Inaki didn’t need to utter a single word through his mouth, and spoke through his sword. But his current swing was slightly sluggish since he had been training for hours already.
“Come on, more. If you get tired with just this, how are you supposed to impress the real me,” The version of Hassai that lived within Inaki’s head said.
Inaki didn’t say a word, but his father knew his response, an apology. Inaki stood back and stared at the dummy once again. Chopping through wood with a wooden blade. He knew that this was possible, he could still see the cut his father had made. He needed to prove himself to his father. But it was beginning to feel monotonous.
The sword went limp in Inaki’s hand. He had struggled everyday for more than twelve years to reach this point, and he could barely make jagged cuts through half the dummy.
Inaki considered that maybe he should just give up. Maybe he could live on, considering himself good because of all his other victories. But his mind just wouldn’t agree. Hassai’s voice within his mind wouldn’t agree. He needed to at least achieve the same things as his father. Going beyond him was not even a possibility.
Inaki took a few steps back, the wooden floorboards of the training hall creaked as Inaki stepped back. Inaki was in a state of utmost concentration. He could sense everything around him. He could hear the chirping of the birds in the garden. Buzzing bees, the sound of them even sucking nectar. He focused on all of these, and then dispelled them, feeding all that concentration at his target, and what he wanted. He wanted to split that target clean in half with a wooden sword, and he wanted a clean cut.
Just like his father.
Inaki ran at the dummy and swung, it hit the wooden dummy, cut through it a little bit, then just like his every attempt in the past year, it stopped. Inaki sat down, his hands aching. Blisters covered his hand as they always did, and his palms were bleeding slightly because of splinters. Luckily his wrist had completely recovered though.
Inaki heard footsteps entering the training hall, and instantly he changed. From heaving on the ground, he sat on his knees poised, his sword laid out in front of him elegantly, as if he had been meditating instead of lying there pathetically after another failed attempt.
It was mother.
“We have just got a letter,” Ivanta said. “Your father is returning soon.”
Inaki should’ve been happy about this news. He wanted to be happy so badly, but instead his eyes moved towards the dummy. He realized that there was so much progress left to be done before his father could be proud of him, before Inaki could live up to the name of Hassai. He felt a panic rising in his chest. His chest tightened up, and images from his time in the spring began flashing in front of his eyes. His father would reject him.
“This isn’t something to be happy about,” Mother said.
“I understand, I have very little time,” Inaki said.
“Good, you will soon have more duels, and by the time Hassai arrives, you should be the greatest duelist in the entire province.”
“Mother, for that taking on the swordsmen won’t be enough,” Inaki said.
“I have been discussing with the Spear sage of the Gael, I might send you there,” Mother said.
“Yes mother, you give me word of a duel, I will leave at once,” Inaki said.
“Good,” Ivanta said.
“Has father written for me, or is the letter only that he is coming back,” Inaki said, just before his mother left.
“No, there isn’t any message for you or anyone else for that matter, just an announcement that he will be back.”
With that Ivanta closed the door of the training room and left. The minute that he was once again alone in the room, Inaki rose up and ran to the door. He put down the latch and then began heaving.
No, it can’t be this soon, if father sees me this way, he will reject me. And this time I won’t wake up from the Dreamspring. What can I do, what can I do?
Inaki found himself on the ground clutching his chest. What was this weakness? He needed to rid himself of it. There was only one thing he could do. Inaki quickly ran out of the training hall.
He disrobed as fast as he could and leaped into the spring. No one knew how it had the properties it did, the Dreamspring just showed up here, and this is where the Tomoka built their castle. But this spring was vital in his training. But now, Inaki did not want it for training.
When the water first touched Inaki’s bare skin, it stung cold, but the second Inaki had fully immersed himself in the water, it began turning warm. Instead of being barely as deep as Inaki was tall, the spring expanded, becoming as big as an ocean. It swallowed Inaki whole, and the vision began forming.
Soon Inaki stood in front of his father once again. Soon, Inaki would be meeting the man who had been a figment of his imagination for so long, and it was overwhelming him. He didn’t know what to do. He just needed to talk.
