Chapter 5: Training |
Makomo felt Yeruashi lift her gently and place her onto a smooth, flat stone nearby.
He efficiently removed the tattered remains of her clothing. Producing a clean roll of bandages and a pot of white ointment from seemingly nowhere, he began administering first aid. He started by cleansing the scrapes and abrasions on her slender legs before carefully applying the salve and wrapping the injured areas in gauze.
The mysterious white ointment was remarkably potent. The moment it touched her skin, the throbbing pain vanished, replaced by a soothing, cool sensation. The only side effect was a faint, prickly itch beneath the bandages as the healing took hold.
It wasn't long before Makomo felt her strength returning. She pushed herself up slowly and cast a timid, wary glance at Yeruashi, who sat beside her. "This... you..."
"From now on, you may call me Teacher, or Mr. Yeruashi, if that is more comfortable for you," he said, offering a casual, reassuring smile.
It went without saying that he could have erased even the most catastrophic, life-threatening wounds with a mere flick of his fingers. However, he chose to employ more traditional methods, preferring to immerse himself fully in the atmosphere of this new world.
The pivotal events of the original story wouldn't unfold for another decade, so he decided to intervene early and inject a bit of excitement into the intervening years.
For instance... by taking Makomo as his disciple!
He had no profound reason for choosing her specifically; it was simply a whim born of the moment, bolstered by the fact that she was undeniably adorable.
"Now, rest," Yeruashi murmured, gently patting her head to signal her to lie back down. He then proceeded to meticulously treat and bandage her remaining injuries.
Only when he was finished did he turn his attention to the other children. They had regained consciousness on the mountain peak where he had transported them after they failed the trial.
"The traps on this mountain have been cleared, so you may descend in peace," he announced. "Though you all failed the trial, you at least possessed the courage to face your fears. Accept this consolation prize; it shall bring you luck."
Clink, clink, clink!
As he finished speaking, Yeruashi made an elegant sweep of his hand, and several coins tumbled onto the ground before the children.
Without a second thought, the children scrambled to gather them. Although they were only coins of the smallest denomination, it was enough to buy a decent meal—and if they were frugal, it would sustain them for several days.
The bitter disappointment of their failure evaporated in an instant.
"Thank you! Thank you so much!" they cried out in gratitude. Under Yeruashi's disinterested gaze, they began their trek down the mountainside.
Originally, they were meant to be nothing more than background actors for Makomo’s trial, but Yeruashi decided not to be stingy. The mere fact that they had participated in his test was a monumental stroke of luck in itself.
The essence of the 'consolation prize' wasn't the currency itself, but a tiny spark of 'fortune' infused within them—enough to subtly shift the course of their lives, perhaps allowing them to become successful merchants or respected officials.
However.
Their newfound luck was a mere flickering candle compared to the blazing sun of Makomo's destiny.
The bandaged girl breathed a sigh of relief as she watched the other children depart.
Her intuition had been correct.
'He really is a kind man,' she thought to herself.
As Yeruashi turned his gaze back from the departing children, the girl immediately dropped to her knees before him in a respectful bow.
"Teacher!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with sincere, unwavering respect.
Makomo was an exceptionally bright child.
"Come, let us head down first," Yeruashi smiled. He picked the girl up once more and began a leisurely descent down the slope.
But they did not head toward the village as the other children had. Instead, they ventured deeper into the heart of the ancient forest.
For a long time, Makomo followed Yeruashi obediently through rugged mountains, dense woods, and across rushing rivers until they reached a vast, hidden gorge. A shallow stream meandered along the canyon floor, and on the far bank stood a cluster of secluded wooden cabins.
"From this day forward, you will live here," Yeruashi stated, having already decided on her path. "And you will learn... the art of the sword."
He didn't need to ponder long on how to develop Makomo's potential. The dominant powers in this world were Breathing Techniques and swordsmanship. However, he intended to teach her the purest form of the blade, entirely independent of Breathing Techniques. Her future success in this endeavor would rely solely on her innate talent and the sweat of her brow.
"To survive in this chaotic world, one needs strength. I expect you to earn that strength through your own diligence. Today's trial was merely the first step on that long journey."
"Understood!" Makomo replied with a determined nod.
As a perceptive child, she recognized the magnitude of her good fortune. She had no intention of squandering this chance—the chance to learn how to survive this world under Yeruashi’s guidance.
She was more than willing to shed blood and sweat if it meant she would never be helpless again.
"It is late. Let us eat, and your training shall begin tomorrow," Yeruashi said casually, satisfied with his student's resolve.
There was no need for further speeches or explanations. Makomo already understood the weight of the opportunity and was prepared to give her absolute best to the training ahead.
In truth, such resolve was expected from the girl who, in the original timeline, had been the disciple of a former Hashira. Makomo had perished during the Final Selection, partly due to a lack of raw power, but mostly due to sheer misfortune. The strength of the Hand Demon had been far beyond the standards expected of an initiate's final test.
...
Early the next morning, as the rising sun spilled golden light into the great gorge, a young girl stood quietly in the center of a clearing, a wooden practice sword gripped in her hands.
Since the previous day, Makomo’s appearance had undergone a radical transformation.
Her wounds had already closed, the bandages were gone, and her clean skin was now adorned in a beautiful kimono embroidered with a delicate cherry blossom pattern.
The grimy urchin from the back alleys had been replaced by a young lady who looked as though she belonged to a noble house.
"Every mastery begins with imitation," Yeruashi began calmly, standing just a few paces away.
"This is especially true for the way of the sword."
"The first step, and the most vital foundation, is the simple strike," he explained, his voice steady.
"Only by building a sufficiently solid foundation will you eventually be able to naturally find your own path as a swordsman."
"I will demonstrate this only once, so focus your mind," Yeruashi said. He stepped behind his pupil and gently placed his hands over her small palms, which were gripping the hilt of the wooden sword tightly.
Makomo maintained an air of absolute seriousness, mentally recording every word and movement of her teacher.
Yeruashi raised the wooden sword, guiding her hands as he brought the blade down in a smooth, vertical arc. The motion was flawless, executed with perfect economy and grace.
Swoosh!
In that instant, a translucent blue arc of energy erupted from the tip of the wooden sword. It blurred across the clearing, traveling dozens of meters before effortlessly slicing through a massive, ancient tree at the edge of the woods.
Makomo’s eyes widened in sheer shock as a thin, perfectly straight line appeared across the thick trunk. The tree began to tilt slowly to one side.
BOOM!!!
A moment later, a deafening crash echoed through the gorge, and the very earth trembled as the giant tree hit the ground.
"This..." Makomo whispered, her head tilting as she stared blankly at the wooden sword in her hands.
She had felt the entire process of the strike. There had been no mind-bending speed, no display of overwhelming brute force.
Yet such a seemingly simple strike had leveled a massive tree. What kind of terrifying power was this?
It felt like a dream...
Though she was an orphan, she had encountered swordsmen before and had even seen masters draw their blades in combat.
Naturally, she had expected to be taught something similar yesterday, but what her teacher had just demonstrated completely shattered those expectations.
There was no way a strike like that could be called 'ordinary' swordsmanship!
"Now, try it on your own," Yeruashi said. He stepped back and added with a small smile, "Try to replicate and understand the sensations you felt during my strike!"
He had just shown his disciple the very essence of the sword. Now, he looked forward with anticipation to see what she would achieve in the coming years. Would she grow to surpass even the Hashira?..