by DB King
But could he truly break through Hamada’s defenses?
The Guard Breaker Stance was ill suited to someone of his… stature.
Oh well, there’s no point in overthinking this. The Turtle Guard Stance was meant to be the foil to every other stance, save for the Guard Breaker. It was meant to be unshakable, unassailable—at the cost, of course, of mobility and offensive capacity. But then what was the point of attacking if your enemy was running straight into your blade? What truly made the Turtle Guard Stance deadly was its inherent synergy with his clan’s secret technique—Force Redirection.
Hopefully, Hamada wouldn’t go that far in a duel against him, a three-year-old… right?
Every muscle in his body relaxed as he breathed in and breathed out, each time forcing his limbs to seemingly liquefy—and yet it was still like thick tar than water. Jin cleared his head. The only thoughts his mind ever conjured were of his sword, his body, and his enemy. The wind blew harshly, howling as it forced the grass and the trees to dance to its tune.
Jin’s eyes snapped open and he dashed forward, unseen forces billowing out from his form. His movement carried so much momentum that stopping him outright would be impossible.
By Jin’s calculations, Hamada would be forced to dodge to the left, lest he get caught in Jin’s forward attack and thrown backward. Once he did so, Jin could shift into the Crescent Stance for its long, flowing strikes that might—hopefully, maybe, probably—nick Hamada’s toes. The man didn’t exactly specify where he needed to be hit, only that he be hit. It was a long shot but—
Instead of moving as he’d predicted, however, Hamada met his upward diagonal slash head on. Jin’s eyes widened when his father’s blade felt almost soft, like gelatin, when their blades collided. Hamada merely tilted his training sword to the side and allowed Jin’s own wakizashi to slide off it. All the momentum he’d built up had dissipated and disappeared upon contact. No… it didn’t disappear… he merely redirected it!
Jin stumbled forward, his eyes wide.
He actually used Force Redirection on me! He rolled forward and stood up immediately, turning to see Hamada still in the Turtle Guard Stance, smiling. With a scowl, Jin lowered his blade to the side, the tip pointed backward. This was one of the Murasaki Style’s basic stances, the Grass Cutter Stance, meant to attack from beneath, targeting an opponent’s legs. It was… not the most effective strategy when fighting against the Turtle Guard, but Jin had few options, considering his overall lack of height and build.
Then again, if Hamada was going to use Force Redirection on a three-year-old, there was no longer any point in trying to play fair. After all, Jin had a plethora of “dirty” moves he’d learned from various warriors in that… other life. At least one of them should be effective against a master swordsman, right?
Jin rushed forward, dragging the tip of his sword against the ground and—
A pile of dirt crashed against his face. Hamada laughed as Jin coughed and wiped away at his eyes. “You actually thought that was going to work against me, Jin? Come on, if you’re going to fight dirty—which I highly recommend against opponents who’re much better than you—try to be creative, at least. The whole point of dirty tactics is that they’re unexpected. Your attempt was rather obvious.”
“Remember, the sword is a tool; it is an awesome and fearsome tool, but it is not the only tool you have at your disposal, Jin.” Hamada continued. “Use everything around you—anything and everything you can use to win. Honor is important, but so is staying alive.”
Jin gritted his teeth as he wiped away the last patch of dirt on his face—quite fortunate for him that it wasn’t just outright mud. He leapt back, his sword at the ready, raised over his head. Fine, let’s play dirty….
Attacking from the front wasn’t going to work, obviously. He could try and attack from behind, but there was no way Hamada wouldn’t see him coming with them out in the open like this. There were trees surrounding them, but the tree line was ten yards away. Fortunately for him, however, Hamada was content to wait for his next move. Well, the man did say that he wouldn’t attack—only defend.
Throwing a patch of cold earth at his face didn’t count as a defense, did it? Damn it, there’s no way to slip through his defenses.
Hamada was practically a giant to a three-year-old. He was stronger, faster, and more experienced. Anything and everything Jin could think of Hamada would likely be capable of countering rather easily or just outright avoid. A frontal assault was impossible, flanking was foolish, and attacking from behind was simply too obvious. Hamada was a giant. How did I used to kill giants, back in the day?
For obvious reasons, using a siege engine in a sparring fight wasn’t an option and neither could he just poison Hamada nor stick him full of arrows till his whole body resembled a linchpin. Sighing, Jin bent down, grabbed a rock, and hurled it toward Hamada’s forehead. The man, as expected, merely tilted his head away with a single eyebrow raised.
Jin grumbled. “I’m running out of ideas, okay?”
Jin couldn’t win—it was simply impossible. But then he wasn’t “just Jin” was he?
Let’s see if that trick’s going to work on someone who’s literally five times taller than me. Hamada was a master of predicting an enemy’s movements, before they’re even made. He could read facial expressions, muscles, and even the slightest tics in the body that his enemies weren’t even aware of. In battle, this allowed Hamada to avoid or defend against anything and everything thrown at him—almost everything.
To him, everything was a game of prediction—foresight as he called it, seeing ahead of one’s opponents and anticipating their every movement, their every action.
