"Shiro-san! How was it? I've heard a lot about Jun-sama," Kizashi buzzed around Stas all day like an excited puppy, demanding to be told what had been happening with Ordyntsev all these weeks. The earthling, who had arrived at the citadel only early in the morning, grimly kept silent.
"They say," Kizashi continued, "that Master Jun has a unique way of teaching. In the last war, he was tasked with training a dozen advanced warmasters from an allied clan in forest survival. It turned out that this unit managed to go through the whole war with almost no losses! They were even nicknamed 'Fierce Tigers' for their fearlessness and readiness to die, but they still survived."
"I wouldn't be surprised if that 'almost' refers to the losses incurred during training with Master Jun," Stas smirked wryly, scratching at a nearly healed scar on his chin. A stone that had flown from nowhere had dislocated Ordyntsev's jaw, and even the hasty application of healing magic couldn't save the man from several days of phantom pains in his chin.
"Ah? What do you mean?" Kizashi stopped in his tracks.
"Master Jun is a very strict teacher who demands maximum attention from his students," Stas struggled to come up with a gentle explanation. It wouldn't do to tell the lad sitting in front of him that a more fitting description for Master Jun would be "a complete psychopath, who is very, very sick in the head."
On the other hand, considering his track record, Ordyntsev was surprised that Jun was as sane as he was, rather than having completely gone off the rails. The amount of blood he had spilled in his lifetime should have overwhelmed him.
Warmasters had a terrible tendency to combine a medieval mentality with the destructiveness of modern warfare. An ordinary samurai on Earth, having killed a couple of hundred people, would simply tire of swinging and hacking with a sword, and hence spare the lives of any survivors.
Warmasters, on the other hand, were not limited in such a way. With one powerful supreme technique, the death toll could be counted in the thousands.
Even on Earth, there were not so many powerful weapons and bombs.
But returning to Master Jun, the local deification of senseis and mentors would cast Stas in a bad light. In this world, it was not customary to criticize teachers.
Even if the sensei beats you, starves you, doesn't consider you human, so what? Well, he's your sensei, he knows what's best for you. Told to live like a dog? Then lie down and bark.
However, local legislation also had a reverse effect. For the mistakes and blunders of a student, it was often the sensei who was held responsible. Of course, the teacher could try to shift all the blame onto the student, but such a decision would find no understanding in the local society.
It would be a complete and absolute ruin of reputation, keenly observed by all, from samurais to peasants alike.
"And how much longer will you be staying with us?" Kizashi asked curiously. "I thought your team would be training for the entire month."
"Three more days," Stas explained, enjoying the home-cooked meal. "Master Jun said that continuing the training would be pointless and ordered us to bugg… to vanish from his sight and get wast… properly rest and eat."
By the Kami, hunting and gathering really got under the earthling's skin. Judging by how Mei and Eiji bolted for home, they shared this sentiment.
"Then, as the master said, we have work waiting for us. And knowing our master, it certainly won't be simple."
"And what do you plan to do?"
"I have a couple of ideas," Stas chuckled, igniting Healing Palm on his left hand, while continuing to eat with chopsticks in his right.
Speaking of which, that was another problem he had to urgently solve after arriving in this world. Fortunately, back on Earth, he had practiced eating with chopsticks a bit. One of the few things he was grateful to his ex for. Here, however, he had to refine this skill almost to perfection.
"Ooh, you've improved your control," Kizashi exclaimed with admiration, taking a discerning look at the light of the technique. "And judging by its stability, your control is now at a decent level. You never cease to amaze me. How did you achieve such great progress in such a short time?"
Stas cringed slightly at the innocent question.
"Master Jun knows how to motivate," Ordyntsev sighed heavily. "Our sensei has a talent for placing his students in circumstances where, one could say, they find their second wind and, shortly after that, even a third. And if the master is in the right mood, a fourth isn't far behind."
"Ah, how I envy you," Kizashi sighed gloomily. "If it weren't for my fear of blood, I could have been assigned to a team and fought for the good of our clan."
"Speaking of that," Ordyntsev drew his interlocutor's attention with a serious tone, putting his chopsticks aside. "I've had time to think about your problem, Kizashi, and I remembered a few ways to solve your plight."
The alchemist froze, hardly believing he was actually hearing this.
"You... You know how to help me?"
"Not exactly," Ordyntsev dashed his hopes, but immediately reinstated them. "I know of some exercises and, let's say, techniques that might help you. But the main thing is to constantly work on yourself and desire healing with all your heart."