“Raise your sword, and get ready,” Hassai said.
“I don’t want to spar, father,” Inaki croaked softly, looking at his feet.
“What?” Hassai screamed.
“I don’t want to fight,” Inaki said louder.
“You don’t want to fight, then why are you here?” Hassai said.
“I wanted to talk to you, soon I’ll be meeting the real you,” Inaki said.
“Then what will happen,” Hassai said, “You’ll forget me.”
“No, you and the real you are one and the same, aren’t you?” Inaki said.
“How do I know?”
“Please help me,” Inaki said, running at his imaginary father and catching him in an embrace. “I want the real you to love me. I desperately need to prove myself.”
Hassai kicked Inaki in the chest, throwing him to the ground. Inaki didn’t know what to do at that moment, so he just stared up at this image of his father, sprawled on his back.
“You’ve had so much time,” Hassai said. “You haven’t even been able to split the dummy. Your last fight you won but, but not quick enough. How am I expected to be proud of you?”
“Please, tell me how I can live up to your name,” Inaki said.
Inaki had been six years old when he had first picked up the sword for training. Six years old when he had first heard a story of his father. Inaki had been told by his brother that he had picked up a sword at two years old and swung it around, but Inaki found that hard to believe.
“Your father was a great man, but he was strict, and was not afraid to call a dull blade dull. He once went to battle against the Gael Spear-sage when he was just a Diamond and single handedly defeated half his army, before killing the Spear-Sage.” Mother said. Before Inaki could’ve realized, the vision had changed, and he was sitting there, a six year old, the first time hearing a story about his father. It had been like a treasure, that he hid within himself, never to forget. He latched onto everything that his mother told him about his father. A year later, Mother deemed Inaki suitable to read his father’s writings. In that he found the knowledge of the Tigerstance, the Bullstance, and the various animal stances that he refined before even entering his thirties.
Inaki remembered being awed by the man.
“Come on, if you’re that weak, your father won’t even look at you when he comes back,” Ivanta said as Inaki swung his sword. Inaki remembered training all day. He swung his sword desperately, but every stroke of the blade only led to the next. Ivanta always stood with another trainer there, and her expression was always distant. A mixture of anger and disappointment and hate. Inaki hadn’t known why his mother treated him thus, but he realized soon enough it was because he was weak.
Inaki had won his first duel when he was eight years old. It was against a fourteen year old boy from one of the off-shoot Tomoka families. Inaki remembered walking to his mother.
“You were so sloppy. You had the opportunity to finish him earlier,” Mother said. “If your father was here he wouldn’t even speak to you.”
Inaki remembered, he was ten years old when he first heard his father’s voice. He was in the training room. He hadn’t slept in days, he had a duel against a sixteen year old coming up, and he needed to train as hard as he could for it.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
In his horrible sleep deprived state, the spring gave him respite, giving him hours worth of sleep in a minute. He dove in the spring on his own, and found himself, a ten year old standing in front of his father.
He was once again the nineteen year old Inaki. His father stood looking down on him. Just like his mother looked down on him.
“I am sorry,” Were the only words Inaki could say. “I wish I could do better.”
“If wishes made reality there would be no need for the sword,” Hassai said. “Swordsmen use the sword to carve out our desires. Hassai got down on one knee and looked Inaki in the eye and said, “Us swordsmen cannot afford to be average. We fight to defend our people, which is why we must be the best. The best-won battle is the one that never occurs, and only the strongest can inspire such fear to never be challenged. You know that, which is why I push you, that’s why your mother pushes you.”
The gentleness from Hassai shocked Inaki. Just as Inaki thought of that, Hassai spit on him and said, “But I don’t think I’ve pushed you hard enough. Waste of my blood, waste of your talent. Now leave, I have nothing to talk to you about. You have run out of time to become a great swordsman.”
Inaki raised his head above the spring water. He took several deep breaths and focused himself. He needed to become great in the time it took for his father to come home.
Father became great by taking on the Spear-Sage as a silver swordsman. Maybe that’s what I need to do. I need to challenge someone strong. Become great that way.
