Chapter 12 – Fists of Resolve
The sun blazed high over the mountains, heat rippling across the stone courtyard. Ashura tightened the wraps around his hands, eyeing Master Iroh who stood across from him. His katana and kunai lay neatly to the side.
Ashura (protesting): "I'm a swordsman, sensei. You're the one who taught me that."
Master Iroh (smirking): "And today, I will unteach you."
Without warning, Iroh moved. His palm struck Ashura's chest like a hammer, sending him skidding across the ground. Dust kicked up around him.
Ashura (coughing): "Tch… you could've warned me!"
Master Iroh: "In a real fight, no one gives warnings. Now get up."
---
Ashura charged, fists flying. His strikes were fast, sharp, born from street brawls and raw instinct. But Iroh was a wall—redirecting every punch, turning Ashura's momentum against him, striking pressure points with surgical precision.
Ashura hit the dirt again, groaning. Temari winced from the sidelines, but Iroh didn't let up.
Master Iroh: "Your body is your first blade. If you cannot master it, every weapon you wield will betray you."
Ashura gritted his teeth, forcing himself back up. This time, he steadied his stance. He remembered Iroh's words from before—"silence that chooses when the fire should burn."
---
He exhaled slowly. Then attacked.
His fists became sharper, movements tighter. He ducked under Iroh's palm strike, countering with an elbow to the ribs. Iroh blocked, but his eyes flickered with approval.
Master Iroh (thinking): "Good. He's learning."
The spar escalated. Iroh unleashed a flurry of palm strikes—Ashura blocked, parried, absorbed the impact, and retaliated with his own counters. Sweat poured down his face, but this time he didn't fall immediately.
Suddenly, Iroh swept Ashura's legs. The boy crashed to the ground again.
Master Iroh (stern): "Your fists are strong, but your spirit wavers. Do you know why hand-to-hand combat matters, Ashura?"
Ashura (panting): "…Because… when the blade breaks… only your will is left."
Iroh's expression softened slightly.
Master Iroh: "No. Because fists can show mercy. A sword cannot."
---
Ashura blinked, stunned by the weight of those words. Slowly, he stood again. This time, he raised his fists—not with rage, but with purpose.
Ashura (determined): "Then I'll fight with both. My blade and my fists. My strength and my mercy."
Master Iroh finally cracked a grin.
Master Iroh: "Now… you're beginning to understand."
The training continued late into the evening,
each strike sharpening not just Ashura's body, but his resolve.