Suimei had a great deal he hoped to accomplish now that he was back in modern Japan, and taking Lefille to the Kuchiba residence was an absolute must on that list. She was currently burdened with multiple worries, including the fact that her archenemy manipulated her greatest weakness and that she recently felt like she was losing touch with her sword. Suimei thought he knew someone who could help her with all of that, which was precisely why he wanted to introduce her to Kiyoshiro.
Kuchiba Kiyoshiro possessed completely inhuman skill, though he himself still vaguely remained in the realm of humanity. He stood at the loftiest summit of swordsmanship. Surely he would be able to identify the core of Lefille’s problems and suggest what she had to do to resolve them.
That’s why Suimei was once more making the trip to the Japanese-style house next door. Lefille was walking next to him, trembling ever so slightly. It seemed she was quite excited to meet the father and teacher of Hatsumi, a swordswoman whose skills Lefille had seen firsthand. She couldn’t help being a little worked up.
Lefille was currently wearing the clothes that Hydemary had procured for her. Aside from her otherworldly beauty, she now looked like a rather normal girl. She was dressed in a somewhat boyish ensemble of a T-shirt and jeans, though Suimei had recommended she wear something easier to move in for their trip to the dojo.
“This is plenty easy to move around in,” she remarked. “The clothing of this world truly is splendid.”
Suimei was glad to hear it. Thinking back on it, Felmenia was also pleased with the quality of the dress Hydemary had gotten for her.
“You called it synthetic fibers, right? Does none of the clothing in this world prickle?” Lefille asked.
“None of it that refrains from using inferior materials like they do back in your world, at least,” Suimei replied.
“Now that’s something else... I have to say, now that I know such a thing exists, I don’t think I can go back to the old stuff anymore. Heehee.”
“I don’t blame you.”
The two of them continued to joke around as they walked, eventually reaching the gate to the Kuchiba residence. Lefille looked up at it and, having thought something or other, looked back towards the Yakagi mansion.
“This has a fairly different look to it from your house, doesn’t it?”
“Mine was influenced by the architecture of the houses magicians use overseas. That’s why it’s a bit different. Houses in general here tend to look more like the ones you can see in the area. Hatsumi’s house is of a more traditional style for this country.”
“It has quite a calming atmosphere to it.”
“Yeah, Japanese houses are great.”
Suimei nodded emphatically. Despite being born and raised in a Western-style estate himself, his soul was at perfect peace in a Japanese-style room. He couldn’t chalk it up to anything but his DNA.
And as such thoughts passed through his mind, he boldly opened the front door of the Kuchiba residence and entered unannounced. Lefille was rather taken aback at the seemingly rude gesture and stared at Suimei in disbelief.
“Is it okay to just walk in like that?”
“Well, this place is kinda like a second home to me... Hang on. Yukio-saaan! Are you theeere? You are, riiight?”
Suimei called out in a slow and silly voice, and before long, Hatsumi’s mother appeared at the entrance. She was dressed in her typical traditional Japanese clothing, and the sound of her house slippers pattering across the floor heralded her arrival.
“Welcome, Suimei-san. This must be the friend you spoke of yesterday, I presume?”
“My name is Lefille Grakis.”
“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Hatsumi’s mother, Yukio.”
Lefille bowed to greet Yukio, but looked back up blinking in astonishment. Really, she was surprised to hear Yukio introduce herself as Hatsumi’s mother. Yukio, just like Kiyoshiro, looked far too young to be the parent of a high schooler.
“You’ve very beautiful,” Lefille remarked, straightening herself out.
“Oh my, how flattering. You’ll make girls cry if you continue to act so gallant all the time, you know?” Yukio giggled.
“Well, I’m not as bad as Suimei-kun in that regard.”
“Teehee, you certainly have a point there.”
“I feel like I’ve been the butt of way more than my fair share of jokes the past two days...”
Both women got a good giggle at Suimei’s expense, and he took the opportunity to cut to the chase about his visit.
“Yukio-san, where’s the instructor right now?”
“In the dojo for practice.”
“Aah, so they’re at it today, huh?”
Suimei’s tone betrayed how troublesome he found this development. If he went to the dojo now, then he would end up bumping into the other students... who he really didn’t get along with. It was entirely likely some of them would complain if he suddenly showed up with an outsider.