But for that, Inaki needed a steel blade. Inaki dressed in his robes, put his favorite practice sword in a sheathe at his waist and began walking to the Tomoka temple. He would force them to give him his swordsman's ceremony one year early, and they would oblige. Afterall, Inaki thought, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword, I can make them oblige. Inaki drew his sword and in the same motion lashed out, cutting through a twig with his wooden sword. The cut was perfect and clean.
His first major achievement while learning to cut wood with wood.
----------------------------------------
Gonten followed the monk through the streets of the village, “Who are you?”
“Just a monk, a gardener at the monastery,” The monk said.
“I meant your name,” Gonten said.
“Oh my name, it’s Takehito-son-Ganryu of the Koji clan.” The monk said. Gonten felt like he had heard that name somewhere, but couldn’t place it.
“Well, why do you want me to come to the monastery,” Gonten said, pushing through the masses to stay at the man’s side.
“I heard you want to learn gardening,” the monk said.
“From whom,” Gonten said, turning red.
“I heard it with my own ears,” Takehito said. “Your garden is open.”
“Please don’t tell anyone,” Gonten said.
“Why,” Takehito said. Takehito turned around and screamed, “Hey everyone, the eldest son of Hassai is here and he wants to be a gardener.”
Not one man turned. They snickered amongst themselves, but they did not turn around to see if Gonten was even really standing there.
“They will laugh for a few seconds, and then won’t care,” Takehito said. “We spend so much time thinking about ourselves, that we believe that everyone else does the same.”
Gonten followed the man, not speaking for the rest of the time. Gonten wanted to become a gardener. He had more than enough gold with him to run away to a monastery somewhere else.
Soon they arrived at the monastery.
The monastery was near the edge of the walled Tomoka city. They walked through the entrance hall of the monastery. There were several monks there, who were praying, and a few more were cleaning. Smells of warm soup floated through the air. And where there wasn’t the smell of soup, there was the smell of incense sticks.
They entered the garden through a door in the back. The smell of incense was replaced by the brilliant smell of flowers. Gonten looked around and saw that the bushes were growing wild, the place was like a wild forest, but without the trees, just the flowers and bushes.
“Oh, I just arrived here,” Takehito said. “My friend who came with me is a better gardener, but he is in meditation right now. He could probably teach you better than me.
“Why are you helping me,” Gonten said, looking around him.
“Gonten, I am a monk. It is my profession to help the lost find their way,” Takehito said. “Let’s get started shall we?”
“Yes,” Gonten said, excited. Gonten stepped forward to one of the bushes. Takehito began using his shears on the bushes, instructing him how to shear the bushes.
“Picture what you want the bush to look like. Your final target. Concentrate on it so hard that you should be able to see what you want the bush to look like on top of what the bush looks like now. That should show you exactly what you need to do.”
Gonten stepped forward to a branch, and reached out his hand, “Give me a pair of shears please.”
“You already have your shears,” Takehito said.
“Where,” Gonten said. The monk pointed at Gonten’s sword.
“I believe you’ve heard the quote, better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war,” Takehito said. “I heard that quote, and wondered, why not be a warrior gardener, at home in a garden and at war. So come on, shear the bushes.”
“Did my mother hire you,” Gonten said, angering. “Just another sword teacher. I’ve had enough sword masters to know about my skill.”
“I am not here to teach the sword,” Takehito said. “I am here to teach you how to garden. We just don’t have extra shears on hand.”
“What about that quote?” Gonten said.
“I am a monk, it is my job to speak about my musings, completely unrelated.”
Gonten drew his sword and stepped back from the branch. He remembered doing this. He remembered concentrating at what he wanted. It had become as natural to him as breathing. But you can't out-concentrate incompetence.
Gonten did not want to cut the bush. He wondered if he was good at gardening, and he wouldn’t be able to tolerate it if he was bad at it.
“Come on,” Takehito said. “I don’t have all day.”
Gonten imagined the bush, from wild, flowing in all directions, to a neat cuboid shape. Gonten slashed his sword and cut through a part of the branch. Like a painter stroking the canvas with his brush, he began swinging his sword, with as much concentration as he could.
