“Do you know why duels between those who follow the way of the sword are permitted, or even encouraged by the governing body?” Noboru asked as he placed a cup of tea in front of her.
“In order to create stronger warriors?” Tenjo offered.
He paused, stirring a large portion of honey into the tea in front of her. “That’s correct. Next, allow me to ask if you know the moral justification of why it is excusable for a swordsman to kill one another for the sake of their own power and reputation.”
She remained silent, and he continued. “Because a disciple of the blade is dead, having sacrificed their life as a person. Once you dedicate yourself to the blade, you give up the value of your life, and can freely cut down others or be cut down yourself with no repercussions or guilt. After all, a corpse cannot be killed a second time.”
She took a sip of the tea rather than responding. It was so strong as to be bitter, and sickeningly sweet as well.
“As my own grandchild, I’m telling you this for a good reason. The trial of tonight will be drastically different from cutting targets or sparring with a wooden sword. If you are afraid of getting hurt, you will die,” He said. “But perhaps more importantly, if you are afraid of hurting your opponent, you will also die. Thinking of them as human is a mistake.”
He paused to drink from his own cup, and she took that moment to speak.
“I will strive to do it if I can,” She replied.
“If you don’t, you’ll die.”
At that moment, a chill ran down her spine as his aura condensed, the settling weight making the floor beneath them creak and giving the feeling of pressure that threatened to crush her. Her own aura formed in an attempt to lessen the pressure, yet the sense of being pressed remained.
It wasn’t the difference in weight that made the difference. It was the level of quality between a spirit forged through battle after battle on the edge of life and death. Tenjo had felt it directed at her on a handful of occasions before, and each time it had felt just as suffocatingly overwhelming.
“An opponent is an obstacle to be overcome. Just like in a spar, any single lapse in concentration can result in a loss, even more when fighting enemies of unknown techniques and schools. Unlike a spar, however, you won’t get back up and have another round. Instead, you will bleed out on the floor, and your existence will come to a painful and abrupt end.”
The pressure somehow increased even more, to the point that it became difficult for her to breath properly.
“I know that you know this. I’m certain you have been told this numerous times. But if you don’t truly understand this, then tonight will be when your dreams and aspirations end.”
The weight on her vanished, and she couldn’t resist the urge to draw in a full breath of air. Without another word, she stood and gave a second respectful bow before leaving the room. In the hallway outside, she noticed that she had begun sweating once more.
The sense of weight and pressure from his aura wasn’t real, Tenjo knew. An aura amplified the elements of a person. It gave them more strength, more speed, more stamina, more weight. It made a sword wielded more durable and sharper as it applied itself to that as well.
Normally, it only had a partial effect, being spread out around the body of the one it belonged to, not solidly interfering with the world. But when focused and condensed, it gave all the benefits as though one’s presence in reality had increased, and their ability along with it.
Likewise, an aura could increase one’s presence, the feeling they gave off to others of being noticeable. A simple cold stare could become a crushing weight that existed only in the mind. It was entirely a matter of perception, that anyone could shake off.
But knowing that and being able to do it was a world apart. When faced with her grandfathers aura, Tenjo was barely able to utter a sentence of agreement properly. If talent could be passed down by blood, it was clear that Daichi had inherited all of it.
When she came to face another doorway, the realization dawned on her that she had begun to make her way back to the dojo by force of habit. Pausing with her hand in the air just in front of the door, she stopped and spun around, intending to return to her room.
Behind her though, was her friend, Jing. His face formed an expression of shock as she rounded on him, and he raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender.
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"I thought you would be out enjoying the festivities," She said. "You barely stick around even on days when you're supposed to be training."
He laughed, letting his hands fall down.
"I wouldn't be much of a friend if I abandoned you today of all days though, would I?" He quipped back. "In just a few hours you'll be packing up to go live as a disciple of the blade. I guess I've really fallen behind you there."
"There's no guarantee that I'll succeed," Tenjo warned. "For all you know I may end up staying here for another decade, or end up dead."
This time his laughter was even louder as he snorted in response. "A prodigy like you?"
"I'm hardly a prodigy. It took me nearly seven years of practice to even get to this stage." She protested. "By comparison, Daichi did it in half the time."