But, seeing no point in brooding over the possibility, he pushed the thought out of his mind. All else aside, he was determined to introduce Lefille to Kiyoshiro.
“Please come right this way,” Yukio beckoned.
Lefille and Suimei took off their shoes and followed Yukio into the house. Stepping out onto the porch, they were met with a beautiful, scrupulously maintained garden. It had an elegance to it that couldn’t be found in the other world, and Lefille sighed in admiration as she looked over it.
“I bet Lady Rumeya would love to enjoy a drink here while looking up at the moon.”
“Aah, yeah, I can totally see the guild master doing that.”
Suimei and Lefille continued to chat as Yukio guided them to the dojo. Once there, she opened the sliding door for them, revealing Kiyoshiro’s students all sitting neatly in a row—including Hatsumi.
It seemed they were about to receive some manner of instruction, or perhaps they were meditating. When Suimei entered, however, a small commotion ran through the dojo. That was only to be expected, as Suimei’s appearance was likely quite a surprise for most of them.
What was someone who never showed up for practice doing at the dojo now? That was inevitably the question on everyone’s mind; their cold looks Suimei’s way said it all. You see, the other students interpreted Suimei’s lack of attendance at the dojo as a lack of sincerity. In truth he had a good reason for his waywardness, but he naturally couldn’t tell the other students about it.
Ignoring the other students for now, Suimei went to pray at the shrine and Lefille followed suit.
“Suimei-kun, it doesn’t appear that we’re very welcome here...”
“That’s my fault. Sorry. You’ll just have to put up with the awkward atmosphere.”
As the two of them whispered to each other and finished their prayers, Suimei suddenly realized something.
“Oh, hey, Haseto. You’re back?”
“I am. It’s been a while, Suimei-san.”
A handsome boy who looked much like Kiyoshiro bowed and greeted Suimei. He had long hair with slicked-back bangs, and wore a typical dojo gi with a wooden sword slung at his side. This was Hatsumi’s little brother, Kuchiba Haseto.
“You already heard the story, right?”
“Yeah, you really went and did something pretty outrageous, Suimei-san.”
“Hey, what’s with that? You’re making it sound like it was my fault.”
“Hahaha, I’m just kidding.”
Suimei shot a reproachful gaze at Haseto, who began laughing cheerfully. Right now, he both looked and sounded just like his father. Suimei had been friends with Haseto ever since they were children, the same as Hatsumi. And since they’d grown up together, Haseto held a fair bit of respect for Suimei.
As Suimei was having a chat with his younger cousin for the first time in a while, a sharp voice suddenly rang out through the room.
“Hey, you! What do you think you’re doing showing your face at the dojo after all this time?”
“Hmm? Oh, Suwa-san.”
Indeed, Suimei’s antagonizer was Suwa—a young man who could be considered one of the hopefuls among the students at the dojo. He had confidence in his own abilities and was the type to put on an act as one of the seniormost students, which was likely why he stepped forward now. In stark contrast to his impertinent glare, however, Suimei simply shrugged his shoulders with indifference.
“Hey now, cut it out,” Kiyoshiro immediately interjected to put a stop to things.
“But instructor!” Suwa argued.
“You’re in the presence of a guest.”
“But this sets a bad example for the younger students.”
“It does, does it? Hmm...”
Kiyoshiro’s attitude was ambiguous. It was like he wasn’t sure if he should intervene anymore. Hatsumi, on the other hand, looked quite irritated with Suwa’s attitude and was starting to get rather restless.
It was objectively true that Suimei had to go overseas for his mystical work quite frequently, so he often couldn’t participate in practice. He’d also been told by his father that pursuing the sword too much would prevent him from becoming an accomplished magician. And so, considering Suimei’s infrequent appearances at the dojo, it was perhaps a matter of course that the other students thought he was lazy and noncommittal. Kiyoshiro was fully aware of Suimei’s circumstances, however, so he was of a different mind altogether.
That said, the students had no way of knowing what was really going on with Suimei. That’s why Kiyoshiro chose not to chide them for it when they began clamoring noisily. This was where Kiyoshiro would ordinarily let out a soft roar to hush the class, but he showed no signs of doing so now. He simply tossed a loaded look Suimei’s way. He seemed to be saying that if Suimei didn’t do something about this soon, it would just keep happening forever.
“Hey! Don’t have anything to say for yourself?”
“...”
