The sun had barely risen when I returned to the training grounds, boulder split cleanly in two behind me. My arms still ached from the technique I had used, but my spirit felt light. I'd carved through stone not with brute strength, but with control and resolve. It felt like a new beginning.
Junjiro stood outside his home, watching the path without expression. It was the first time I'd seen him waiting for me, as if he had been standing there for a while. In his hand was a long wooden box, weathered but well-kept.
"You broke it, didn't you?" he said, eyes flicking to the sheath at my side.
"No," I replied, pulling the sword slightly to show its edge. "But it won't last long."
He nodded and tapped the box beside him. "Then take this."
It was sheathed in a plain black scabbard, no markings or flair. The moment I took it, I felt the weight shift in my hand more balanced than my old blade.
"This belonged to one of my former students," he said. "He died on a mission, not long after passing the Final Selection. It's been unused since."
I hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"That sword is meant to be used," he said. "Not left to gather dust."
When I unsheathed it, the blade shimmered with a deep green hue. It pulsed faintly in the morning light, clean and sharp.
"It's already colored," I muttered.
"Of course," Junjiro replied. "Nichirin blades take on their color the moment they're touched by their first owner. Doesn't matter who wields it after."
The green felt... fitting. Like moss in a deep forest. Alive, quiet, and sharp.
I bowed. "Thank you."
He didn't respond with words. Just gave a curt nod and walked away.
The following days, I continued training refining the movement that had cut the boulder. It was my first real technique. I named it Veiled Fang ( Kasumi Kiba ). A quick, horizontal slash from a draw stance. Clean and swift. Born from instinct and memory.
But one move wasn't enough. I needed more. Real combat demanded more.
So I began experimenting.
At night, I trained in silence by the river. During the day, I replayed the dream I'd seen again and again. I remembered the rhythm of the movements. The strange footwork. The way the blade danced.
I tried replicating them all.
One evening, as the wind blew harder than usual, I practiced spinning movements, my sandals skimming over the stone. I noticed how a simple pivot, combined with a feint, could confuse the enemy. It gave the illusion of attacking from one side before changing direction at the last moment.
After nearly tripping over myself for the hundredth time, I laughed.
"I must look like a drunk festival dancer..."
But eventually, I got it right.
The motion became smoother. My feet traced a wide circular path, guiding the enemy's gaze while my blade moved in from the opposite angle. It wasn't the strongest attack, but it created an opening. That's all I needed.
I called it Ghost Step ( Yurei Ashi ). A movement that used misdirection and circular footwork to set up a clean slice.
Another form, born not from a dream, but from improvisation.
And pain. Lots of it.
A week passed.
I kept pushing. I couldn't stop. Every time I remembered the night of the attack, the pain in my chest reminded me why I was doing this.
Then came the third.
It happened during a lightning storm. The sky was cracking above, and I was practicing thrusts beneath a canopy of trees. Raindrops stung my skin. The wind howled. But I kept training.
That's when it hit me.
The dream the final movement I saw. A quick, precise thrust to the throat. Almost too fast to see. There was no flourish, no buildup. Just a perfect line between stillness and death.
I worked on that for days.
Not wide arcs. Just focused, concentrated lunges. I reduced everything step, arm, shoulder to the bare minimum. The blade moved in a straight line, no wasted motion.
Eclipse Fang ( Getsumei Kiba ).
A single-point neck thrust, fast and lethal.
The name sounded dramatic, sure. But hey, if I'm going to risk my life using these moves, I might as well make them sound cool.
I now had three.
Three forms.
Three blades born from the shadow.
Veiled Fang ( Kasumi Kiba ).
Ghost Step ( Yurei Ashi ).
Eclipse Fang ( Getsumei Kiba ) .
And all of them mine.
My breathing technique still wasn't perfect. But it was mine. My rhythm. My path. I didn't have a teacher, not really. Just fragments of memory, a worn journal, and an old man who refused to say more than five words at a time.
But it was enough.
I called it Shadow Breathing.
Because that's what I had become a shadow in the woods, silent and focused.
I didn't know what awaited me beyond this forest. But now, I had a sword. A technique. A purpose.
And I was ready.
To Be Continued…