There was one way to beat someone who could anticipate your intent of motion. The trick, after all, had been taught to him by a Rogue who’d cut down his fair share of swordmasters. The man was a clever snake, who brought poisons, nets, snares, and bombs to a duel. He couldn’t remember even half of the man’s tricks, but he did remember one of them quite well.
Jin grabbed the edges of his keikogi and pulled, leaving his bare chest exposed. Though still a child, his muscles were far more developed than anyone his age; he’d started strength training the moment he could walk—every single day. It was why Hamada began training him in the ways of the sword.
Goosebumps formed across the surface of his skin as a cold wind whistled through the field.
Jin rushed forward. Only his legs were tensed. The rest of his muscles were as relaxed as they could be. He held his wakizashi on his right hip with the tip following behind him as he ran—the Leaf Cutter Stance. Hamada waited, standing tall, like a mountain. The most obvious attack from Jin’s stance was a simple upward diagonal slash from right to left, which meant he’d need to look out for his left shin.
Hamada stepped back, putting his right foot forward.
Jin darted in. His muscles tensed instantly, every fiber suddenly hardening for a single, decisive, and powerful attack. Hamada moved to parry, bringing his sword down to meet the edge of Jin’s wakizashi and deflect it to his left.
Jin grinned. Is that what you’re expecting me to do, father?
He relaxed at the moment just before their blades met and spun on his heels. Hamada’s sword flew right past him as he turned away. Exposing one’s back like this would’ve been suicide if he hadn’t allowed his momentum to carry him further forward. Jin’s wakizashi weaved through Hamada’s exposed right side. By the time his spin was complete, a wooden practice sword hovered just inches from his face— Hamada had corrected his own breach of judgement with a swift movement.
But Jin’s sword had reached him. The tip of his wakizashi laid on Hamada’s right shin.
The older man smiled and stepped back, lowering his sword. Jin huffed and breathed out a heavy sigh as he fell onto the ground, his training weapon slipping from his grasp. That had been close—far too close. “You used my own prediction against me. That was quite clever of you, my son. If you had been s
tronger and faster, that might’ve been a legitimately dangerous maneuver against masters of the sword.”
“That’s why I took off my keikogi. You were reading my muscles as well, right?” Jin muttered. Despite the fact that he would’ve been very dead if this had been a real fight, he was proud that his sword had reached Hamada’s—and he was only three years old. Given enough time, he was certain he could surpass his father; heck, he could probably do it in ten years.
Heh, I’ll surpass everyone in this world.
“As promised, you’ll have tutors from different sword schools and scholars to teach you anything and everything you may need to learn.” Hamada smiled, though his eyes seemed distant—contemplative. He held out his right hand, rugged and calloused, filled with scars. “Shall we return home now?”
“I’d like to take a relaxing stroll through the woods, father.” Jin answered. There was much he needed to do tonight. Practicing with his sword was just one of them. “It’s been a while since I had time to appreciate the beauty of nature.”
Children didn’t talk like that, but Hamada, it seemed, didn’t mind his peculiar vocabulary.
The man nodded sternly. “Do not wander too far off, my son. The deep woods are dangerous.”
“Yes, father.” With that, Jin turned and grabbed his sword and discarded shirt, the latter now sporting several brown and black blotches from contact with dirt. When he turned to look back over his shoulder, Hamada was no longer there.
Chapter 2
Jin sat in a trance, losing himself within the depths of his own mind. His surroundings mattered little, though he vaguely noted the fireflies and the softly waving grasses around him, before discarding the images entirely.
Turn my senses inward. Magic, assuming it worked the same way in this world as it did his previous one, was centered upon one’s mind—specifically, the body’s magical core was buried somewhere in the depths of the brain. To cultivate one’s talent and enhance one’s understanding of the arcane forces, a mage must learn to find and develop this magical core, shaping it and watering it, much like a gardener tends to his flowers.
He knew magic existed in this world the very instant he was born into it. He could sense it in some people, often visitors to his father’s court, even in the wild beasts that roamed the woodlands of the Murasaki Clan’s territory. Magic existed here, he was sure of it. The only problem now was learning to harness its power. As it stood, he’d have to start from scratch.
Not that starting over was problematic. In his previous life, he’d only learned about magic when he turned fifteen and didn’t start any formal training until he turned twenty. Murasaki Jin, on the other hand, was only three years old and was already capable of sensing the magical forces around him. Given a few more days, he was sure he’d easily be blasting off balls of flame from his fingers.
Well, assuming magic worked at least similarly, then he might be capable of shooting fireballs within the next hour or so.
Turn my senses inward… Jin’s thoughts drifted into himself, searching and feeling for that familiar spark of energies that had been his greatest weapon—greater than any sword, faster than any arrow, and harder than any armor. He searched and scoured the depths of his mind. It was there. It had to be there. Magic was linked to its user’s thoughts and emotions, which often led to accidents with young mages, but that’s what training was for.
He searched...
And found nothing.
There was no core of nascent magical energies in his brain. It was just a normal brain—more developed and more complicated, but a normal brain nonetheless. Strange, I’m sure I felt magic within me....
