Inaki woke up the next morning in his room. His sword had cut in deeper than he had thought. It was as if he had been punched in the gut, but that pain amplified a hundred times over. Everytime he moved a little bit, he thought that his intestines would pour out of the hole in his stomach. Inaki bit his lip so as not to yell from the pain.

“He will be fine,” The monk said to Hassai, who were both standing in front of Inaki’s bed. “But this little stunt will mean he will need to rest for the next few weeks.”

“How bad was it?” Hassai asked.

“He didn’t get in far enough to cause major internal damage, he did however cut through muscle, which will take a while to heal. Give him a lot of chicken and fish and he should make a full recovery.”

“Thank you monk,” Hassai said.

“One more thing, I think we should send him to the monks over in Torael, for I believe your son has the Emptiness.”

“The Emptiness,” Hassai said. “Nonsense. He is just going through a rough patch. He is not old enough to have the Emptiness.”

“People going through a rough patch don’t try to end themselves, lord,” the Monk said.

“You’ve healed his body, I’ll handle his mind,” Hassai said. “My son is a great recovering warrior, he will be fine.”

“It is your choice my lord,” The monk said. He left the room, leaving only Inaki and Hassai in Inaki’s large luxurious room.

“The monk has said strictly no liquor, or jumping into the Dreamspring during your recovery,” Hassai said.

Inaki didn’t say anything. There was nothing he could say.

“I am so sorry,” Hassai said. “I am so sorry for being such a bad father, that you had to try that.”

Inaki still stayed quiet. He was thinking of things to say, but they just wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Was there anything he could’ve said to his father after he got caught trying to kill himself?

“Please, just, come talk to me. Or you can go to your mother’s house, but please, just please don’t do something like this ever again,” Hassai said.

“I am sorry,” Inaki said, his voice soft and his eyes down.

“No you don’t have to be sorry, you are going through a difficult time, and I haven’t been there enough for you,” Hassai said. “This is all my fault. It's all my fault.”

”I won’t do it again,” Inaki said. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

“Thank you. Now, let me bring your canvas to you, I want you to make a portrait of me,” Hassai said.

Hassai brought Inaki some tea, his canvas and some paints, so that Inaki while in bed could make a portrait of Hassai. Inaki began the painting.

Hassai spent the next hour or so complaining every five minutes about having to sit in the same pose without moving. Inaki had to ask Hassai several times not to move while he was making the painting. But once he was done, Hassai stepped beside him.

Inaki did not like how the painting looked. He despised it. When Hassai came and stood next to Inaki to see the painting, he flinched as Hassai moved his hand forward. He had moved his hand forward just to pick up the painting.

“What happened,” Hassai asked.

“Just a little pain in my stomach,” Inaki lied.

“Well, this is a really good painting. I think that I am going to have this framed in my quarters,” Hassai said.

“I know it’s not good, you don’t have to try and console me,” Inaki said.

“Console you, this is an amazing painting. Years later people will enter my room and say, ‘The great swordsman-artist, Inaki-son-Hassai Tomoka, began his journey with a painting of his own father,’” Hassai said.

“Thank you,” Inaki said. After making sure Inaki was okay, keeping the paints and easel back in place, Hassai left the room with the painting in his hand, leaving Inaki alone.

Sitting up in bed covered in a blanket with cool air coming in through the windows, Inaki looked at himself in the mirror, and he couldn’t recognize the man he saw. He didn’t know what to do with his life anymore. Drinking, the Dreamspring, and the sword all seemed off the table at that moment, leaving Inaki with nothing to do whatsoever.

Inaki spent the rest of the day, lying in bed, listening to the voice in his head constantly berating him. Because he deserved it. He felt like a coward, he had nearly taken the easier way out, instead of living his life like a true swordsman, he had tried to die.

As if I am even a swordsman now. He thought.

The next few months passed mundanely like this. Inaki had been cut off from drinking, and his medicines he was taking for his gut wound to heal meant that he couldn’t go in the Dreamspring.

So Inaki spent his days doing absolutely nothing. He began reading books, stories not about great swordsmen or weapon masters of the past, but books written for the masses, about heroes who slayed the evil dragons, or stories where the heroes and the dragons worked together to save the world. The authors couldn’t seem to make up their mind whether they thought that the dragons were good or evil. Reading and painting became the only two things in Inaki’s life. But Inaki didn’t do these things because he wanted to, only because he wanted to pass the time.

Inaki had stopped living, he now only passed time.

Hassai had told him he just needed to wait to recover. Once he recovered enough, his life would go back to normal, and he would once again become a Diamond at just twenty-one or twenty-two.

With the meager hope that time would give him recovery, Inaki continued barely living. While the wound on his stomach was recovering—about a month long—Inaki spent his days painting, and reading. Once Inaki’s stomach wound had recovered, Ianki spent most of his days sneaking out, and drinking unbeknownst to Hassai. Though Inaki had stopped drinking until he blacked out, he needed to be sober enough to sneak back into the castle. The great prodigy Inaki had come down to stealing money from his family.

