KASAKI COULDN'T HELP but be astonished by the master's incredibly spacious house. It seemed to defy logic, appearing smaller from the outside than it actually was on the inside, as if enchanted.
"Don't even dream of taking the lower bed," Mikono remarked, appearing right behind Kasaki.
"What's your problem?" Kasaki turned to him, puzzled.
"Nothing," Mikono retorted, tossing his bag onto the lower bed with a lack of consideration. Kasaki sighed in response.
"Why are you being so rude, Mikono?" Kasaki inquired, observing Mikono as he reclined on the bed, arms folded behind his head.
"Shut up. I need to rest," Mikono snapped tersely.
Kasaki ascended to the upper bed, his expression thoughtful.
"You're trying to project a tough image, huh?" he remarked after a moment.
Mikono's eyes flickered open.
"I fail to see the necessity for such rudeness," Kasaki persisted. "We're comrades here, preparing to confront a formidable empire in just a few months..."
"Shut your mouth, kid," Mikono interjected sharply.
"I'll speak as long as I please," Kasaki retorted firmly. "If you don't want to listen, feel free to request another room from the master."
As Kasaki spoke, he felt a sudden impact against his ribs, jolting him upward on the mattress. Mikono's forceful kick nearly sent him soaring to the ceiling. Reacting swiftly, Kasaki lunged downward and seized Mikono by the neck, while Mikono retaliated in kind, clutching Kasaki's throat tightly. Their grips tightened, each struggling to overpower the other, when Mikamoto burst into the room.
"What's going on here?" Mikamoto's voice boomed.
Caught in the act, both Kasaki and Mikono hastily released their holds, their apologies stumbling out in a flurry of childish excuses.
"Enough," Mikamoto's voice was stern. "You're here to become samurais. Despite your youth, you must first learn to carry yourselves as men. This is your final warning: no more foolishness. Any further indiscretions will have consequences. Now, sleep. Training resumes in six hours, and I expect silence."
With that, Mikamoto exited the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
Kasaki couldn't stop thinking about the training ahead; he imagined what it would be like to be trained by the master. He anticipated numerous challenges and moments where he might doubt his abilities. Nevertheless, he was determined to endure whatever hardships came his way. He had come to the realization that growth often arises from pain. Surprisingly, amidst his thoughts, he didn't dwell on his parents or Misuki. Instead, consumed by fatigue, his mind fixated on food. He was ravenous. In his mind's eye, he savored the image of devouring two hefty burgers. Soon after, he succumbed to sleep, experiencing a tranquil and restful night.
***
As Kasaki tried to catch a few more moments of sleep, he was rudely interrupted by the squawking entrance of Chichi, the mischievous parrot. "Rise and shine, samurai! It's time to test your mettle!" Chichi announced loudly, fluttering about the room.
"Gah, shut it!" Kasaki grumbled, burying his face in the pillow.
Unimpressed by Kasaki's grumpy response, Chichi swooped down and gave his earlobe a sharp peck.
"Ow! Are you insane?!" Kasaki exclaimed, leaping out of bed. "That hurt!"
Chichi cackled gleefully. "Get dressed, the master awaits in the yard."
"If you pull that stunt again, you'll be sorry," Kasaki threatened, glaring at the parrot.
Chichi merely scoffed and flapped out of the room, leaving Kasaki fuming.
Kasaki observed Mikono as he dressed himself. Glancing at his own disheveled bed, Kasaki briefly climbed onto it to straighten the covers before dressing himself. Following Mikono out of the room, Kasaki couldn't help but complain about the pain in his earlobe from Chichi's earlier attack and his persistent hunger.
Upon reaching the yard, they found the master attired in all black, resembling more a ninja than a samurai. He wielded a magnificent katana with a golden handle, commanding the attention of everyone present.
"Good morning, everyone. Today, I'll be teaching you how to harness the power of magic to your advantage," the master announced cheerfully.
Mikamoto stood with his arms crossed in one corner, accompanied by the two other samurais, Nagai and Sisuke. Kasaki positioned himself next to Mikono and the tall guy.
"What's your name, my friend?" the master inquired, directing his gaze towards the tall guy.
