The journey from Shizukana Falls to Rokatheryl wasn't easy. The rocky terrain stretched endlessly, the air thick with the scent of leaves and mud. Katsuo walked alongside his mentor, Taka, each step feeling heavier than the last. The weight of past battles cling to him like a shadow, a reminder of the failures he couldn’t leave behind.

“Taka,” Katsuo finally broke the silence, his voice wavering slightly.

“Do you think… the past ever really leaves us?”

Taka glanced at him, his usual smirk softened by a rare moment of sincerity.

“The past is always there,” he said.

“But it doesn’t have to control you. That’s the difference, Katsuo. You can carry it, or you can let it crush you.”

Katsuo’s eyes dropped to the ground, the memories of Akuma's Field still fresh in his mind. The ruins, the bloodshed, the silent aftermath—it haunted him.

“I can’t seem to forget the screams… the way everything just… stopped.”

“You won’t forget,” Taka replied, his tone firmer now.

“But you will learn. That’s why we’re here. You’re not just training to fight. You’re training to understand yourself.”

Katsuo nodded slowly, though uncertainty still lingered in his mind. As they walked, the path entered through an ancient forest, the towering trees standing over them. It was an old road, one that had seen countless travelers pass through, and yet it felt as though the forest held secrets too vast to comprehend. The occasional chirping of birds echoed above them, breaking the otherwise peaceful silence.

As they passed deeper into the woods, Katsuo's thoughts shifted to something that had been bothering him for a while. His training had been intense, pushing him to his limits, but there was something more he needed to know. He hesitated before speaking, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

“Taka,” he began, “you’ve mentioned the 8 Swordstyles of Musashi before. What are they exactly? You’ve shown me glimpses, but I don’t fully understand.”

Taka glanced over at him, his expression growing more serious.

“The 8 Swordstyles of Musashi aren’t just techniques, Katsuo. They’re philosophies. Each form teaches you not only about combat, but about yourself. Musashi didn’t just wield a sword—he lived by it. The path you’re walking isn’t about learning how to swing a blade. It’s about mastering your mind, your body, and your spirit.”

Katsuo furrowed his brow.

“But how does that work in battle? how do philosophies translate to swordsmanship?”

Taka stopped walking and turned to face him, eyes narrowing in thought.

“You’re thinking too literally. Look, I’ll break it down. The 1st Form, ‘The Way of the Blade,’ is where it all starts. It’s about mastering the fundamentals—your sword becomes an extension of your body. If you don’t understand the weight, balance, and flow of your sword, you’ll never master anything else.”

Katsuo absorbed the explanation, nodding slowly.

“So, the 1st Form is just the basics?”

“Not just the basics,’” Taka corrected, raising a finger for emphasis.

“The 1st Form is everything. Without it, nothing else matters"

"The 2nd Form, ‘Wind and Fire,’ builds on that foundation. It’s about speed and aggression—combining elemental techniques with fast, unpredictable strikes. You overwhelm your enemy before they even have time to react.”

Katsuo tilted his head, intrigued.

“What about the 3rd Form?”

“Ah, the 3rd Form,” Taka said with a grin.

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“That one’s called ‘The Dancing Leaves.’ It’s about adaptability, fluidity. You don’t just fight your opponent—you become them. You read their movements and use them against them. Like water, formless and ever-changing.”

Katsuo’s eyes widened as he listened. The forms weren’t just about technique—they seemed to encompass entire philosophies of life. He could feel the depth in Taka’s words, as though each form was teaching something far more significant than swordplay.

“So, every form teaches a different way to think about combat,” Katsuo mused.

“It’s like they’re all reflections of different parts of life.”

“Exactly,” Taka said, giving him a nod of approval.

“The 4th Form, ‘The Iron Mountain,’ is pure defense. It’s about standing your ground, no matter what’s coming at you. When you use this form, you become immovable, unbreakable. It’s not just about protecting yourself—it's about being the last thing standing when everything else falls.”

Katsuo couldn’t help but feel a growing excitement. The idea of becoming a fortress on the battlefield, a force that couldn’t be shaken, appealed to him.

“And the 5th?” he asked, eager to learn more.

Taka’s expression shifted, becoming more reverent.

