A week has passed since I forged my sword. And as much as I hate to admit it... nothing has happened.
No explosions. No wandering adventurers, no surprise invasions, no mysterious letters sealed with wax... just routine. I train every day, harder now. There's something strange going on, though. Tina's been acting more aggressive lately. I don't know why, but she's been pushing the boundaries a lot. Even Gilo has started giving her odd looks.
Over the past week, she's been unusually clingy, and it's making me more than a little uncomfortable. I should probably talk to Gilo one of these days. Maybe he can explain it, or at least offer some advice.
I don't know exactly what happened, though I can guess she'll probably have to return home soon. Part of me is glad; she's a smart girl and deserves more. But part of me is also irritated, for reasons I can't fully explain. Over the years, I've asked her often about her family, but she's always vague. Passive. I've even asked Gilo about it, but he never opens up. And I haven't seen any letters or messages exchanged between them since the last one arrived... years ago. Something about this whole situation smells off, and I hate not knowing. I really, really do.
The rest is fine, and well, there's some good news: my father and a couple of villagers are heading out next week on a short trade run. They need to exchange some goods and pick up livestock they previously agreed on. Nothing too epic, hopefully, just a round trip to a nearby village, about ten hours away on foot. I asked around, and the road should be relatively safe. As safe as anything ever is around here, anyway.
Back to reality. This is one of those nights where you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, thinking too much, unable to sleep, and not sure what to do with yourself. I've forged. I've trained. I've studied Ki and experimented with magic. I've done everything short of summoning a god and demanding career counseling.
And that's when it hits me, one of those ridiculous moments when your brain casually digs up: "Hey, remember that anime you binge-watched fifteen years ago instead of studying for finals?" Yeah. That one. One Piece. Zoro.
Specifically, a story I stumbled onto later, after I'd already seen it dramatized in One Piece. A real legend, hiding behind a cartoon swordsman: Masamune and Muramasa. Two legendary Japanese swordsmiths, each renowned for their skill, but separated by time and temperament. Though they likely never met, stories woven centuries after their deaths imagined a duel of craftsmanship between them.
In one version, their blades were hung above a flowing river. Muramasa's sword cut everything that touched it: leaves, fish, even the current itself. Masamune's blade, by contrast, let leaves glide by untouched, cutting only what it chose to. One blade was sharp without mercy. The other was sharp with wisdom.
Back in the Old World, stories like these were told and retold not just by warriors, but by smiths themselves. In some cultures, a blade wasn't considered complete unless the smith had poured part of their spirit into it.
And maybe, just maybe... that's what I've been missing.
Two blades. Two philosophies. Muramasa's sword was flawless; it could cut through anything: steel, stone, water, air. It didn't care. It would slice, always. Without pause, without question. A blade of absolute violence. Masamune's sword? It only cut what needed to be cut. Leaves would float down and slide along the edge unharmed. A sword of restraint. A sword with will.
And suddenly, something in my head clicks. Normally, I'd brush all of this off as myths and bedtime stories. But given my current reality? That would be stupid. In fact, I should be doing the opposite: digging through every scrap of Asian lore, European legends, and whatever else I can remember from Earth. Cross-reference mythologies. Try things. Experiment. I finally have time, and apparently, the world's just weird enough that some of it might actually work.
Not a weapon. A will. A sword's will.But seriously, what do I even want from this blade?
To protect someone?
To look cool while dramatically unsheathing it during monologues?
Gods, this is starting to sound like the angsty prologue of a mid-tier manhua where the protagonist gets betrayed by his sect, falls off a cliff, and comes back three chapters later with glowing eyes and an ancient dragon soul.
No, seriously, just the thought of reincarnating into a Murim-style world makes me want to cough up blood. Like, no thank you. Keep your qi-drenched vendettas and cultivation sect drama.
And here I go again, getting sidetracked. But hey... maybe trying something new isn't the worst idea.
I sit up in bed, eyes wide, heart pounding. Maybe it's not just about force or speed. Maybe those are the questions of a beginner.