"My name is Kinsu, master," the tall guy replied.
"Very well, Kinsu, step forward," the master commanded, gesturing with his katana towards the student.
Kinsu advanced slowly, maintaining eye contact with the master. In the quiet of the yard, only the sound of Kinsu's steps echoed.
"Do you have experience with a sword?" the master queried.
"Yes, sir. I do," Kinsu said confidently.
"Nagai," the master called out. "Please provide our guest with a beautiful sword. I want to test his skills." Nagai, one of the samurais standing beside Mikamoto, promptly opened a wooden case and retrieved a silver sword with a black handle. He approached Kinsu calmly and handed the weapon to him.
Kinsu assessed the weight of the sword, shifting it between his hands several times to familiarize himself with it.
"Ready?" the master inquired.
"Ready, master," Kinsu replied, determination gleaming in his eyes.
The master grinned before issuing his command. "Attack. Give it your all. Now."
With determination, Kinsu advanced, his sword poised for the strike. Meanwhile, the master remained rooted in place, appearing unperturbed. As Kinsu's blade descended in a diagonal arc, the master effortlessly sidestepped, narrowly evading the metal, and delivered a swift blow to Kinsu's stomach with his fist.
"Incredibly slow," remarked the master, as Kinsu crumpled to the sand in pain. However, the strike had been measured; it was merely a practice session. Undeterred, Kinsu rose to his feet swiftly, ready to continue.
The master's critique continued with a stern yet patient tone. "You announce yourself too much," he remarked. "Speed is achieved through harmony. You waste energy on unnecessary movements. I could see your attack on my left side coming from a mile away."
"I understand, master," Kinsu replied humbly. "But this duel isn’t entirely fair. You're using magic to dodge and evade my strikes. I haven’t learned how to use magic yet."
The three samurais standing in the corner exchanged knowing smiles. Kinsu's assumption was incorrect.
"However impressed you may be with my speed, dear Kinsu," the master countered, "I'm not resorting to magic to evade you. This is simply the result of honed skill and natural movement."
"What? How is that even possible?" Kinsu's expression betrayed his utter astonishment. "You were about to be split in two by my sword. How did you evade the blow, if not with the help of magic?"
"It’s called training!" The master moved around Kinsu with incredible speed, his movements precise and clinical as he deftly sliced through Kinsu's clothes with his sword.
As the master stepped away, Kinsu stood bewildered, not comprehending what had just occurred. He had only felt a slight, cold breeze around his body. Then, his clothes fell away, revealing not a single cut on his skin.
"First, you must master your body. Push yourself beyond the limits that others believe a human can endure. Only then will you be able to tap into magic, for magic is simply an extension of your mind. When you can already achieve remarkable feats with your body, believing in your ability to wield magic becomes easier. Belief is the key to unlocking everything."
Kasaki was awestruck by what he had just witnessed. Unable to contain his curiosity, he asked, "Master, how can we develop speed like yours?"
The master smiled, appreciating the directness of the question. "Train underwater. Attach heavy weights to your ankles and wrists, and become accustomed to them. Your speed will surpass your wildest dreams."
Kinsu dashed shamefully into the house, nearly naked, the lesson etched into his memory.
"Mikamoto," the master instructed, "take these men to the river. Each of you will perform one thousand sword strikes underwater today. If you happen to catch any fish, bring them back for food. Don't stop when you're tired; stop when you're finished. You can divide your series into as many sessions as you need, but don't risk drowning. Surface to fill your lungs with air, then resume. One thousand strikes. I wager you'll all fare better than Kinsu tomorrow."
"And what about the weights? Should we incorporate them into our training?" Kasaki inquired.
"It's a bit premature for that," the master responded. "However, you're welcome to use them if you wish. It's up to you to be resourceful and find your own weights since we don't have any here. Just remember this fundamental principle: every action generates an equal reaction. The more effort you put into your training, the greater your improvement. It's as simple as that. While I have established minimum standards for this samurai corps, if any of you wish to surpass them, feel free to do so."