“Are you ignoring me?!”
Suimei let out a sigh as Suwa’s remarkably loud voice resounded through the dojo again. He was exasperated that a guy like Suwa called himself a swordsman. He wanted to remind him that the dojo was a place for Zen meditation, so it would do him some good to cool his jets.
Seeing that Suimei had no intention of replying to him, however, Suwa was prepared to make his point a different way. But as soon as he made to stand...
“Shut up.”
Though Suimei only muttered those two words, they were more than enough to suppress the entire dojo. Their force silenced everyone with a magician’s psychic chill. Suimei’s mystical presence also dropped the temperature in the room several degrees. It was almost as if all the blabbering mouths had been frozen shut. Everyone’s eagerness to gripe about Suimei was dispelled like an illusion.
Seeing them shut down so easily, Suimei let out another sigh. Passing a glance over the sorry souls who could offer no resistance despite all their talk mere moments ago, Suimei only spotted five or so people, Kiyoshiro included, who weren’t affected by his pressure. After briefly assessing the situation, Suimei walked over to Suwa and looked down at him with his blazing red eyes. In response, the young man stiffened up as if completely paralyzed.
“I kept quiet because that was the sportsmanlike thing to do, but I’m the senior disciple here. You’d do well to bear that in mind.”
“Ugh... B-But...”
“If you have something to say, I suggest you keep it to yourself until you learn how to move under pressure like this... Well, I guess I can’t ask that much of you. At the very least, forge your nerve enough that you can talk properly, ’kay?”
There, Suimei turned around to go back to Lefille, but stopped and looked over his shoulder upon suddenly remembering something.
“One last thing: I finished the training you’re doing now when I was about ten.”
Suimei then dispersed the pressure he exerted over the room, and surprised voices gradually began filling the dojo once more. After a short while, a stifled laugh could be heard from the far side of the room. Indeed, Kuchiba Kiyoshiro could hardly contain himself.
“Pfft... Suimei, don’t go freezing up my dojo.”
“My apologies.”
Suimei earnestly bowed in apology, and Suwa turned to Kiyoshiro.
“I-Instructor, about what he just said...”
“Aah, that? You heard him. Suimei completed all the fundamental training when he was twelve. Circumstances aside, he’s got at least enough skill to be the head coach around here.”
Suwa turned a desperate look on a middle-aged man with the appearance of a bear—the current head coach of the Kuchiba dojo.
“C-Coach...” Suwa practically pleaded.
“The Yakagi boy is more of a veteran in this dojo than any of the assistant instructors. What the instructor says is absolutely true,” the coach claimed.
And it was true; Suimei had started learning swordsmanship from Kiyoshiro the day the dojo was built. In a sense, Suimei was his first disciple.
“Boy,” the coach called, turning to Suimei. “If you acted with such overpowering dignity all the time, then you’d earn a bit more respect around here. Right, Instructor?”
“Of course. You’re talking about the son of the man I idolized as my brother, you know? There’s no way he’s weak. Those of you who don’t realize that are just being swindled. Ain’t that right, Hatsumi?”
“I-I at least knew he was strong!”
“Really now?”
Suimei bashfully scratched the back of his head as he listened to Hatsumi and Kiyoshiro’s exchange. In the middle of it, he heard a clap from the shrine behind him where a girl was offering a prayer.
She had long, black hair, but its indigo sheen was strikingly different than the deep jet of Hydemary’s locks. She also had beauty marks under both her eyes and had a very traditional Japanese beauty to her features. She was the very embodiment of Yamato Nadeshiko, with an air about her even more graceful and serene than Yukio’s. Her presence right now was also so slight that anyone else would have easily overlooked her.
“Itsuki?”
“It’s been quite a while, Yakagi-san.”
The girl replied to Suimei with a gentle smile as she bowed her head. She was a student of another school learning of basics of the Kuchiba style from Kiyoshiro. She was quite skilled, however, and was about on par with Hatsumi. She was strong enough that Suimei couldn’t hold a candle to her in terms of swordsmanship.
“I felt a chill earlier. Did something happen?” she asked.
“Nothing much. Sorry for being out of touch,” Suimei replied.
“Don’t mention it. I was worried, but I didn’t think any serious harm would come of it considering the two of you were involved.”
“Have you already sparred with Hatsumi?”
