The three of them were in a deadlock, with Gonten’s sword against the boy’s neck, and Taral’s sword against Inaki’s neck. Inaki didn’t know how to break the deadlock, or how long they would be sitting there.

Then he felt the cold steel against his body, his knife, that he still had under his robes. Taral was still standing there, his eyes moving from Inaki to his young son, back to Inaki.

“The sword has given us so much hasn’t it,” Taral said, looking down at Inaki. “It has given us fame, it has given us opportunities, it has given us pride, and most importantly, the sword has given us meaning.”

“Stop rambling,” Inaki said. He was waiting, his palms—still dripping blood—at his sides, for the perfect moment when he could pull out the knife from under his robes, and stab Taral.

“But it has taken so much from us,” Taral said, ignoring Inaki. “Look at yourself. You are only nineteen. This sword has stolen your childhood. Once you come to be my age, if you go on this path, the sword will steal not only your childhood, your friends, your family, your humanity. It has taken this all from me. It has taken reaching the pinnacle of this art, to realize that I must leave it behind.”

“You couldn’t kill me or my brother,” Inaki said. “How can you call yourself the pinnacle of the sword?” Inaki spit to the side, and looked up defiantly into his eyes.

“It is not that I couldn’t. It is only that I didn’t. If I wanted to I could. Now, let go of my son,” Taral said calmly, looking at Gonten. “I have no intention of killing you or your brother. Again, if I wanted to, I already would’ve.” Taral had lost his composure a few seconds ago, when he had just seen his son captured, but now, he looked calm, like he was in control.

“I am not sure if you heard me,” Taral said. “I said, let him go.”

Inaki looked behind and saw that Gonten slipped for a moment, that moment was enough for the boy to bite him in the arm, and free himself. He began running towards Inaki.

Inaki had just that moment, he quickly reached into his robes, biting his lip against the pain of grasping the handle of the knife, he first stabbed Taral in the wrist—he dropped his sword over Inaki’s shoulders—then Inaki retrieved his knife, spun as he stood and stabbed him in the elbow, then retrieved his knife and stabbed the man in his right shoulder, rendering the arm useless.

Inaki then retrieved his knife once again and stabbed the man in the left shoulder, he retrieved his knife again, and just as he was about to stab the man in the neck, he yelled.

“Stop,” Taral yelled, Inaki felt this man’s power. He felt like he was a child again, and being ordered by his mother. He felt compelled to listen, as if this man had authority over him.

That was only enough for him to stagger for a second, but it was enough. Inaki felt something heavy ram into the back of his head, instinctually he turned, raising his knife like a sword he blindly stabbed behind him, hitting the boy in the shoulder.

“My son,” Taral screamed, trying to move his hands in vain. It was useless, his arms were dead weights, the boy, clutching his bleeding shoulder ran at his grandfather, who with his left arm tried to hold the boy in vain.

Inaki stepped forward and put his hand on Taral’s collar.

“Please,” Taral said. “Let me and my son go. We will never show our faces ever again.” There wasn't fear in his eyes, there was only disappointment. Was he testing Inaki to see what choice he would make?

Inaki had killed so many that night. Nine, or ten by Inaki’s count, but he couldn’t be sure. He shouldn’t hesitate to kill this man in front of him. The whole reason he killed all those men before.

He looked at the eight year old boy, then he looked at Taral. Inaki raised his knife to kill the man, but his hand wouldn’t move. Taral had shown Inaki pity. Inaki knew that Taral could’ve killed him at any point in their duel, but chose not to, for some vain reason only a Sage could know.

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“Hopefully, you are the only Sage who turned stupid after ascension.”

“I haven’t turned stupid. I just wanted to give you a chance, and you hesitated,” Taral said. Inaki stepped forward and rammed his knife towards Taral’s neck. Taral pulled himself free off Inaki’s grip before the knife could touch his neck.