The days that he couldn’t sneak out of the castle, or couldn’t sneak any money away, he spent his days in the Dreamspring once again. Inaki found it much easier to live in a world where he was still the brilliant swordsman he used to be.

This way, months passed, and it was just about less than a year since Inaki’s injury at Yaroka. Inaki felt ready.

If nearly a whole year wasn’t enough for his recovery, then he would never recover. Inaki stood in the training hall with Hassai. Inaki was extremely nervous. This was the last hope that Inaki had left. Unless he did well now, that meant in his heart that he would never recover.

“Inaki, don’t worry, you will definitely be very rusty now, you don’t have to be like you used to be a year ago, just need to be better than you were after your injury,” Hassai said.

In the year’s worth of recovery, Inaki’s tremors had reduced. He didn’t really need to drink Takehito’s tea anymore. That gave Inaki a lot of hope, but he knew that even without his tremors, he had still lost all of his skill.

It was a cold winter evening, when Inaki had been able to convince his father to let him begin his training once again. Gonten was still in Gael, or somewhere else—he hadn’t written to them in a few months—and the only two people in the Tomoka training room were Inaki and Hassai. Through the open doors of the garden, winds blew in, trying their best to calm Inaki, but he was shaking in anxiety. As Inaki held the sword for the first time in many months, he shook. All sounds around him began becoming louder. The chirping of birds, the buzzing of crickets, drops of condensation on the leaves dropping into the Dreamspring. Every sound was amplified a million times until Hassai opened his mouth and brought Inaki back to his senses. He swallowed back the bile that had entered his mouth.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Let us see how much you’ve recovered, give me the First of the Fundamental Five,” Hassai said.

Inaki stood, the wooden sword in his hand trembling—not because of his tremor, but his anxiety. What if there is no improvement?

As he held the sword in his hand, he could tell that it still wasn’t like it used to be. Inaki raised his sword, his heart, soul, and sanity vested in a single hope that his time of recovery has made it possible for him to finally come back to the sword.

As he began the movement, he felt horrible. The First of the Fundamental Five was about moving while holding a sword, not any actual attacks, since the First Kata was more about getting a rookie in the habit of feeling the sword as one of their own limbs. But Inaki was still failing the movement. He was sluggish, and even though he wasn’t shaking, he had lost all of his dexterity. He stepped forward, but his leg slipped, and he fell.

Inaki hit the ground, and stared up at the ceiling, his vision doubled, and he began seeing spots. Inaki forced his eyes shut, and waited. His head was already spinning.

“Are you okay?” Hassai asked, stepping forward. When Inaki opened his eyes, Hassai was standing over him, offering him a hand to get up.

Inaki stood up, holding the sword in his hand. The repetitive nature of his failure hurt Inaki.

“It’s fine, now give me the Second Kata,” Hassai said.

Inaki and Hassai then went through the rest of the Fundamental Five katas, and one by one, Inaki failed all of them. He fell, tripped and went through the katas with absolutely no grace. Each of the Five Katas focused on different parts of being a swordsman. Movement, strength, speed, dexterity, and endurance. Inaki failed all five. If Inaki couldn't do the Fundamental Five properly, then he wouldn't be able to do anything else as a swordsman.

His strength had atrophied, his dexterity was gone, if this was all due to the loss of practice, then Inaki wouldn’t have been this bad. He would have at least been as good as he was when he was seven years old—or if Gonten was to be believed, two and a half.

“I guess we have to go back to your basics in training,” Hassai said.

Inaki was silent. He sat on the floor of the training hall, his face buried in his knees. His tears were a raging river banging against a dam with cracks, but he held back. The only reason that he had lived for the past few months was because all he needed to do was bide his time, and recover.

It had been nearly a year since his accident. Nearly a year. Inaki would soon turn twenty-one years old and instead of becoming a greater swordsman, he had devolved.

Inaki remembered the times he would walk through the city and look down on everyone. He looked down on the gardeners, cleaners, everyone who he had deemed unwanted by the world.

Inaki was now one of those people. Now instead of looking down on all of those people, he was among them, looking up at those wanted by the world, trying to convince themselves that their life is worth living everyday.

“I’m feeling tired,” Inaki said, standing up.

“Okay, we can resume your training from tomorrow,” Hassai said. “Do you want me to walk you to your room?”

“No thanks,” Inaki said.

“Okay,” Hassai said.

Inaki walked back to his room, which was quite a long walk away from the training hall. All around him he could see the bustling of the Tomoka main-family. Eyes all moved to watch Inaki as he walked through the halls and corridors, and stairwells, his slouching back, resigned eyes, and lack of sword in hand told everyone what they needed to know.

The Prodigy, whose grave had been set a year ago, had been buried. Inaki had no hope left in his heart anymore. There was no longer any biding his time, there was no longer a chance at recovery.