“Yes. We borrowed the garden earlier today for three matches.”
Suimei looked quizzically over at Hatsumi, who boldly smiled back at him.
“One win, one loss, one tie,” she declared.
“Even as you are now?” Suimei asked.
“Yup. That’s Itsuki-san for you. It was an eye-opening experience.”
There, Hatsumi and Itsuki exchanged a smile. They were about the same age, so they got along quite well.
Itsuki then looked at Lefille. Her eyes were visibly filled with a strong will, glimmering with a fiery light. It seemed she’d completely pegged Lefille’s talents, and as though to confirm her suspicions...
“You also appear to be quite skilled.”
“And it sounds like you’re able to compete with Lady Hatsumi. I would love to have a bout with you.”
“As would I, if the opportunity presents itself.”
Lefille focused a bit of her fighting spirit towards her, and the instant she did, the area around Itsuki was dominated by silence. All sound died—the stillness in the air was so unnatural that there was no other way to describe it. Not even the slightest movement or a single breath could be heard.
Seeing this, Suimei spoke up in a fluster.
“H-Hey, Itsuki. I brought Lefille here to see the instructor. Sorry, but could you save this for later?”
“Pardon me. I just got caught up in the moment.”
Itsuki dispelled her pressure, allowing sound to slowly revive in the area around her. She then flashed a smile.
“Then, if you’ll excuse me...”
With that, she bowed and headed for an empty space on the dojo floor where she took a seat on her knees.
“I see. What uniform excellence...”
“She, Hatsumi, Haseto, and Kenta-san are special.”
As Suimei and Lefille were whispering to each other, he suddenly seemed to realize something.
“Oh, Instructor. About etiquette...”
“Don’t worry about that. The sun would set before we could teach her everything.”
Suimei guided Lefille over to and took a seat in front of Kiyoshiro. Judging that she probably wasn’t used to sitting on her knees, he bid her take a more relaxed posture as Kiyoshiro began speaking to her.
“So, you’re the one in need of advice?”
“Yes. My name is Lefille Grakis.”
“I’ve been told the gist of things. Now, make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you for your consideration.”
Lefille lightly bowed her head, then looked up once more to take a good look at Kiyoshiro’s face...
“...”
At his very, very peculiar face.
“What is it?”
“Pardon me, but I was told that you’re Lady Hatsumi’s father.”
“Yup, that’s me.”
“Just like your wife, you appear... quite youthful.”
“Well, I guess so. Nevertheless, I’m turning 45 this year.”
“...”
Lefille was stunned by Kiyoshiro’s statement. Yukio looked like she might be right around thirty, but Kiyoshiro looked even younger than that.
“He’s a total monster,” interjected Haseto.
“A legit monster,” echoed Hatsumi.
“He really is,” confirmed Suimei.
Kiyoshiro looked depressed upon hearing such comments from his son, daughter, and nephew.
“You guys...”
But all three of them averted their gazes simultaneous as if they’d coordinated it. They were perfectly in sync.
Moving on, Suimei turned to question Lefille.
“So, what are your first impressions?”
“It’s frightening...”
“Hmm?”
“How do I put it? He looks completely normal. I don’t doubt that he’s strong since you claim he is, but I just don’t see it.”
“I bet not. He’s a total scam artist.”
“Funny hearing that from the compulsive swindler.”
Lefille quipped back at Suimei, who stuck his tongue out at her. Interrupting their banter, Kiyoshiro suddenly got to his feet.
“Well, let’s get started.”
“Really? Aren’t you in the middle of practice?”
“That’s no object. Just watching will be good training for them.”
Kiyoshiro walked over to the wall where several wooden swords were placed. He let his gaze wander over them as if trying to pick one out. His discerning eyes were... not exactly as sharp as an eagle’s. He looked more like an amateur dubiously assessing a bunch of bonsai trees.
He groaned as he looked at the swords with uncertainty until one seemed to catch his fancy.
“Let’s see... We don’t have any good substitutes for your weapon here, but will this do?”
Kiyoshiro held out a long wooden sword to Lefille. It was a little shorter than her usual blade and far slimmer, but it was the closest match the dojo had. Lefille looked completely bewildered that Kiyoshiro had picked it out without asking her a single thing.
“Um, by my weapon, you mean...?”
“It’s a huge thing, about your height with a broad blade, right? Something like a greatsword, yeah?”