Kasaki nodded, silently embracing the challenge of not confining himself to the prescribed training regimen but instead surpassing it. All he had ever yearned for was to live without fear. To gaze upon his parents and bask in their genuine smiles, unencumbered by the underlying anxiety of imminent danger. The dread of Misuki's men descending upon them, enslaving or even killing them if they failed to meet their cruel standards in the oil fields, haunted him incessantly. For Kasaki, freedom equaled happiness, and he was determined to transcend any predefined limitations. He knew he had to become extraordinary, an outlier, if he stood any chance of defeating Misuki's formidable army.
They made their way to the river, Kasaki brimming with eagerness to test his endurance. He believed he could hold his breath longer than the others and execute more strikes. Observing Kinsu's shame, he waited for him to catch up, offering some words of reassurance, "Hey, you did your best back there. The master is an incredibly powerful samurai, so there's no shame in being bested by him."
Kinsu smiled gratefully, appreciating Kasaki's encouragement. "Thanks, kid. I thought I could have done better, but as you saw, we're all far below his level. We need to elevate our skills to stand any chance against Misuki's forces."
"Is it even possible, Kinsu?" Kasaki's voice quivered with uncertainty, eyes searching for a glimmer of hope in his comrade's expression.
Kinsu let out a heavy sigh, his gaze fixed ahead as if envisioning the tumultuous details of the impending war. "I'm not sure. But do we have any other choice?" He shrugged, a flicker of determination in his eyes. "Besides, the master is no fool, wouldn't you agree? He wouldn't subject us to this rigorous training and lead us into battle if he didn't believe victory was attainable."
Kasaki nodded slowly, a newfound sense of resolve blossoming within him. "I suppose you're right. We'll trust in the master's wisdom."
"Don't worry about it for now, kid," Kinsu advised, his tone firm yet reassuring. "That's my best advice to you. Focus solely on your training. We still have time—several months before the war is declared and we face our first battle. Strive to improve every day. My belief is, once you can evade the master's sword strikes, you'll be a formidable opponent for Misuki's forces. Until then, fretting is futile and counterproductive."
Kasaki pondered Kinsu's words as they trailed behind Mikamoto. He nodded inwardly, acknowledging the truth in Kinsu's counsel. His mind should be dedicated to honing his skills—growing stronger, swifter, and more astute with each passing day. The master would devise the strategies, but they needed stalwart warriors. They needed true samurais.
“Are you ready for those one thousand strikes under water?” Kasaki asked Kinsu after a brief pause.
"After today's lesson, I'm more than ready," Kinsu replied with determination shining in his eyes. "I'll surpass those one thousand strikes. I won't settle for anything less."
Kasaki smiled in agreement, sensing the shared resolve between them. It was reassuring to see Kinsu's determination mirroring his own. In this group of samurai prospects, there were no weak links. They had all endured the challenges of the Wild Forest, proving their mettle in the face of adversity.
Mikamoto moved forward with caution, relying solely on his senses as he made his way to the river. Despite keeping his eyes closed, he felt no sense of unease. However, the encounter with the spy had left an indelible mark on him. He now possessed a life bar, an invisible gauge that loomed over him, its mechanics shrouded in mystery. Mikamoto speculated that it would only become visible and decrease when he sustained damage, but lacking certainty, he proceeded cautiously, conserving his energy.
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The idea of replenishing his life points crossed his mind, and he considered the possibility of encountering magical creatures near the river. Dispatching one of them could potentially bolster his life bar. Yet, he refrained from dwelling too deeply on the matter, opting instead to focus on the task at hand. If necessary, he could always resort to engaging Misuki's guards near the oil wells, a strategy that would undoubtedly grant him the life points needed to endure until the impending war.
Mikamoto traversed the familiar path with the confidence of one intimately acquainted with every twist and turn. His senses, honed to a razor's edge, allowed him to navigate effortlessly, relying solely on the symphony of sounds that surrounded him. Unbeknownst to his companions, his eyes remained closed throughout the journey, a testament to his extraordinary abilities. Mikamoto, ever the stoic figure, offered no explanation for his unconventional approach, preferring instead to let his actions speak for themselves.
