Inaki stood in the painting room. He had put all the tools he needed ready and now stood with the paintbrush in his hands. His master would be there in a few hours.

It had been three or four days since Inaki’s defeat, and three or four days since Inaki had even touched his sword. On the first day of not having touched his sword, Inaki had ended up walking through Tomoka, not knowing what to do whatsoever. He had walked into taverns, and drank cheap ale until he needed the barman to walk him back to the Tomoka castle.

On the second day of him not even touching the sword, Inaki had had a horrible, horrible hangover. The first time that Inaki had felt a hangover in his life. He did not like it whatsoever. For most of the morning, Inaki was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about nothing. He wanted to go outside and do something, but he couldn’t find the motivation to get out of bed. In the afternoon, when he did get out of bed, he found that all the breakfast was over, so he left the house and ended up gorging on whatever he could find in the inn closest to the castle. He spent the rest of the day sleeping.

On the third day of him not even touching his sword, Inaki found himself once again, aimlessly roaming around Tomoka, but that day, he didn’t even find the motivation to drink, because he did not want the hangover. He found himself walking into the Tomoka temple, and just watching the students train. Coincidentally, he had walked in when the Silvers and Golds were training. At first the sword masters had tried to pressure Inaki into training with them, but Inaki declined profusely, and just sat there and watched them train. Inaki knew that at this point they just wanted confirmation. Watching them train was enough for Inaki to want to go and drown himself in alcohol. That night he ended up having a lot of whiskey, and that night the barman and a server had to physically carry Inaki home.

Inaki had been so hungover that morning, that he didn't know if he had slept through the entire day, which is why he didn’t know if it had been three or four days since he hadn’t touched the sword.

Now Inaki found himself standing in front of the canvas, wanting to draw something, just so he could feel like he wasn’t wasting away his life. But he had no idea what to draw. Before he had at least some image in his mind of what he wanted to draw, but now when he stood in front of the canvas he was completely blank.

So he walked out of the room and decided that he would paint the first thing he saw in the hall. The first thing he saw was Takehito.

“Oh hello,” Takehito said. “Your painting teacher won’t be coming today, he’s a bit under the weather.”

“You know how to paint too?” Inaki said.

“Okan’s bloody truths no,” Takehito said. “I’m just here to give you company while you draw, and also serve as a model for you to draw.”

“Fine,” Inaki said. “Come on in.”

The two of them walked into the room and Inaki stood in front of the canvas. Takehito went and stood near the window and began posing.

“How is this,” Takehito said, standing straight with one palm at his chest as if he were joining his hands, and the other one in the air with two fingers open and the rest closed, above his head.

“I don’t know how to draw that pose,” Inaki said.

“Then learn,” Takehito said.

“Fine,” Inaki said.

Inaki walked around the room with his palette, picking out paints that he would need to paint Takehito. Inaki then stood in front of the canvas, and began drawing. He focused on Takehito and tried to replicate him as best as he could on the canvas. He first made a sketch of him with pencil. It was extremely jagged but that was fine for now. Inaki then took a sip of tea which he had kept on a table at the side, and continued sketching the man.

“I’ve heard that you’ve been drowning yourself in alcohol,” Takehito said.

“Yes,” Inaki said. “Passes the days quicker.”

“Is that what you want to do?” Takehito said.

“I don’t know,” Inaki said, still sketching. “It just seems easier right now for me to just pass the time.”

“I didn’t know a swordsman like you would ever take the easy way out.”

“You’re the one who told me to take a break from the sword,” Inaki said. “What is the hard way out?”

“Looking for a purpose that makes you want each day to last as long as possible,” Takehito. “There is a saying outside the province. Tora Rera, it doesn’t have a direct translation in our tongue. It means that time is not something that should be allowed to just pass, each moment, every hour, every minute, every second must be cherished, because it is only after having passed it all that you realize its value.”

“Tora Rera. Those people from outside the province sure don’t like saying words,” Inaki said. He finished the sketch and began outlining in black ink. “You still haven’t told me how to find my purpose.”

“Live,” Takehito said, he began trembling in his position.

“Hold still,” Inaki said.

“Sorry this pose is a bit tiring,” Takehito said, shaking more.

“Should’ve picked an easier pose then,” Inaki said. “I don’t know what you mean by live. I am living every day. I still don’t know my purpose.”

“Then you’ve not lived enough. Live long enough and you’ll find your purpose,” Takehito said.

Inaki soon finished the outline and began the actual coloring of the painting.

“So what should I do now,” Inaki said.

“Paint, make some friends, meet a woman, don’t spend your entire life on one thing,” Takehito said.

“Don’t talk for some time, I need to get this right,” Inaki said. For the next hour straight the two of them did not speak. Inaki stared at Takehito, trying to get the shadows and the lighting and other minute details.