Kiyoshiro answered Lefille with the grin of a mischievous child. Lefille looked to Suimei with a quizzical gaze as if to ask him if he’d told Kiyoshiro about her weapon beforehand, but Suimei shook his head. All he’d told the instructor was that there was a swordswoman he’d like him to meet. He didn’t go into much detail.
“I can tell at least that much.”
That’s just how Kiyoshiro was. The way he was practically bragging and the way he broke into a cackle gave the slightest glimpse into his abnormality that wasn’t ordinarily apparent.
Nevertheless, Lefille grasped the wooden sword in her hands and flashed a hopeful smile. She realized just how beyond her Kiyoshiro was, which piqued her interest in him as a swordswoman. And just as she took a stance...
“Hmm? Now that’s something...” Kiyoshiro muttered.
He’d likely figured something out just from seeing her stance. Fighters ordinarily aimed to strike stances that revealed no openings, but even the slightest fault allowed Kiyoshiro to see right through someone—an experienced warrior like Lefille included.
Lefille held the grip of her wooden sword with both hands with her elbows pressed against her sides. As for Kiyoshiro, he stood there casually with a wooden sword resting over his shoulder. That was all he was doing. But the second Lefille stepped forward, their match began.
Yet there was no ferocity in it at all. Rather, both fighters were moving like this was a light sparring session. Even from Suimei’s perspective, Lefille hardly seemed like herself. This was far too docile compared to how she usually overwhelmed her opponent with heavy strikes. And normally, no matter how much strength she put behind her blows, she would shout out with each and every swing of her blade.
But her current predicament was Kiyoshiro’s handiwork. No matter how much strength one put into their sword, no matter how hard one tried to pressure him with their fighting spirit, the moment Kiyoshiro swung his blade, his opponent had to move in direct response. They were forced to do so. If they didn’t, there was no way they could stop him. Lefille’s superior instinct told her that much.
Lefille gripped her sword with both palms while Kiyoshiro wielded his singlehandedly. Even using all of her strength, her wooden blade never reached him. But Kiyoshiro... Whenever he pushed forward, Lefille was pushed back even when she tried to hold her ground for all she was worth.
This was, of course, not because of the difference in muscular strength between a man and a woman. Lefille’s physical strength was backed by supernatural power, and Kiyoshiro wasn’t as delicate a man as his looks suggested either.
If Lefille’s opponent had been Hatsumi, they would have at least exchanged a technique or two. But with Kiyoshiro, nary a technique was to be seen. All Lefille could do was swing her wooden sword and meet the blows coming at her.
It was a simple match in that regard, but in the most sublime way. When one studied martial arts and reached this stage of enlightenment, even the smallest of their movements was supernatural. It was remarkably strange. Logic couldn’t explain it. It didn’t match their skills. This was the very height of fighting as an art form, but the scales were completely tilted in Kiyoshiro’s favor.
As the match played out, surprised voices filled the room.
“I can’t believe she’s held out this long...”
“She’s even pushing back.”
Kiyoshiro’s students knew the preposterous extent of his skills, and praised Lefille for holding out against him accordingly.
But not too long after that, the fight seemed to reach a breaking point. Both parties took a few steps backward, gaining distance from one another while keeping their eyes locked on each other. Kiyoshiro was completely relaxed, while Lefille was dripping with sweat and panting heavily. Then, unable to stand any longer, she fell to her knees.
“Suimei-kun... How much time has passed?”
“Maybe five minutes? What, you couldn’t tell?”
“No... My sense of time is a mess.”
That was just how hard she’d been concentrating. It was fatal in battle to lose all track of one’s surroundings, but even with Lefille’s skill and experience, that was how intensely she’d had to focus in order to hold her own against Kiyoshiro.
“Grandmaster, could I ask you for another round?”
“No, take a rest.”
“But I still have...”
“You still have energy to spare? Don’t give me that. You won’t get stronger just from panicking, you know?”
Kiyoshiro remonstrated Lefille after a moment’s respite. Though she was full of zeal from their match, she managed to keep her cool and treat Kiyoshiro with the utmost respect.
“I understand. But I need to get stronger as soon as possible.”
“That’s why you want to cross swords again, even if it’s just once more?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I get where you’re coming from. But, you know, there’s no shortcut to getting strong. You still won’t make any progress just panicking.”
“...”