All this, and it wasn’t even Taral who ruined my life, it was his eight year old son, Inaki thought. Sometimes, Inaki had spent nights thinking of revenge. Taral Yaroka had run away, giving up the sword, and his title of Sage. Just after Inaki’s raid on the castle. Some people said it was because Inaki nearly defeated him, others say it was out of shame from his actions in Tomoka. Inaki didn’t know the real reason.

Inaki had thought of looking for the man and his children and burning down his house. But so far, Taral was probably living a humble life, since no one had heard of where he was. He had probably even changed his name.

Every night when that thought had entered Inaki’s mind, Inaki always came to the same conclusion. What had led Inaki to his current fate was trying to get revenge on Taral for his honor. Inaki walked into his room, and climbed into his luxurious bed. Along the way he had stopped throwing his paintings into the fountains, so he was surrounded by his own mediocrity in the form of those paintings. In the months his paintings had gone from bad to mediocre. Though he definitely didn’t have enough skill to make it as a painter. In fact in the Painter’s Clans, the level of skill Inaki was at now, was expected from seven and eight year olds.

Inaki closed his eyes, and saw the old him, the man he used to be looking down at him. He felt what Gonten had probably felt, when he wasn’t doing so well. Maybe becoming a gardener isn’t so bad.

“You are a living disappointment to our father,” The old Inaki said.

“I know,” the current Inaki said.

“You just being here, living this life of luxury, living with Hassai, you bring such shame to the Tomoka family,” The old Inaki said.

“I know.”

“Why don’t you leave, go away, exile yourself until you become worthy of this life,” the old Inaki said.

“Because, I—”

“You fear you will never be worthy.”

“Yes.”

“What the hell happened to you? How about this, you stop being a walking embarrassment to our father, and you leave. Now Gonten is there to not be a disappointment to our father.”

“But he never says anything.”

“Because he loves us too much. You know too, that deep inside he is embarrassed to be your father.”

“No he isn’t.”

“You can argue with yourself all day, it doesn’t change the facts.”

Inaki opened his eyes. The voice of the man that Inaki used to be continued reverberating in his head. Inaki tried his best to ignore it, but he couldn’t. Inaki jumped out of bed and began packing his bags. All he needed was a few sets of clothes. What was left of the money Takehito had given him for his portrait of him, and a practice sword—no, he didn’t need a sword. He did carry his long knife, purely to defend himself.

He quickly threw all of these in a bag, carrying with him a few canvases, a few of his brushes, and sorting all the buckets of paint into smaller containers that he could carry.

Could I live off selling paintings?

If not paintings, Inaki could find some way to make enough to eat. With his little bag on his back, he exited his room, and began walking out of the Tomoka castle.

“Where are you going?” A Tomoka cousin who Inaki didn’t even remember the name of said.

“Just to visit mother,” Inaki lied. He really hadn’t visited his mother since she had left the castle, so maybe Inaki could stop by there, but Ivanta probably did not want to see him, she hadn't ever reached out since she left. When Inaki had found out the truth about why his mother had left, his view of his father had changed, but it was easy to reconcile with, since he was such a different person to how Hassai had described himself in the past.

Inaki left the Tomoka castle and walked through the streets of the city.

His mother's house was at the corner of the city, the complete opposite side of the castle. Hassai sent Ivanta and her family enough money for them to live luxuriously.

Ivanta’s house was a large mansion, two stories high, it took up about the size of five regular houses.

Inaki walked up to the gates of the house. He looked up and saw her mother staring into the distance, not noticing Inaki standing at the gate

“Who are you,” the guard asked.

“Inaki, I am here to meet my mother,” Inaki said.

“Wait,” the guard said, he walked back in and spoke to another guard. The other guard walked into the house. Inaki had to wait for a few minutes. Inaki looked up and through a window and could see his mother talking to the guard.

The guard walked back and said, “The Lady is sleeping. Maybe you could meet her tomorrow.”

Inaki left disheartened. His mother never spoke to him anymore, didn’t tell him why she avoided him. Inaki had just accepted the fact that his mother did not love him. Why would his mother love him? There wasn’t anything to love about Inaki.

He walked to the gate of the city, and as he was about to leave Tomoka, a guard stopped him.

“Hello sir, what are you doing out at this time,” The man said.

“Just going for a walk in the forest,” Inaki said.

“At this hour,” The guard asked.

“Is there a problem? I just want to see the nighttime forest, inspiration for some art,” Inaki said, pointing at the art supplies sticking out of his bag.

“No problem sir, just be a little careful, there are tigers out there,” the guard said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Inaki said, then walked out into the forest.

Now where do I go?

Leaving had been an impulse decision, but he did not have a plan whatsoever about where he was going to go. Maybe I can meet Takehito and Gonten in Gael.

But if he wanted to go to Gael, he would have to go through the port in Yaroka. They’ve probably forgotten about it by now, after all, the incident turned me into a joke. And Taral—the embarrassment who threw a fit after his son lost a duel—was probably even more hated in Tomoka than Inaki.

Inaki set off for Yaroka, ready to begin what he thought would be the next chapter of his sword-less life.