As the scent of fresh water wafted through the air, signaling their proximity to the river, Mikamoto's anticipation grew. Though the river lay hidden from view, he could sense its presence drawing nearer with each step. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they reached their destination. With a sense of accomplishment, Mikamoto opened his eyes.
"Listen up, maggots!" Mikamoto's voice echoed through the clearing, carrying with it a chilling aura of authority. His words hung heavy in the air, casting a pall of dread over the assembled recruits.
"Thirty of you stand here today, but don't think for a moment that makes you special. You're the survivors, the ones who clawed your way out of The Wild Forest while others perished. You think you're tough? You think you're the best of the best? Well, let me remind you: more than a hundred souls met their end in those cursed woods."
His eyes bored into each recruit, stripping away any facade of bravado they might have mustered. "Now, don't go crying to mommy when the going gets tough. You wanted to be samurai? Well, this is what it takes. The master's given you a task, and you'll damn well complete it. Underwater strikes, one thousand of them. I can't babysit you down there, and I won't. You want to cheat? Fine. But mark my words, when we face Misuki's forces, your deceit will be your downfall. And let me tell you, in battle, there's no room for cowards. Cheat, and you'll find your head rolling in the dirt before you know it."
Laughter rippled through the group, a nervous release of tension in the face of Mikamoto's grim words. They knew he spoke the truth; Misuki would be relentless, showing no mercy to those who faltered. It was a sobering reminder of the stakes they faced.
"Now, get your sorry hides under the water and start swinging," Mikamoto commanded, his voice carrying the weight of authority. The recruits exchanged uneasy glances, realizing none of them had brought their swords. Only Mikamoto was armed.
"Right," Mikamoto muttered, his brow furrowing in frustration. "Looks like I'll have to conjure up some blades for you lot."
Closing his eyes, he focused his concentration, channeling his energy into his outstretched palm. After a few tense moments, he clenched his hand into a fist, and a wooden coffin materialized before them. As the coffin appeared, a shimmering life bar materialized in front of Mikamoto, its points dwindling before their eyes.
"Choose one and get diving. We've got no time to dawdle," Mikamoto commanded, his voice firm and unwavering. "I've just sacrificed a piece of myself to provide you with tools for training. Don't make me regret it."
Another round of nervous laughter echoed through the group.
"Well," Mikamoto mused to himself, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "That wasn't too bad. Only knocked about five percent off my life bar. Using magic takes its toll, sure, but I was expecting worse. Looks like I won't be making any surprise visits to the oil wells anytime soon."
Kasaki swiftly grasped his sword and plunged into the water. The river wasn’t too deep, so he reached the riverbed quickly. Before making his first swing, he opened his eyes underwater. To his right, Mikono was already delivering powerful strikes, while Kinsu on his left was doing the same. Kasaki recalled the master's advice about using weights, but he had forgotten to bring any. He could have grabbed a log or something similar to add resistance to his movements. However, he doubted it would have made much difference. What he truly needed was weights on his wrists and ankles. That's where the real speed came from. The faster he could move his wrists and ankles, the quicker his sword would be. Just like the master had demonstrated in his combat with Kinsu, constantly changing positions and attacking angles. As he observed a trout swimming towards him, Kasaki swiftly swung his sword with both hands, aiming for the fish's head. However, he only grazed it, failing to catch it. If he wanted to bring back some fish to the master's house, he needed to be faster and more precise.
Kasaki continued his relentless series of strikes, counting each one in his mind as he swung his sword underwater. With each strike, he exerted a bit more force, determined to increase the speed of his sword. As he reached the end of another set, his muscles strained from the effort, and he felt the air in his lungs depleting rapidly. "Focus, focus," he reminded himself, pushing through the fatigue. With one final powerful strike, he completed the set, then closed his eyes briefly to conserve energy. A rush of adrenaline surged through him as he reopened his eyes, noticing a slight increase in the speed of his sword. However, the exertion was taking its toll, and he began to feel a dull ache spreading through his wrists.