Lefille was unconvinced. Even if she didn’t show her displeasure, that much was clear from the look in her eyes. Kiyoshiro could understand this as well.
“Then let me show you the ultimate blade that anybody can use.”
Very suddenly, Kiyoshiro held his sword above him in an upper stance. Just an upper stance—a simple, perfectly normal stance. There was nothing more to it than that. No matter how hard Lefille stared at him, that was all she could see. He didn’t appear to be concealing some manner of outrageous technique or spectacular move.
“Grandmaster... You don’t mean to say it’s just a downward strike, do you?”
“Bingo. That’s exactly it.”
“And you’re saying such a simple strike is the ultimate blade?”
Lefille was skeptical. She looked at Kiyoshiro dubiously, perhaps wondering if he was making fun of her. Kiyoshiro, however, remained completely calm.
“Taking such a simple strike to its very extremes is the most difficult accomplishment of all. Even I haven’t reached that peak. There might be three people in the entire world who have. Now, behold!”
Kiyoshiro let out a spirited shout; both it and what happened next took everyone in the dojo completely by surprise. By the time they felt the illusory sensation of Kiyoshiro’s fighting spirit singing their skin like hot wind... the tip of his wooden sword was already pointed at the dojo floor.
Even with a magician’s eyes, Suimei couldn’t follow the sword’s trajectory. It could be described as nothing other than a flash of lightning. Not even Lefille, who had been standing directly in front of Kiyoshiro, had been able to react to it.
When exactly had he swung? No, that wasn’t even the right question to ask. The very moment he’d taken his stance, his swing was a foregone conclusion.
A vertical slash from top to bottom was the ultimate blade. It was a strike used by extracting faith from such a belief. Kiyoshiro wasn’t ridiculing anybody by calling it that, and his sword smashed through all other preconceptions.
That’s why it was the ultimate blade. It was simple... No, it was simply unbelievable.
“...”
Lefille stood there dumbfounded like she’d just witnessed a bolt out of the blue. Was she looking at Kiyoshiro’s hands, or his sword?
“Anyone strong uses this strike. The more you defy the force pulling your sword toward the ground, the more vigor your blade loses. No matter what you try to do, it’s impossible to cancel that out entirely.”
Kiyoshiro recited his guidance like a poem, then posed a question to the dumbfounded Lefille.
“Say, Lefille. When you watched that just now, could you see yourself doing the same thing? You couldn’t, right? That means you don’t have the proper groundwork to even imagine it.”
“Th-That’s...”
“To extrapolate, you’re not doing what you should be doing. You’re trying to learn what I used in a single bound, and while in your current state no less. When you act so recklessly, you’ll lose sight on the path of the blade.”
“B-But... I have to get stronger. Is it wrong to desire such a thing?”
“Well, you see... When you reach your level, the question at hand is no longer as simple as what kind of training you should be doing or what goal you should be setting for yourself. That’s why...” Kiyoshiro paused there for a moment, then continued with conviction, “You shouldn’t be searching for answers to simple questions like what you could or should be doing. Even if you find an answer and begin chasing it, it’s nothing more than a mare’s nest of your own making. That won’t get you anywhere. If you wish to seek a goal, then you should change your mindset.”
“My... mindset?”
“That’s the other problem with your sword. Your refusal to lose is too strong, see?”
“That’s... true.”
Lefille acknowledged Kiyoshiro’s observation. Just as he’d said, Lefille was determined to win the fight she had ahead of her. It was only natural that her refusal to lose was stronger than ever.
“The long-cherished ambition of all swordsmen is to die by the sword. They spend all their days thinking about the sword, and they don’t consider their lives complete until they die fighting. And if you’re not ready to die by the blade at any time, you’ll never truly become strong. That’s why swordsmen are endlessly optimistic and bask in elegance. It’s so that they can leave this world with no regrets whenever their time does come. Have you ever known anyone like that?”
“...”
Lefille was at a loss for words, and with good reason. There was someone who came to mind immediately: Rumeya Tails. She was the closest swordmaster to Lefille, and certainly enjoyed her fair share of optimism and elegance. Kiyoshiro seemed to pick up on Lefille’s reaction and flashed a bold smile.
“So you do know one, huh? Then you should understand what I’m telling you.”
After saying that, Kiyoshiro held his wooden sword sideways and made an unprompted remark.
