The Land of Iron, Isshin Dojo.
Bang...
A figure went flying backward, slamming heavily onto the floor.
By now, no one was left standing in the dojo; everyone lay on the ground, groaning in pain.
Aoki Yoru retracted his wooden sword and rested it casually against his shoulder, glancing around at the crowd sprawled on the floor.
"Is that it? Surely this can't be the full extent of the Isshin Dojo's strength."
Hearing this, the people on the ground looked up and glared at him, their faces filled with resentment.
Creak—
An old-fashioned door at the back of the dojo was pushed open, and a short elderly man walked in with his hands behind his back.
Ignoring his disciples lying on the floor, he looked at Aoki Yoru standing in the center. A look of surprise crossed his face; he hadn't expected his opponent to be so young.
"Master... Master..." Seeing their master arrive, the disciples all looked ashamed.
"Stand up, all of you. Lying on the ground like this makes us a laughingstock." The old man looked at his defeated disciples without anger. He simply smiled faintly, his eyes gentle, and looked at Aoki Yoru with a smile.
"To easily defeat these worthless disciples of mine... Young man, your talent in the Way of the Sword is something I've rarely seen in my life. The only one who can compare to you is General Mifune."
Aoki Yoru lowered the wooden sword from his shoulder and pointed it straight at the old man. "Please, instruct me."
The old man slowly bent down to pick up a fallen wooden sword. He gradually assumed a defensive stance, his expression turning serious in an instant.
"I am Isshin, the master of this dojo. Attack me, and let me see your strength."
Aoki Yoru looked at Isshin. The old man gave him a strange feeling; though he was clearly standing there, he seemed to blend perfectly into his surroundings.
Casting aside his contempt, Aoki Yoru slowly took his stance, staring intently at the old man while gradually gathering his strength.
Moments later, Aoki Yoru moved. With a sudden stomp, his figure lunged forward, slashing toward the old man's face with a wind-breaking force.
In this fight against a samurai, he didn't use Chakra, opting to fight in the most primitive way.
Wooden sword clashed violently against wooden sword. The old man blocked horizontally, remaining completely motionless.
Aoki Yoru spun and changed his technique. His strikes—diagonal slashes, horizontal cuts, and thrusts—poured out like a rainstorm. The wind of his blade whistled, yet every single move was steadily parried by the old man.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The dense sounds of impact echoed through the dojo. Every heavy blow made Aoki Yoru's wrists go numb.
Yet the old man's back remained straight. Whether blocking or parrying with his wooden sword, his feet didn't move an inch. His eyes were as calm as a deep pool; no matter how fierce the assault, it couldn't break through this invisible wall.
Using the momentum to leap backward, he created distance from the old man. Panting slightly, Aoki Yoru looked up. By now, his earlier indifference had vanished.
"The Ninja World truly is a place of crouching tigers and hidden dragons!"
Aoki Yoru sighed in admiration. He couldn't see through the old man before him; he was like a stone standing silently, with not a trace of his presence leaking out.
Taking a deep breath, Aoki Yoru focused his attention, sensing the old man with all his might.
In an instant, Aoki Yoru appeared beside the old man and accelerated his swings, but all were blocked.
Unlike before, this time Aoki Yoru watched the old man's every move intently. From his stance and breathing rhythm to the subtle tremors of muscle exertion and the shift in his center of gravity with every step, everything was etched into his mind.
While launching a fierce assault, he subconsciously began to mimic the old man's posture—his steps became more stable, his breathing more even, and even the angle of his strikes instinctively aligned with the old man's parrying positions.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The dull thuds of wooden swords clashing were continuous. Aoki Yoru's techniques evolved from their initial sharpness to a steady and concise style. Every strike lost some of its superficiality and gained more substance.
But no matter how he mimicked, the old man's wooden sword always accurately blocked his path, like an immovable mountain.
At this moment, Isshin's expression shifted from indifference to shock. In such a short time, this kid had slowly learned his moves. Even if it was just the form, such learning ability was terrifying.
Isshin paused his footsteps slightly and lifted his wooden sword, pushing Aoki Yoru's blade aside. "Young man, you were staring at my moves, my steps, and even my breathing and muscle exertion, but you forgot to look at your own heart."
"Your blade is filled with the anxiety of seeking victory and the artificiality of mimicry. This is why you cannot break my defense."
Aoki Yoru's grip on the wooden sword tightened as beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. He suddenly realized that while he was preoccupied with mimicking, his breathing had long since lost its rhythm, and even his strikes were filled with reckless impatience for success.
The old man looked at him, his tone softening slightly.
"Govern the blade with the heart, do not let the blade drive the heart. The sword is an extension of the hand, but the heart is the soul of the sword. If you can steady your heart, face yourself, and know yourself, the blade will move with you."
Aoki Yoru's knuckles turned white as he gripped the wooden sword, etching the old man's words into his heart word by word.
He slowly closed his eyes, no longer looking at the old man's techniques. He settled his mind to feel his own breathing. With each breath, distracting thoughts were suppressed, and his chaotic rhythm gradually fell back into place.
After a long while, Aoki Yoru opened his eyes. The anxiety had faded from his gaze, leaving only a calm, rippleless clarity.
Looking at the old man, Aoki Yoru straightened his posture and bowed. "Thank you for your guidance, Senior. This junior has benefited greatly."
Hearing this, Isshin slowly lowered his wooden sword, stroked his beard, and smiled with gratification. "Hehe! I only gave a slight pointer. Your enlightenment is due to your own savvy."
Looking at the youthful face before him, Isshin said earnestly, "Young man, you are the most talented person I have seen in my life. Even Mifune cannot compare to your powers of observation and comprehension. Remember, do not stop your steps. Pursue the highest peak of the Way of the Sword!"
Then he turned around, humming a little tune and swaying his head as he walked away.
Watching the old man's departing back, Aoki Yoru gave a deep bow before turning toward the main entrance. The harvest from this dojo challenge was immense; he needed to go back and properly organize and digest what he had learned.
The next morning.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Aoki Yoru slowly exhaled, a smile appearing on his face. Seeing his own heart clearly yesterday had given his swordsmanship the potential to reach the summit.
"As expected of the Land of Samurai, their swordsmanship heritage is beyond what a ninja village can compare to."
After tidying up, Aoki Yoru went downstairs for a quick bite and headed toward another large dojo nearby. Since it was so big, it surely had its own unique secret technique.
Bang...
Aoki Yoru slammed the wooden sword hard into the face of the burly man before him. The man flew backward, smashing through a wooden wall.
"Hmph! All show and no substance."
Aoki Yoru walked out with an angry expression. He turned to look at the four characters "Heiyan Dojo" on the plaque. With a wave of his hand, the plaque instantly split in two and fell to the ground.
He had entered this dojo with high hopes, thinking the master would be an expert given his tall and sturdy build.
To his surprise, once they crossed paths, he found the man was just a fool with empty moves, not even as good as the students from the previous dojo.