"I'm ready!" the lad practically jumped up, overwhelmed by emotion. "Shiro-san, please, tell me about these techniques. I swear by the Kami, if they work, my family and I will be eternally grateful to you!"
"Sit down and calm yourself," Kizashi collapsed back onto his seat as if his legs had been cut from under him.
"Alright," Stas rubbed his temples. He hadn't lied to the lad. Psychology had fascinated Ordyntsev solely as a means of influencing people's emotions. On Earth, he had only skimmed through various psychological diseases and phobias. Who knew it would be so necessary? So, he had to strain his memory to remember anything useful.
"First things first, in our treatment, we need to decide how badly you want to deal with this problem. I think we can skip this step," Stas smiled encouragingly at the tense Kizashi.
"Next, as far as I remember, there are two paths. In the first case, we need to determine what preceded the appearance of this problem."
"What does that have to do with it?" Kizashi asked, puzzled.
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"The thing is," Stas began to explain, "many of our fears, which now hinder our lives, we carry over from early childhood. Even though we consciously forgot about these fears long ago, we still remember them deep down, let's say, in our souls."
Kizashi listened very attentively to Ordyntsev's story.
"There are special healers who can find such problems, bring them to the surface, and then resolve them after talking with the patient. For example, if you saw a lot of blood in your distant childhood for some reason. Perhaps Hideo-sama returned from a mission covered in blood. You remembered that scene, and years later, it hit you hard. The funny thing is that you might not even remember it."
"And what to do?"
"Unfortunately, healing emotional trauma is not my specialty," Stas shrugged. "So the first path is closed to us. However, there is also a second path, which I suggest you take."
Stas took a sip of water to moisten his throat. The green tea in the teapot was still something he disliked and ignored.
"The second path is based on the physical component of the fear of blood. Our bodies are quite complex and intelligent organisms that try to take care of themselves, sometimes even ignoring our own opinions. The body, seeing blood, thinks it belongs not to someone else, but to itself. To prevent the loss of valuable fluid, it switches to power-saving mode to reduce this loss. That's why a person faints and relaxes all muscles."
"Why then doesn't it consider the blood of animals to be my blood?" Kizashi protested. "Then it would not allow me to live at all!"
"I don't know for sure," Stas shrugged. "But maybe it's because the body makes its decision based on your thoughts as well. And here we come to what you need to do."
Ordyntsev bent one finger.
"First, I can advise you to tense up your large muscles. You need to train yourself to tense up as much as possible and then slowly relax when you see blood. Your body must remember this sequence of actions. Replace what you feel now with an analog that won't be as fatal. However, if successful, this path will only reduce the intensity of the problem, but not solve it."
"And what needs to be done to solve it?"
"Be warned," Ordyntsev sighed. "This method might only exacerbate your problem. It's frankly barbaric and contains a lot of assumptions. Honestly, I didn't want to tell you this, but..."
"Shiro-san," Kizashi interrupted Stas for the first time so abruptly. The lad's eyes were resolute. "If you can call yourself my friend, then tell me. I'm ready to do anything to become a full-fledged warmaster, not this... fake."
Kizashi smiled sadly, dropping his hands to his knees.
"Sitting at home like a coward, hearing endless taunts, not knowing what the future holds. That's not a life I can accept. If your method is dangerous, then... so be it. I'm ready."
"Alright, Kizashi. I respect your choice," Ordyntsev agreed. After all, the person sitting in front of him deserved the right to make decisions about his own life. "The second method to ultimately overcome your problem is based on the so-called concept of saturation. What do you feel when you see blood?"
"Dizziness, trembling hands, difficulty breathing, and nausea."
"I see. The essence of the method is that humans are very adaptive creatures by nature. We manage to get used to and survive even in the most squalid and inhumane conditions. You will have to see blood every day, a lot of blood. So much that your body, and you along with it, will have to treat it like water and nothing more."
Kizashi went a little pale and gulped hard. The images presented made a lump in his throat that he couldn't swallow.
"Every day, you'll force yourself to look at it. Each consequent day, you'll just increase the amount. Getting used to your own blood will also help. By making a small cut, for example, on your finger, you need to learn to control yourself. The problem is that these methods are very crude, and everything can end very sadly. I want you to understand the risks."
"Thank you, Shiro-san, for your help. I will never forget this," Kizashi bowed formally to Ordyntsev. "And..."
"What is this interesting thing you're discussing?" Kizashi's grandfather, who had entered, hadn't changed a bit over the past month.