“The mindset of a swordsman before a match is to become one with their blade. There is no room for leisures like victory or defeat. The moment you stand before your enemy, you cast yourself aside. The more you fear defeat, the more it will hold you back. And when you can no longer move forward at all, your blade will never reach your enemy no matter what you do. That’s the kind of situation that drives you to recklessness, isn’t it?”
“?!”
Kiyoshiro’s analysis was harshly accurate. Lefille had in fact been fixated on victory until now and subsequently quite reckless in battle. Unable to push forward, she took risk after risk to seize victory, claiming her life was worthless all the while.
“How’s that? Makes sense, right? The root of your panic isn’t the fact that you make light of your own life, but rather the fact that you make light of how you use your life.”
Lefille’s arms dangled languidly at her sides. Kiyoshiro had hit the bullseye in such a way that it was hard for Lefille to acknowledge. It was true that she’d fought many a battle downplaying the value of her life. And it was in doing so that she’d slipped off the proper path of swordsmanship—more concerned about victory than her blade.
In short, that was the difference mindset made. A real swordsman was prepared to risk their life, and anyone else panicked at the very thought. “If I do that, I’ll lose. If I do this, I’ll lose.” Such thoughts and fears become an obstruction that kept a swordsman from fighting the way they should.
Become one with the sword and welcome death.
Such is the mindset of a true swordsman, and the path they follow to attain victory.
“That mindset may contradict your way of life. However, if you want to win by the sword, you’ll need to cut yourself free of all such hesitation. You’ll spend your life not just to win, but to win by the sword. Fearing what comes after your death isn’t cowardice; it’s apathy.”
After declaring that to be the key tenet of swordsmanship, Kiyoshiro suddenly took on a relaxed posture.
“Now, to wrap things up, let me show you my serious side.”
No sooner than those words left his mouth, a pressure blew through the room that far surpassed the hot wind of the fighting spirit he’d displayed earlier. This felt more like a force that crushed all in its path, condensed into a single wave like a tsunami. Even as a high grand class magician fortified by the mysteries, Suimei was experiencing vertigo under the swordsman’s pressure.
Meanwhile, Lefille fell to the floor. Taking a look at her, she was trembling as if she’d seen dread incarnate. It was the unmistakable fear of witnessing the very peak of swordsmanship.
But after a moment, Kiyoshiro readily dispersed his pressure and cracked a smile.
“After swinging my sword for thirty-odd years, I finally reached this stage. The man I admired was like this around the time he was Suimei’s age, but he was an exception even among exceptions.”
“Will I... also be able to reach that stage too?”
Kiyoshiro let out a tired sigh at Lefille’s question.
“Before we get to that... Your approach is all wrong. Why do you think you can’t get stronger? With your power, it shouldn’t be all that hard to do, right? It should be way easier for you than it was for me, who only had questionable talent to begin with. Granted, that’s only if you continue down your path properly without giving up on your...”
Kiyoshiro paused there for a moment, then looked to Suimei upon realizing something.
“Hey, Suimei, is this why you brought her here?”
“Well, yeah.”
That was exactly the reason. If Lefille were told by someone far stronger than herself that she could become stronger, it would be like a glimmer of hope. Suimei’s way of showing her the light may have been a little imprudent, but it was undoubtedly necessary for someone like Lefille who didn’t have much time before her fight to come. And upon putting all this together, Kiyoshiro began scratching his head.
“Well, about that... Let me give you one more piece of advice.”
Lefille corrected her posture and readied herself so that she wouldn’t miss a single word Kiyoshiro was to utter. As for the sage advice that left his lips...
“Go sightseeing.”
“Huh?”
“This is your first time in Japan, right?”
“Y-Yes.”
“So don’t give a single thought to your sword. Empty your mind and enjoy yourself. This is another form of mental training.”
“What do you mean...?”
“I mean that your mind needs a change of pace. Do enough of it, and you’ll get the hang of it. What you need to do right now is to devote yourself to comfort. If your body can get used to that, you’ll eventually learn to master elegance.”
“Elegance...”
It was the same thing Rumeya had said—that Lefille needed to calm down her agitated heart which had become fixated on victory. She had to train her mind so that she could wield her sword with elegance and brandish her own power.
And so, after telling Lefille that was what she needed, Kiyoshiro returned to his seat at the head of the dojo.