As Kasaki surfaced for air, he paused to catch his breath, his body buoyant on the calm waters. Around him, he noticed several other prospects also taking a moment to replenish their lungs. However, there was no sign of Mikono or Kinsu, and a twinge of envy crept into Kasaki's thoughts. "Are they still down there?" he wondered, momentarily doubting his own endurance. Determined to push past his doubts, Kasaki took three deep breaths and submerged once more. With each strike, he felt the strain in his muscles, but he persisted, managing to execute twelve strikes before resurfacing. However, he decided to count only ten, mindful that every effort counted towards his goal, even those uncounted strokes lurking beneath the surface.
Gasping for air, Kasaki scanned the water's surface, searching for any sign of Mikono or Kinsu. Despite seeing other prospects emerging for breath, the absence of his fellow trainees fueled a sense of determination within him. "Alright," he resolved, steeling himself for the challenge ahead. "I'm going for twenty strikes this time, no matter what." With four deep breaths, he submerged once more, his mind focused on technique rather than speed. Instead of mechanical strikes, he sought to vary his angles and employ combinations, drawing inspiration from Kinsu's battle with the master. As he visualized himself in Kinsu's position, strategizing how to exploit vulnerabilities, his attention shifted solely to his own movements, blocking out distractions from silly comparisons.
With each fluid movement, Kasaki executed combinations consisting of three or four strikes, infusing dynamism into his swordplay. His feet shifted rhythmically, ensuring each strike originated from a different angle. Intently, he extended his movements, engaging his elbows and hips to bolster the strength behind each blow. "One, two, three, four," he mentally counted, the tempo of his strikes accelerating with each repetition. After completing five combinations with air still in his lungs, he surfaced to replenish his breath. Observing Mikono and Kinsu also ascending for air, he nodded in satisfaction. "That was a significant improvement," he acknowledged to himself, contemplating the potential benefits of incorporating weights into his training regimen.
Kasaki descended faster than his companions, his lungs requiring fewer breaths due to his shorter series. With just three or four deep inhalations, he swiftly returned to the depths, avoiding prolonged intervals on the surface. Judging by their prolonged absence, he estimated Mikono and Kinsu's series to consist of approximately forty or fifty strikes, necessitating longer breaks for air. Undeterred, Kasaki continued his practice, maintaining dynamic movement as he maneuvered with his sword. Each strike was executed with precision, resembling a dance as he effortlessly covered various angles and delivered combinations of four strikes at once. Deciding to focus solely on bodyweight training for the day, he acknowledged the challenge of adjusting to the slower movements induced by underwater practice.
As Kasaki contemplated his next move, he resolved that if faced with the same challenge tomorrow, he would seek out weights to augment his wrist and ankle strength, intensifying his training regimen. Amidst his musings, a fierce determination took root within him. He wondered about the training methods of Misuki's forces—did they match the rigorous standards of the samurai corps? Recalling Mikamoto's effortless defeat of the spy, he pondered the true caliber of Misuki's soldiers. Perhaps the spy had been sent on a futile mission, destined for failure. Misuki likely anticipated his demise, orchestrating his death to ensnare his killer under the life points spell. "They may surpass me in skill. They may even end my life, if fate decrees. But they will not outmatch my work ethic. That's within my control. I refuse to be outworked by any of Misuki's men. Whatever happens, I want to know I always did my best and gave my one hundred percent effort.” Lost in contemplation, Kasaki's reverie was interrupted by the appearance of a larger trout gliding through the water. Its vibrant blue scales caught his eye, momentarily captivating him. With only a few precious breaths left in his lungs, he steeled himself, releasing a controlled exhale to conserve his air supply. As the trout drew nearer, Kasaki sprang into action. His sword flashed through the water in a series of swift strikes, the first few narrowly missing their mark. However, on the fourth strike, he altered his angle of attack, catching the unsuspecting fish off guard. With a deft motion, he cleaved the trout in two, seizing the opportunity to claim his prize before surfacing for a much-needed breath of air.
"Hey, Mikamoto," Kasaki called out with a grin, brandishing the trout he had just caught.
Perched on a nearby rock, Mikamoto's eyes flickered open at the sound of his name. His lips curved into a subtle smile, a rare display of approval from the seasoned warrior. Mikamoto couldn't help but be impressed by Kasaki's feat. Slicing a fish in two with a katana on his first day of underwater training was no small achievement.