“The 5th Form is ‘The Phantom Strike.’ Speed and precision. It’s for warriors who are fast enough to end battles before they even begin. Masters of this form can move faster than the eye can see, delivering deadly strikes that are almost impossible to anticipate.”

Katsuo’s heart raced at the thought. The forms weren’t just about skill—they were about mastery over oneself, over time, and over space.

“And the higher forms? What makes them so special?”

Taka’s voice dropped, taking on a more somber tone.

“The 6th Form, ‘The Silent Tempest,’ is where things start to change. It’s about control—pure, unrelenting control over the battlefield. Masters of this form don’t just fight—they command the entire space around them. Every movement is calculated, every strike precise.”

Katsuo’s breath caught as he asked,

“And the 7th?”

Taka hesitated for a moment before answering.

“The 7th Form is ‘Heaven’s Wrath.’ It channels the power of the heavens, allowing you to unleash devastating attacks. It’s said to be able to shatter the strongest defenses with a single blow.”

Katsuo felt a shiver run down his spine. He couldn’t imagine wielding such power.

“And the 8th?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Taka’s expression grew distant, almost wary.

“The 8th Form is ‘The Eternal Void.’ It’s the most mysterious and dangerous of all the forms. It’s said to tap into the very essence of life and death itself. Masters of this form walk the line between the two, understanding the void that lies within all things.”

Katsuo felt a chill as Taka’s words sank in. The idea of mastering something that connected life and death was both exhilarating and terrifying.

“Do you think I could ever learn that?” he asked, his voice tinged with both hope and doubt.

Taka regarded him for a long moment before answering.

“That depends on your resolve, Katsuo. The path of Musashi demands everything—your strength, your will, your very soul. But if you’re willing to walk that path, I’ll guide you as far as I can.”

Katsuo remained silent as they continued their journey, his mind racing with thoughts of what he had just learned. The forms were more than just techniques—they were ways of life. They required not just physical strength but an understanding of one’s own inner world.

As they approached a clearing in the forest, Taka suddenly stopped and turned to Katsuo.

“Enough talking. It’s time to see how far you’ve come. Let’s train.”

Katsuo blinked, taken off guard.

“Here? Now?”

Taka nodded, drawing his sword.

“If you’re serious about mastering the 8 Swordstyles, then you need to learn that battle can come at any moment. The sooner you adapt to that, the better.”

Katsuo hesitated, then unsheathed his own sword, feeling its familiar weight in his hands. His muscles tensed in anticipation.

“Show me the 1st Form,” Taka ordered, his tone sharp.

“Start with ‘The Way of the Blade.’”

Katsuo took a deep breath and entered his stance, the sword feeling like an extension of his body as Taka had taught him. He moved fluidly, his strikes deliberate and precise. Taka watched him closely, his sharp eyes following every movement.

“Not bad,” Taka said, stepping forward.

“But you’re too rigid. You’re thinking too much about each strike. Stop thinking and let your body move.”

Katsuo nodded, adjusting his posture and loosening his grip. This time, he let his instincts take over, flowing through the movements with more ease.

“Good,” Taka said, circling him like a predator.

“Now, defend.”

Without warning, Taka lunged forward, his sword cutting through the air with blinding speed. Katsuo barely had time to react, raising his sword just in time to block the strike. The force of the impact sent a shockwave through his arms, but he held his ground.

“Try using the 4th Form—‘The Iron Mountain,’” Taka instructed, pressing forward with a series of powerful strikes.

“Defense isn’t about standing still. It’s about knowing when to move and when to hold firm.”

Katsuo gritted his teeth as he defended against Taka’s relentless attacks, his muscles straining with each blow. The lesson was clear—he had to learn to blend strength with resilience, to become an immovable force in the face of overwhelming pressure.

“Good!” Taka shouted, as he swung down with a final, crushing blow. Katsuo met the strike head-on, his sword holding steady against the weight of Taka’s attack.

The clearing fell silent for a moment, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the wind. Taka lowered his sword, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"You’re improving. But don’t get comfortable. The real training begins tomorrow.”

Katsuo exhaled, lowering his sword and feeling the sweat on his brow. The path of Musashi was harder than he’d ever imagined, but in that moment, standing in the quiet forest, he knew he was ready to face whatever came next.