He lost himself in his art. His mind was always a torrent of thoughts, whether it be about his skill, about his father, about his brother, about his future. In that moment the concentration on the bush was so intent, that it didn’t matter. He just swung. Even Takehito’s instructions were lost on him. He took a breath in the scent of the flowers, and he felt at home. He had never felt this way when normally swinging a sword, in his abundant losses, or his few wins.
He opened his eyes and looked at the bush. It was a disappointment. The wrong shape, Gonten had cut through too many of the leaves, leaving only sticks in place.
“Don’t worry,” Takehito said. “It will take you time to get good.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Gonten said, staring at his reflection in the steel sword.
“Now fix what you’ve done,” Takehito said.
“What?” Gonten said.
“Come on, you can fix this, so fix it. Make this bush look like this bush.” Takehito moved to the bush, and began cutting at it. It wasn’t filled with grace, but with intent. He didn’t stand in one place, instead he moved all around the bush, getting close to it. Yet in no time, he was done. A perfectly round bush.
“A round bush,” Gonten said. “I can’t do it, I can’t even hedge them to cube shape.”
“There’s more than enough bushes here, and if they go, so what, then I’ll teach you how to plant, we’ve got a lot of seeds there.” Takehito said, pointing his shears at a bag of seeds.
As Gonten began swinging at the bush again, he began thinking. This is all so unfair. I practice the same amount as Inaki, but I am always worse.
“Our place in this world is decided the second we enter this world,” Takehito said.
“It’s just so unfair,” Gonten said, cursing himself as he messed up another cut. “Why can’t I be Inaki? Why can’t I be talented? Why was I born?” Gonten worked as hard as he could to keep the tears out of his eyes. Gonten had been keeping these thoughts within himself his entire life. But there was just something about the grinning monk that made Gonten want to spill his feelings.
“You were born into this world, because it was written,” The monk said. "The bee has no option but to pollinate flowers and the flower has no option to give up its nectar. Fate is neither just nor fair, it just is."
“Where was it written,” Gonten said, cutting this first bush into nothing but a heap of sticks and leaves on the ground. He went on to the next one, staring at the round bush. He tried to remember how Takehito had done it. He remembered it, but he couldn’t duplicate it, like anyone could imagine a painting, but only a few can translate that mental image into a physical painting. He went up close to the bush and began cutting, but it was fruitless.
“It isn’t actually written,” The monk said. “It just is. You being born was something that was decided, and you not being as talented as your brother was also decided. The bee has no option but to pollinate but its reason is to make honey. The reason is enough to carry it through the struggle.”
“I am not just untalented,” Gonten said, cursing himself once more as he messed up the cut, making the bush look too jagged. “It feels like Inaki got all of my skill as well. I am worse than some of the kids. The only thing I have no option but to do is try not to die of shame.”
“That has a reason too,” The monk said.
“Then what is it,” Gonten asked.
“If I knew then I would be Lord Okan.”
“Don't you monks want to be like him? Tell me, what is the reason? Why was I born in a banquet hall without a tongue to taste?”
“Wow, you’re picking up the prosiness just being around me. The truth is, we monks don’t strive to be like Okan, you cannot. We monks strive to be ourselves. You and I are all aspects of Okan experiencing the world.”
“What?”
“I only found out my reason recently,” The monk said. "The time I found my reason out I realized it was so obvious but I just couldn't see. Your reason is what will make you smile through struggle." The monk smiled at Gonten, waiting for him to smile back. But Gonten couldn't.
Gonten didn’t remember the last time he had smiled. He focused more on the bushes, cutting of the monk’s speech, but Gonten could tell, the man kept going on and on
Stupid monk trying to be poetic.
"A wind rises and plucks a seed from its mother plant and carries it away. The seed protests, it doesn't want to go away from its mother. And so it struggles. The seed curses fate wishing its life could be different, wishing it could be with its mother. Only if the seed knew that it will become a mighty tree when it lands, it wouldn't curse its fate so. Trust the wind, Gonten."