heel. "Front foot points where your heart goes. Back foot anchors, not drags."
We stepped through a slow kata—draw, cut, re‑sheath—no scabbard, only the motion. "Again."
Ten minutes turned to an hour. My thighs shook. Sweat sketched a dark crescent under my collar.
"Last one," he said. He tossed a dry leaf. "Cut the fall, not the leaf."
The world shrank to a drifting edge of brown. I exhaled, let the bokken drop with the breath, and the leaf parted soundlessly—half of it landing on the line of my toes.
Koushirou's mouth made a small, pleased shape. "Good. Now make the next thousand cuts like that."
[Ding] Kata Unlocked: Ittoryu — Beginner Iai(One Sword Strike)
Rank C- Active Skill
Profeciency: 0%
A calm settled in my hands. No shortcuts. If I'm going to stand in this world, it'll be on my own feet.