"Well done, kid," Mikamoto acknowledged, his tone carrying a hint of genuine admiration. "You might just prove to be an asset in the upcoming war."
With a nod of acknowledgment, Mikamoto rose from his seat and made his way toward the riverbank. Raising his voice to address the group, he called out, "Alright, everyone, how's the training going? Give me an update on your progress."
All eyes turned to Mikamoto as each recruit reported their progress: "Eight series of ten repetitions, sir," "Seven series of twelve repetitions already, sir," and so forth. Mikamoto considered that by noon, they might all be done with their series. Meanwhile, Kasaki remained submerged, his focus solely on completing his repetitions. He was nearing one hundred already.
As Mikono surfaced for air, Mikamoto inquired about his progress. "How many repetitions?" he asked.
"After grabbing air, Mikono responded, "One hundred and fifty already, sir."
"Good," Mikamoto acknowledged, visibly impressed. "Just be mindful not to overexert yourself."
Emerging from the water, Kasaki overheard their conversation. "Don’t worry about that, sir," Mikono assured. "Is there a time limit for reaching one thousand?"
Mikamoto's expression turned slightly puzzled at the question. "No," he replied. "We can take as long as needed. We won’t leave until each of you finishes, or at least until someone tries to deceive us about completing their repetitions."
"Can I go out and find some weights, then?" Mikono asked eagerly.
"Yes, sir. I wanna go, too. This training is getting too comfortable," Kinsu interjected, his enthusiasm evident.
"You're free to go and find whatever you think will level up the difficulty of the practice."
"Yes!" Kinsu exclaimed, already starting to exit the water before Mikono himself.
Mikono calmly followed suit, leaving the water behind.
Kasaki watched with a mix of shame and confusion as Mikono and Kinsu departed to enhance their training regimen. While they sought to intensify their practice, Kasaki had chosen to stick with his own body weight for the time being. Glancing at Mikamoto, Kasaki sensed the understanding in the older samurai's gaze. He could see a hint of embarrassment reflected in Kasaki's eyes.
"Stay the course, Kasaki," Mikamoto's silent encouragement echoed in Kasaki's mind. He believed that disrupting the training routine on the very first day wasn't wise. It was better to acclimate to the water initially before introducing additional challenges. Perhaps, after a full day of training, Kasaki could consider ramping up the difficulty.
Despite the urge to follow Mikono and Kinsu, Kasaki resisted and dove back into the water. "Alright," he thought, "While they work with weights, I'll focus on perfecting my technique. I'll make my movements fluid, so when I do add weights, I'll be prepared." Determined, he executed six combinations of four full strikes, envisioning himself dodging imaginary enemy attacks between blows. Emerging for air, he took three deep breaths before descending once more.
This time, Kasaki replicated his previous feat, refining his movements further by incorporating blocks and counters. He found his rhythm, moving effortlessly underwater. "I'm improving," he acknowledged to himself. "But I need to push myself further, even without weights. There has to be a way to make my training exceptional. As the master said, 'every action has an opposite reaction.' So exceptional training must yield exceptional skill."
As Kasaki surfaced for air, he pondered his next move, feeling the need for a bit more oxygen. Observing his fellow samurai prospects, he noted their steady progress. Even Tinoue, typically perceived as the weakest, displayed determination, repeatedly submerging and resurfacing, likely pushing himself to his limits.