The only conclusion was that magical cores in this world grew somewhere else, which might’ve led him to another conclusion that magic worked differently, though he’d need to prove that little hypothesis and only after he found his own core. Let’s see, assuming magic works similarly, there should be an inactive growth of magical pathways running underneath my muscles. It should still be connected to the core… wherever the core is.
Though, at that point, Jin wasn’t too sure about that plan, considering he didn’t find his core where he’d thought it’d be. If it wasn’t linked to the brain, then it was likely that the magic of this world didn’t rely on creativity or emotions, but on something else. His mind still drawn inward, Jin searched and searched, looking for the signs of a familiar spark.
As he’d feared, there were no magical pathways anywhere. But there were lingering remnants of some arcane energy, which only fueled his belief that he did have magic—he just didn’t know where his core was located. Granted, he didn’t specifically need to know where his core was located in order to use magic, but it helped greatly, akin to a chef who didn’t know where his ingredients were coming from, but it’d greatly increase the quality of his dishes if he did.
No magical pathways - this could only mean that the magic of this world is more like a roaring fire than a flowing river. The means with which it was mastered and controlled would be drastically different. Rivers were controlled by building dams and furrows to divert its course. Fires were contained; they were not channeled.
If the magic of this world was more akin to fire, then mastering it would be far harder. But that just meant it was a lot more exciting. After all, he had far more time now than he did the last time.
And so he searched.
Above his shoulders, there was nothing remotely resembling a magical core. He stretched his senses to his heart and found it completely healthy, but lacking in anything arcane. Jin dug even deeper than his heart all the way down to his gut.
And there, he found an endless sea of energies, shimmering and churning into itself, contained in a tiny seed that would, given time, sprout into something great. There you are.
Jin reached out and the core resonated, glowing brighter and sending out pulses of arcane energies that felt… somewhat different from what he was used to, but also kind of familiar. Control…
He couldn’t grasp the energies and neither could he shape them with his will. Curious, Jin released his grip over the core—which didn’t do anything, anyway—and stopped, merely observing exactly how it functioned. Clearly, control was out of the picture. Unless he was missing something important, which—honestly—was a likely possibility, his core simply didn’t respond to traditional means of gaining mastery over it. Though, Jin noted, it did respond to his first brushing touch.
His core had awakened then.
The only problem now was that it wasn’t responding to anything else.
The energy is rippling across my body, but it’s not going anywhere else—the energies are stopping at the edges of the hair follicles on my skin. That could mean it’s incapable of directly affecting the outside world, but is more attuned for altering my own body. Which also meant that almost everything he knew about magic and its uses was now useless; spells, in general, were used to affect the outside world. They could burn, freeze, shatter, or even discombobulate. Of course, there were spells that affected only the user and no one else, but these spells were passive in nature. They helped in combat, but not directly—not in the same way a conjuration of firestorms would.
Well, it’s rippling outward—alright. But what else is it doing?
There had to be an actual reason for the magical activity. There were no pathways for the energies to follow and circulate, like blood. Instead, it was just spreading outward, which meant that it had to be doing something. Like before, Jin stretched his senses outward, focusing on his arms.
Oh… The energies were repairing the micro-tears in his musculature, gained from his rather excessive training. They were healing rapidly, disappearing within seconds of contact with his magic, when they should’ve taken several days to fully heal and develop normally. Oh, this is ridiculous. It’s passively healing me, but it’s not making me stronger. But this also means that I could train like a madman every single day and not have to face the consequences of overtraining my mus
cles.
Magic in this world, it seemed, really didn’t function the same way it did in his world.
Does this mean the “mages” of this world are all physically powerful warriors? After all, if he figured out how it worked, then others could easily do so as well. Imagine a warrior, who has literally trained day and night, needing almost no rest, accumulating strength and skill at a rate that would otherwise destroy the bodies of most mortal men. It was absurd. With his natural healing, the kind of strength Jin could gain in a month of training would be akin to a whole year of training.
How powerful would he become in two years? In five? In ten?
There was no limit.
Theoretically, at least, he could just train and train his body without ever needing to rest or stop and his strength and speed would increase without ever stopping as well.
Huh, that’s a lot to consider. Surely, magic had other uses, besides just passive healing? After all, the magic of his old world was capable of unleashing spells that ravaged entire nations and drowned entire islands. Surely, it didn’t just help him punch harder than his peers or swing his sword faster.
There had to be more—he just had to discover it.
Jin released his senses and found himself squatting atop a large boulder, overlooking a pond. Lilies fluttered and floated above the serene water’s surface and tiny frogs and insects croaked as the night air passed. The moon was directly above him, which meant he must’ve been stuck in that meditative trance for an hour, at most. Jin stood up and stretched his arms up over his shoulders and sighed.
Already, he felt renewed. The soreness in his muscles from that training session with Hamada had disappeared. It was as though he was never sore to begin with. He was stronger too, but only slightly. The presence of his magical core was clear now, located somewhere near his stomach. With just a thought, he reached for his reserves of arcane energy and felt magic flooding through his whole body, just as it had done when he first touched it.