"Grandfather!" the lad scrambled. Stas, squinting, looked into the eyes of the old warmaster and understood that he had heard everything. From beginning to end, yet for some reason, he chose not to reveal his presence, letting Ordyntsev finish.
"What 'grandfather'?" the old man grumbled. "I see how you're bothering Shiro-kun, not letting him eat in peace. I know what it's like after a mission to want to eat something that wasn't wriggling a few minutes ago. And what have you done useful today?"
"Alright, Shiro-san," Kizashi said nervously, smiling. "I suddenly have some business. When you're free, come see me; I'd like to show you the progress on our joint project." The alchemist didn't speak out loud about the pills, as there was no protection from eavesdropping at the moment.
A few seconds after the door closed behind Kizashi, nothing happened, and then Hideo exploded with a series of throws at Stas.
Instinctively, Ordyntsev dodged to the side, letting two of the closest projectiles pass by, and he deflected the third with his prana-charged hand.
Time, which had slowed down, returned to its normal pace, and the earthling, having rolled over onto his left side, looked warily at the old warmaster, who was smiling smugly.
Leviathan, resting in the corner, quietly prepared to strike. Master Jun's training had affected her, too. Childish naivety, love, and playfulness hadn't gone anywhere, but a bit more responsibility and seriousness had been added to them.
Leviathan had been deeply frightened by the dangers that had befallen her master. Therefore, the snake had concluded that if she wanted to protect her beloved master, she had to become stronger.
So while Stas, along with Mei and Eiji, roamed the forests, Levi had her own safari hunting local magical beasts, which she then devoured. And her menu included monsters much larger than her.
By the end of the month, the local wildlife was literally terrified of any white color.
"Not bad. Not excellent, because you could have caught the projectiles and sent them back to me, and not good, because you still don't have a weapon in your hands, but not bad," the old man commented ambiguously. "As I see, that young fellow Jun did more than just swig alcohol with you in that forest."
Stas found one of the "projectiles" and was surprised to realize that it was just a small piece of wood. And remembering the speed of the throw, the old man clearly hadn't put much effort into it.
"Do you know our master?" Stas asked with interest, signaling Leviathan to relax. After all, he wouldn't mind learning more about his sensei. Jun loved to talk, but he told suspiciously little about himself.
"Would I not know that rascal?" the old man snorted, making Stas freeze. It was hard to associate that mountain of muscle with "rascal." "Just so you know, when Ishiro passed away, and Goro-sama took on the responsibility of caring for his bastards, I helped them out initially. They were of different ages and so unlike each other."
The elderly warmaster smiled warmly.
"Ah, little Miyako. She almost never left Jun's side, even wanted to be on the same team, but it didn't work out. And he was always dreaming of his battles. When I closed my eyes, I saw in his place a young version of my deceased friend. The same passion for battle and the same terrible character. But if Ishiro was born, albeit in a side branch, as a full-fledged clan member, his offspring were only bastards..."
Stas nodded understandingly – these children had to swallow whole spoonfuls of dirt and humiliation from childhood. The local caste society did not forgive such flaws. Though was it any different on Earth in the past?
"But what am I, getting lost in memories," Hideo returned to the real world and slapped himself on the forehead. "Ah, being old is no joy. Believe it or not, I never thought I'd live to such years. Before long, I'll die of old age, and Ishiro will laugh at me in the afterlife."
Stas politely smiled at such dark humor.
"Sometimes I even think it's a pity I didn't die young in the prime of life... But I didn't come to visit you to discuss that," Hideo shifted the bag, which had been hanging behind him all this time, to his chest and, after rummaging around in it, placed three richly decorated scrolls on the table. Each was in a lacquered tube.
"Here are three healing techniques that I would like you to read, memorize, and return in three days."
The old man closed his eyes for a second, gathering his thoughts.
"I heard what you told my grandson. And even though it's dangerous, I'm glad he's ready to do anything to be cured. I also heard about your successes in healing. Of course, your reserve is still tiny, but even with it, you're quite successful, aren't you? And the last test showed that if necessary, you'll be able to stand up for the clan's secrets. I couldn't give these teachings to an ordinary civilian, you understand."
In the elderly warmaster's voice, there was a slight note of apology.
"It's okay, I understand," Stas hurried to respond. "And I am very proud to have earned your trust."
"Nonsense," the old man waved it off. "Now, I'll explain to you the principles of the techniques I've offered you. Then, you'll consolidate them by reading the scrolls. I tried to pick for you techniques that are simple to learn and not very energy-consuming. Nevertheless, even so, the last one requires more prana than you currently have."