Contemplating the fluidity of his movements, Kasaki sensed room for improvement. Despite his efforts, he felt it wasn't sufficient. Meanwhile, Mikono and Kinsu sought additional challenges by searching for weights in the woods. Suddenly struck by an idea, Kasaki considered enhancing his training by increasing his breath-holding capacity. If he could extend his underwater endurance to one or two full minutes, he could execute forty or fifty strikes per dive, potentially completing the one thousand strikes in around twenty sets. However, he wondered about the toll it would take on his energy levels. Nevertheless, it was worth attempting. With a deep inhale, Kasaki descended once more into the water. His eyes wide open, the underwater world unfolded before him, revealing the slow movements of his fellow trainees' swords in the distance. With a soldier of Misuki's army in mind, he initiated his attack, envisioning each move as if in a real battle. Launching the first two blows, he swiftly transitioned into defense, anticipating the enemy's strikes and positioning his blade accordingly. Moving dynamically, he visualized intricate maneuvers, alternating between offense and defense with fluid precision. Every strike carried purpose, every movement calculated. In the midst of his assault, Kasaki mentally tallied each blow, ensuring he remained within the confines of his series. Unlike his peers who focused solely on strikes, he engaged in a full-fledged combat simulation, incorporating advances, retreats, and simultaneous offensive and defensive actions. Immersed in his imaginary duel, he anticipated the enemy's every move, blocking not only from conventional angles but also from unexpected ones. As the final blow of his tenth series landed, the strain of breath-holding became too much, prompting him to resurface. He felt as though he had been submerged for an eternity, though it had only been precisely two minutes. Surfacing, he floated, breathing deeply and feeling content with his performance. As he gazed around, he spotted Mikono emerging from the woods, followed shortly by Kinsu, both carrying rocks. Kasaki paid them no mind, taking another deep breath before descending once more.
With each dive, he noticed his movements becoming swifter. Somehow, he had managed to inhale more air than he thought possible, enabling him to execute series of over forty strikes per plunge. He could sense the progress he was making. Recalling his journey through The Wild Forest, he felt stronger now, more capable. He imagined effortlessly slicing through the necks of the creatures he had encountered. As he reached forty-four strikes, he hesitated. Something compelled him to stay below a little longer. He felt surprisingly good, with only a slight need for air, but nothing too urgent. Sensing that he could remain underwater for an extended period, he decided to do just that. Closing his eyes, he pondered the significance of his ability to hold his breath longer than others. He believed it could somehow enhance his skills as a warrior, as a samurai. As he reached a minute and a half underwater, he continued to focus his mind. He envisioned Misuki seated upon his throne, commanding his troops to eliminate every samurai in battle. In response, Kasaki imagined himself breaking through Misuki's army lines, closing in on the ruthless emperor, and delivering a decisive blow to his throat with his sword. He visualized this act as the key to ending the war and restoring peace to the Black Gold Kingdom. In his imagination, he saw the aftermath: the master ascending to the throne, freeing everyone from slavery, and leading the nation into prosperity. It was a vision of hope and liberation that spurred him to push his limits underwater.
When he opened his eyes, Kasaki observed Mikono and Kinsu descending. Both were shirtless, their garments discarded to fashion makeshift weights strapped to their wrists and ankles with fabric. Their movements appeared sluggish and uncoordinated. A sense of competition surged within Kasaki, compelling him to excel and surpass all others. Instead of immediately resurfacing for air, he pressed forward, initiating a rapid barrage of sword strikes beneath the water's surface. Despite his determination, he quickly realized that completing the series would be a challenge; the urge to breathe intensified with each passing moment. Yet, he refused to yield, his mind resolute on achieving supremacy. "If I finish this series, I'll be unmatched," he repeated to himself, unleashing blow after blow in a relentless assault. Ignoring the need to defend himself or evade imaginary attacks, he focused solely on offense, envisioning slower adversaries unable to match his speed or skill. Midway through his thirtieth strike, desperation clawed at him. With little air left in his lungs, retaining even a fraction became increasingly arduous. Each breath seemed like a battle against his own body's instinctual urge to gasp for precious oxygen. Yet, driven by the fear of failure and the prospect of needing rescue, he pressed on with unwavering determination. Aware that succumbing to panic would lead to swallowing water and potential disaster, he channeled this fear into motivation, intensifying his assault. Despite the mounting pressure, he maintained his relentless pace, delivering blows with swift precision. The final ten strikes felt like an eternity, but he refused to yield. Each stroke seamlessly flowed into the next, a testament to his unwavering resolve. Mentally counting each blow, he expelled the last remnants of air from his lungs, even swallowing a mouthful of water in the process. With sheer determination, he unleashed the final strike, visualizing his sword slicing through Misuki's neck. He resurfaced as fast as he could.