By the time Inaki was done, he was extremely tired. His right arm felt like he had been in a sword fight, and his eyes were strained.

Inaki stepped back, and stared at the entire painting, and it was horrible. He couldn’t even paint inside the lines properly. His lines were all jagged, and the colors were not blending properly.

“Wow,” Takehito said. “It's amazing. Looks better than my reflection.”

“I don’t need you to pacify me,” Inaki said.

“I’m not, it looks like I’m staring at my reflection in a lake. Can I take it?” Takehito said.

“Yes,” Inaki said.

“Here is the worth of it,” Takehito said, checking his pocket. He pulled out a bag of coins and handed it to Inaki.

“I don’t need money,” Inaki said.

“Just need to tell you how much it is worth to me,” Takehito said, smiling.

Before Inaki could say anything more, Takehito left the room, leaving Inaki with a bunch of money. Hassai hadn’t yet cut Inaki off, so he didn’t need any money. Regardless, Inaki went to his room and hid the bag of money behind his bed. He then left home with the allowance Hassai had given him ready to drink himself till he didn’t remember the last month.

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When he left the castle, he found himself gravitating towards the temple, where the Wooden Swordsman would be training—people the same age as Inaki, though who had just gotten their sword with unadorned hilts. Inaki wanted to walk in, but he had no idea what that would achieve. Was it just a last effort to be somewhere around the sword.

He tried to walk past the temple without entering, but he couldn’t resist. He walked into the gates of the temple, and stood at the door, watching the novices.

They were horrible. They were practicing a kata, it was one of the Fundamental Five, the basic katas from which the other sword forms emerged like tributaries of a river. These wooden’s were so bad that Inaki wanted to go and teach them how to do it. It took Inaki a second to remember, that he would probably be worse than them.

He opened the door.

“Master Inaki, you’re here,” One of the masters said. “Are you going to do some training today?”

“No, I’ve just come to watch on behalf of the Sage.”

Watching them train, Inaki realized two things. One, that these novices were horrible. They weren’t in-sync, so they looked even more horrible than they were to watch. The sword master there tried his best to help the students, but they would need time. Inaki wanted to take some people’s swords away and stab them in the stomach.

The second thing that Inaki realized was that he had become worse than these novices. Way worse.

Once their practice was over, unlike when he was around the practicing Diamonds who only asked him about his fight against Boru—who was apparently quite well known amongst the upper echelon of swordspeople—and his fight against Taral. Inaki told them the real stories, and not the exaggerated ones that Gonten went around telling people.

He hadn’t told anyone about his injury, but it seemed apparent enough after his duel with Gero, so Inaki just didn’t say anything.

“Why don’t you duel us,” One of the Wooden swordsman said. “We could do it with wooden swords, and you could teach us.”

“I am a bit tired today,” Inaki said. “Maybe next time, now I’ve just come to watch you practice.”

“You could fight us to see how far we’ve come as swordsmen,” One of the other men said.

These twenty year old men began arguing amongst each other like five year olds over who was going to duel Inaki first.

“I am sorry, but I can’t duel you today,” Inaki said.

“I guess we knew it,” A man said. Just looking at the man with a sword in his hand told Inaki that this wasn’t a student who would spend a long time as a Wooden. “Inaki is nothing but the son of Hassai. He spun up a big story, and his father made sure that little bitch Taral let him live.”

Inaki clenched his fist and began grinding his teeth, but didn’t say anything, a childish accusation would do nothing to him.

“That’s why that Heoin loser who probably had to pay off the examiners to become an Iron was able to beat him,” Another man said.

They all began laughing at Inaki.

“Don’t forget that you are talking to a Diamond,” Inaki said. “You don’t buy your way into Diamond.”

“Then why don’t you prove yourself, come on, coach some of us and maybe we’ll see.”

“Fight me first,” The man who seemed to like he wouldn’t remain a Wooden for long said.

Inaki didn’t say anything. He walked to one of the walls of the training hall of the temple and picked up two wooden swords. He tossed one to the man and held the other in his hands.

“Can’t come up with anything,” The man said.

“I’m not one for banter,” Inaki said. “What is your name?”

“My name is Shin-son-Val,” the man said. “And I am going to become the Sage of the Tomoka clan through pure merit, unlike you.”

Inaki did not speak. Instead he raised his sword in the Bullstance.

“Trembling in fear are we,” Shin said.

Inaki tried to control his tremors. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there poised, ready to fight. Shin rushed at him. Shin slashed at Inaki. It was a sloppy, telegraphed slash, and Inaki should have been able to see it, but he was too slow, both mentally and physically. Inaki just barely sidestepped the slash.

He raised his sword in a sideways arc towards the man’s arms, his slash went wild, going above his head without him even having to dodge. Inaki had somehow lost his instincts, and was somehow both mentally and physically at the bottom.