Taral stood up from where he was sitting and kicked Inaki in the chin. He fell back, hitting the ground. Taral stepped forward and said, “I will give you another chance, because you are like me. I hope you live long enough to come to the realizations I have. The fact that you hesitated, means you still deserve a chance.”

Inaki couldn’t move. He wanted to stand up and finish the job, but he couldn't even move his fingers and toes. Instead, Taral walked away with his son in tow, leaving Inaki there on the ground.

Inaki’s eyes shut as Gonten arrived, slapping Inaki on his cheek to make him move. The last thing Inaki felt was a sense of suffocation at not being able to move.

When Inaki came to his senses he found himself lying on a bed in the monastery, Gonten was standing there with his arm bandaged, and Takehito was also sitting next to him.

“So,” Takehito said. “How was your revenge?”

“I lost,” Inaki said. “I lost again.”

“No,” Takehito said. “You defeated a Diamond, Taral became a Sage in the middle of your fight for Okan’s sake.”

“But where is he now,” Inaki asked, trying to raise his head. But it was in vain, he couldn’t move.

“While you were wounded pretty badly all around,” Takehito said. “Your worst wound was on the back of your head. Nearly shattered your skull. How you were standing after that we will never know.”

“You didn’t answer me,” Inaki said. “Where’s Taral.”

“Oh, he’s gone off on his Sage’s pilgrimage, he left a message for you,” Takehito said. Takehito picked up the letter and began reading, “Inaki-son-Hassai of the Tomoka clan. By the time you receive this letter, I will have gone on my pilgrimage. I will let you know that I have instructed my son Itto not to attack you while you are recovering in Yaroka. I have also instructed my guards not to attack you, of course unless you attack first. You asked me why I spared you, it is because I realized that if I had not been given chances as a young man, I wouldn’t have grown enough to become a Sage. I realize that Shinra is safe with Okan, and everyone else you and I have killed. Just as I told you before, I pray you grow old enough to learn the lesson as I have, and I hope you give up the sword.

“And before I conclude this letter, I must thank you and your brother Gonten, for helping me ascend to Sage.”

“What,” Inaki said. “Why is he going on about giving up the sword?”

“You should listen to him, you know,” Takehito said. “Afterall he is a Sage.”

“What happens when you become a Sage,” Inaki asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” Takehito said. “Sage’s are very secretive about all of this.”

Inaki once again tried to raise himself to a seated position on his bed, but he couldn’t move. He tried and tried, but his body wouldn’t listen.

“Why can’t I move,” Inaki said. He furiously tried to move his toes, his fingers, his hand, his head. His entire body burned in pain, and the pain was like a ripple from the back of his head.

He hadn’t been slain like this in a fight with a Sage, no, an eight year old had done this. An eight year old had hit Inaki in the back of the head with the sword, and now he was like this. A stump.

“Your head injury,” Takehito said. “It’s going to take you a few days to be able to move again.”

The monk that had treated him in the Yaroka training hall walked into the room. He had some ointments in his hand and began rubbing them into Inaki’s wounds.

“Should I tell him,” The monk said, looking at Takehito.

“Go on,” Takehito said. “No use keeping it a secret.”

“What,” Inaki said, getting more and more afraid of his situation.

“Even if you recover your ability to move properly,” The monk said. “Which is still unlikely, you will never be able to be a swordsman.”

“What,” Inaki said, still straining his mind to move a muscle. He rejoiced, that he could at least talk and blink, twitch his toes and fingers only slightly, but that was it.

“Once you pick up the sword again,” the monk said. “You won’t have the amount of control, and precision that you once had. You would be starting from the bottom, with no talent.”

“But how is that possible,” Inaki said. “I fought against a Diamond and won, and now you’re saying an injury given to me by a child is going to end it all.”

“I am afraid so,” The monk said, turning Inaki onto his side to rub ointment into the wounds on his back.

Inaki just laid there, trying to hold in the tears.