"But it takes most people something more like ten, right?" He pressed. When she nodded in confirmation he continued.
"I might not be as single minded as your family when it comes to swords, but even I know that that's pretty impressive."
Under her skeptical gaze, Jing only grinned wider.
"Rather than comparing yourself to Daichi, why not compare yourself to me? Or better yet, someone who hasn't even picked up a sword yet? That should make you look better."
She let out a derisive huff to let him know what she thought of that, but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards into a smile that betrayed her true feelings. Tenjo turned back to the door that connected the two buildings in an attempt to hide it, only to be interrupted by him again.
"Well, it looks like I've fulfilled my responsibilities for the day," He said.
She turned back around to look at him only to catch a glimpse of his back as he vanished around the corner of the hallway, running in a manner that would have been sure to earn rebukes if anyone had seen him.
Taking a moment to stop and stretch out her shoulders, Tenjo followed the other hallway down to her room. It was rather simple, with a bed and dresser on one side, and a large window with wooden shutters on the other.
The thing that she treasured most hung on the third wall though, displayed on a rack of polished wood. It was the sword she had first received when she began her training, years in the past. The scabbard had been scarred, and the cheap wrap on the handle had began to lose its color, bleached away over time.
As the familiar weight settled into her belt, she closed her eyes and shut herself off from the rest of the room. As darkness suddenly covered everything, she imagined drawing the sword in her mind. A perfect smooth arc, that sliced out from the sheath almost to quickly for her non-existent eyes to follow. Every part of her body acted in a flawless harmony in order to produce that one stroke.
Her ankles turned and settled, her knees bent, her left shoulder and hip drew back, and the right side leaned forward. Her left hand gripped the scabbard and turned it sideways, and then held it steady as the right arm, all joints activating at different timings in the swing, drew it out into a perfect motion.
Tenjo opened her eyes, and then mimicked the movement. It was sloppy. The timing of each movement didn't add up, subtle differences ensuring the entire thing slowed down, the blade wobbling and scraping the edge of the wood on its way out.
The scabbard already bore countless marks of similar failed draws, where the steel started its arc while still inside the sheath and slashed through the wood instead of the air. The material had been worn away so much that she now needed to hold the katana inside when bowing to prevent it from slipping out and falling.
She slowly and carefully replaced it in its position, and then closed her eyes and repeated the mental blow once more before opening them. This time, she drew the blade slowly, insuring that at every moment it remained steady, each movement matched to the next one as the blade gradually revealed itself.
It was nearly as flawless as the vision in her head. Even with only a fraction of the speed, that level of precision was still beyond her level. Clicking her tongue in frustration, she resumed a normal stance before closing her eyes again.
This time the blade came up in an arc from her side before cutting back down to finish the movement. Another set of motions preformed without the slightest visible misstep, and again the path the sword had taken remained in her eyes even after she had opened them.
She drew the sword out, this time taking painstaking care to not allow the slightest contact with the scabbard. As it rose up, it became straight, the momentum of the motion that carried the form through lost with the speed.
Or rather, it was that when she focused on one element, the others slipped away, the mindless motion gone with focus on the individual action. Either way, the harmony was lost in her attempt once again.
Tenjo focused on her body, taking in a deep breath and then forcing every bit of air out as she slowly let the tension flow from her muscles. Then she closed her eyes and began to form another mental cut. This time it came up at an angle, perfectly rising from hip to shoulder.
Without opening her eyes, she drew back for another cut, and then attempted to replicate the strike. From the feel alone she could tell it was by far the worst one so far, every tiny error springing into existence twofold.
Why? Why wouldn't her body fulfill the image in her mind? What was missing, that vanished when she became aware of her surroundings, of the empty room, free of distractions in which she stood?
Somehow, trying to ignore around her had only made it worse, the focus even farther from complete. She replaced the sword, and then slowly drew back once again.
Then a knock came on the door, and her concentration shattered completely. As she turned to face it, she noticed that the sun had started to set, casting a reddish-orange glow over the room and giving her an indication of the reason for the disturbance.
Tenjo slid the door open to Daichi’s somber face, and a single sentence from him confirmed her suspicions.
“It’s time.”
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Chapter end
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