I grab Flame Fang from the stand by my bed, my grip steady. My parents are asleep, and if they catch me sneaking out at this hour, I'm dead. Not metaphorically. Just... dead. Buried behind the forge with a note that says "he asked for it."
The wooden floor creaks like it's just waiting to rat me out, so I shift my weight onto the balls of my feet and move slowly. One step, then another. I ease the door open, thank the gods for well-oiled hinges, and slip outside.
It's cold tonight. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones. I pause, sigh, and double back, quiet as a whisper, sneaking back inside the house. No creaks. I grab a thicker tunic and my heavier cloak, then slip back out into the night like a particularly guilty shadow. Much better.
I head for my usual training spot. Then I realize, it's literally just behind the house. Still, shouldn't be an issue. I'm not planning to cut the old tree down or anything. Just a couple of leaves... nothing too loud, hopefully.
I raise Flame Fang, grip steady. A slow breath in, and I close my eyes. This time, I'm serious.
I center myself, not just on the weight of the blade in my hands, but on the years behind it. Every early morning. Every bruised knuckle. Every mistake. Every lesson. Every flicker of clarity won by sheer repetition.
Tonight, I want to cut with purpose. Or not at all.
"Alright. Let's see if I can manage not to cut through a few leaves..."That's got to be one of the strangest things ever muttered by someone swinging a sword.
I exhale. Slow. Controlled. Like I'm trying to breathe out hesitation itself. Time to boost myself a bit.
[Control]
Ah, definitely my favorite skill. Without it, I'd be nothing.
[Ki Body Enhancement: Mind]
I feel my senses sharpen, and my brain shift into overdrive like I've chugged an energy drink. Mixed with [Control], it makes my understanding of processes much clearer. But something's still missing. Normally, I hold back, more than anything, I use mana for magical training. But just this once, I can try something different.
[Empowered Ki]
A skill I generally don't use, for two reasons: it puts extra strain on the body, and it burns through mana. But using it once in a while won't kill me. As soon as the ability activates, I feel my mind awaken. Processes flow better, thoughts become crystal clear. Even if a headache's already coming on, it's fine. Acceptable.
I exhale. I see my target: a branch, one with eight leaves. I move the blade toward the branch and sweep it forward in one smooth motion. Don't cut. Don't cut. I try to press my will into the motion. I don't want the sword to slice, I want it to cradle the leaves, to glide through them. The blade moves, touches the first leaf and, despite its edge, merely brushes it aside before continuing forward.
I did it. That's my first thought.Too bad the next seven leaves get mercilessly shredded.
"Ah... shit."
Alright, reset. I scan the tree, spot another low-hanging branch, and step into position again. Deep breath. Focus. Control. I raise the blade and sweep, same motion, same intent.
Still just the first leaf.
"You have got to be kidding me," I mutter, glaring at the shredded remains.
I try again. New branch, slightly thinner this time, maybe more forgiving? Nope. The second attempt fails just like the first. First leaf slips by, second leaf gets turned into botanical confetti.
Third try. A little better. I manage to barely graze the second leaf. It flutters off, torn at the edge like it had second thoughts halfway through dying. Progress? Barely. I press on.
Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. Each attempt slightly different: adjusting the angle, shifting my grip, trying to will the blade into compliance.
Seventh attempt: still no dice. The leaves die brave, but they die nonetheless.
By the tenth try, I finally see something change. Three leaves sway gently on the branch, untouched, as if the blade had never passed through them. I almost drop the sword in surprise.
Almost.
Two more rounds follow. My arms are starting to ache, my Ki is thinning, and there's a dull pulse forming behind my eyes. But each swing feels closer.
I exhale hard. "Well... at least something's happening."
Better get some rest. I feel a slight headache from using abilities that enhance my mental faculties, and honestly, I'm fairly certain it's best not to wander around at night, alone and drained of energy.
"I'll deal with this tomorrow. Or technically, this morning. It's probably past midnight already."