Shin raised his sword and feinted a slash at Inaki’s neck. Inaki tried to dodge the feint, but fell right into a kick to the knee. Inaki tried his best to stay on his feet. He was holding up much better than he had against Gero, but that was because he was an Iron, now he was fighting a Wooden, with potential.

Inaki stepped back and slashed with his entire body, but the strike was poorly done, telegraphed seconds before he could do it. The man blocked it with ease and raised his sword to deliver a killing blow. Inaki tried to move his hands up to block the strike but it was worthless, the blow hit Inaki across his chest, and threw him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him.

Shin walked away, without saying a word.

“We knew it,” One of them said. “How much do you think Hassai paid that little bitch Taral to run away?”

“With how he fights, probably enough to buy you and your whole family,” The man said.

Inaki sat there. If he cried now, he would just be announcing to the world that not only was he physically weak now, he was emotionally and mentally weak.

Inaki got up as fast as he could, and around him the different Wooden swordsmen all came to challenge him, regardless of whether they knew what had happened to him.

Inaki fought a second duel, against some swordsman who he didn’t even bother asking his name because he was such a nameless man. A man who didn’t look like he would even go beyond Iron, whose last ancestor to go beyond Silver seemed to have more than one ‘great’ attached to ‘grandfather’.

Inaki lost the duel. He put up a better fight than he had against Shin, but that didn’t mean anything when he was losing abysmally.

He rose and fought against more and more of the students. He went through what seemed like each of the Wooden swordsmen there. All of them wanted to duel him regardless of how badly he lost to his previous opponent.

Every bout that Inaki fought he was becoming more and more shakier, his tremors increasing more and more. That meant that each fight Inaki was defeated earlier and earlier. He was beginning to get scared as if he was going to get a seizure.

His last opponent stepped forward. He was the only one who hadn’t yet challenged Inaki.

“You don’t want the glory,” Inaki said, covered in bruises barely standing on his feet. “Come on, you’re the only one left to get the win.”

Everyone else circled around the two of them seeing how Inaki would fight his last fight. The man stepped forward and raised his sword.

Inaki was barely standing, he was so shaky that he didn’t think that he could even raise his sword properly, but he still stepped forward.

“You don’t deserve the -son-Hassai in your name,” The man said. “You couldn’t fight anyone in the Yaroka castle, so your brother came to help you, then once he lost an arm, you offered Taral money, and an opportunity to run away. Then your elder brother decided to cover for you because he’s a good man. Your brother is actually a good swordsman unlike you.”

The man rushed at Inaki. Inaki raised his sword just barely blocking the first strike. He stepped forward and slashed upwards with all the force of his body. The strike went wide, the man stepped forward and slashed as if he was going to deliver the finishing blow, but still shaking and trembling, Inaki stepped back and blocked the strike.

Inaki stepped forward and slashed at the man. His hand was still trembling, he knew it was a horrible, telegraphed strike that a swordsman with a hilt adorned with anything would be able to see through and block. This man dodged it and blocked several other strikes, the few of them that did not go wide.

Inaki didn’t know what to do other than keep slashing. He lost his stance and began just slashing. He didn’t stop, he couldn’t stop, he if stopped his opponent would get an opening. A small opening was enough for him to be able to defeat Inaki, which is why Inaki couldn’t give him that.

Inaki felt slightly light headed as he slashed, but he didn’t stop. He found his grip loosening on his sword, and it dropped from his hand. The man hit Inaki in the shoulder, throwing him down to the ground, and Inaki hit his head on the ground.

Inaki woke up in the Tomoka castle. The monks were all attending to his wounds, bandaging him. Hassai was sitting there, simmering in rage.

“What in Okan’s name did you think you were doing,” Hassai said. “Going into the temple while the Wooden swordsmen were training, then accepting their challenges. If you had to fight, why did you have to fight all of them? You know you’re better than that.”

“I am sorry, father,” Inaki said.

“Don’t be sorry, son. I just want you alive. I don’t want you to kill yourself over the sword please,” Hassai said. Inaki saw a little wet in his eyes. Hassai looked away, trying to hide the fact that he had tears in his eyes.

“I valued the wrong things all my life,” Hassai said. “Please don’t leave me when I have learned things that really matter in this world.”

“What is it?” Inaki asked.

“Other people,” Hassai said. Inaki could see a tear glisten in Hassai’s eye, no matter how much he tried to hide it. That is why Hassai stepped out of the little infirmary, leaving Inaki lying in the bed, being served by the monks.

Inaki knew he couldn’t live this way, but he didn’t know how to live. He didn’t know what he had to do, what he had to live for. Sure he liked painting, but he didn’t want to live for the brush.

“If I can’t die a swordsman,” Inaki said. “Please kill me.”

Inaki melted back into the bed of melancholy and found himself wishing that he had never ever attacked Yaroka castle.

Was it worth it?

No. Inaki truly admitted it to himself.