Strongest Among the Heavens
Chapter 415: Yoemon

Chapter 415: Yoemon

The Yaegaki shrine grounds had transformed into an arena of crackling tension. Stances and footwork were subtly evolving. Slow shifts. Slow movements.

Kazi was soft and casual and far apart. Yoemon was not. He was quick with it and whipped his blade toward his foe, toward Kazi. It was not a strike but a warning. Markings ran along the blade like flowing currents. They felt almost alive.

The young samurai’s breath steadied. He adjusted his grip, focusing on the slow, fluid style he was developing—a style he hoped would honor Miyamoto Musashi’s teachings.

Kazi saw right through it. The trepidation, the desires, and the intent. Without needing Future Sight, with only an understanding of a person and their stance, he deduced what they would do best. He unsheathed the katana lent to him by Lord Mosuke. He seemed entirely comfortable. Kazi’s stance was loose, almost deceptively casual. He gestured with the tip of his blade, nearly touching the blue katana, silently inviting Yoemon to make the first move.

Yoemon didn’t hesitate and took the invitation. His blade flowed like water and he sliced in an arc meant to bind and twist around Kazi’s guard and toward his left waist. The markings on his katana shimmered with a hint of magic and the water-like energy guided his strike to be flexible, almost serpentine.

But again, Kazi predicted this. He blocked the strike with minimal effort, and then in a swift, almost unseen motion, slid forward, two hands coming together in a swing. Clash! He pressed down on the blue katana hard. Then for a second and almost a third time if not for Yoemon backpedaling and countering with a thrust. Side-step and a downswing again. Yoemon backed away with a desperate finality. He couldn’t break through.

Kazi was sharp, disciplined—the distinct style of Kumdo. Yoemon was passionate and on the fly. Countering as his instincts guided him. Fast offence and observation for defence.

An arrogant method of fighting. Arrogant and elegant.

"You know, Yoemon," Kazi said when a moment of breath was allowed, "you have the elegance down, but elegance alone won’t win you anything."

Yoemon’s jaw tightened and he tried to come at Kazi on the right side. His katana moved in spirals, weaving an unpredictable pattern, each swing intended to close Kazi off and force him to miscounter. Fake swing, fake swing, fake swing—

Clang!

The fakes did not mean anything if Kazi dashed too. Yoemon was forced into another uncomfortable clash. He grit his teeth. Kazi only needed one hand pumped full of Advanced Flow of Mana to overpower him.

"This is Kumdo," Kazi remarked as Yoemon dropped down and struck. In face of greater strength, Yoemon was trained to adapt. To swing in unpredictable ways.

Ah, the power of youth. This was not what he was taught. This was him and his instincts. This was panic. Fear.

Kazi deflected another of Yoemon’s strikes. "I learned it from a friend—a woman who could cut down a tree with one clean swing." A pause with perfectly timed responses to Yoemon’s style. "You’d like her. Fierce, focused, and not as scared as you."

Yoemon clenched his teeth, forced to step back, each of his slashes getting interrupted by Kazi’s precision. His own style began to falter against Kazi. "I...am... not... scared," he declared loudly.

Kazi could see the sweat prickling down his neck.

He laughed softly, his blade cutting in a swift diagonal that Yoemon barely managed to deflect. "Oh? Then why are you praying to the gods for help?"

Yoemon’s eyes flashed with anger and he attempted to break Kazi’s guard with a powerful overhand strike. The same grip and style Kazi had used.

’Fast learner.’

The blue katana’s markings glowed with a pulse of blue energy. The youth didn’t intentionally go slower, the katana grew heavier.

Kazi did not intend to block and continue his precious pattern. He sidestepped effortlessly, and in a blink, his stance shifted and his sword thrust forward and struck Yoemon’s shoulder. It was so fast and sudden that his opponent could only gasp and struggle to keep his feet. Kazi’s katana thrust forward once more and Yoemon failed to defend it too.

"Nggh!" The sandals of the samurai skidded and came to a stop. He panted, glared, and prepared himself.

The question was, could he?

Gone was the wide footwork of Kumdo; now, Kazi’s movements became almost unfamiliar, with small, angled steps and sudden thrusts. His strikes were faster, but they came from odd angles, his stance narrower, his weight balanced differently. Thrust, clang! Thrust, clang! Yoemon was beginning to adapt—

"Ngh!"

Until Kazi did a triple-fake and landed two decisive blows to his shoulder and his thigh. Blood trailed down.

These were real blades with real metal. The quality hakama could protect only so much flesh.

"You’re not the only one with tricks, Yoemon," Kazi said with a grin. "Back when I was a mercenary, I picked up a bit of knife fighting in Chile. Corvos, they called them. Purely practical skill. Not nearly as pretty, but devastating up close."

"Knives...?"

"People like us, we can apply and adapt on the fly. But this won’t be easy like with your other opponents. You won’t be adapting, you’ll be rising to the challenge. Understand?"

Yoemon’s eyes widened and he blocked the thrust. His feet were taut to the ground.

"Under...stand!"

This style was sharper, more aggressive. Every thrust came close, each one a heartbeat from spilling blood. Kazi was pressing him relentlessly, pushing him back to the edge of the shrine grounds. It was like fighting against a tiny blade in the shadows that attacked unpredictably from any and all sides, never giving him time to breathe.

"Stop holding back, Yoemon," Kazi said, their blades clashing in a loud spark. "Talent alone won’t do anything for you here. There are millions of people with talent. Talent is not special!"

"I know! I know!"

Frustration built inside him as he struggled to find his footing. Kazi was testing him, pushing him. Every time he tried to slow down, to catch his rhythm, Kazi would break it, switching between Kumdo and fencing like it was nothing.

"You’re afraid of failing, aren’t you?" Kazi’s voice cut through the chaos of their clashing blades, steady and probing. This ease, this strength, it frightened the youth as much as it did frustrate. "Afraid that without talent, you’re just a scared kid."

"A samurai is no child!" Yoemon shouted, deflecting a thrust with a wild swing. But Kazi stepped to the side and slashed downward, grazing the edge of Yoemon’s sleeve, barely missing his arm.

"Then prove it." Kazi’s gaze was fierce, unwavering. They had stopped fighting. "Stop running from the fight. Look at yourself and then look at me and everyone else. What drives those ordinary, weak fishermen that risked their lives? And what drives you, Yoemon? Think. Look. Look at yourself. Look at you and the common man."

Not his mentor, not the death he witnessed, not the fear of the Bake-kujira. Just Yoemon.

Yoemon’s grip tightened on his katana. His breathing steadied, and something inside him shifted. "Me...?"

"You. Who are you?"

"I am..."

A thought that became a flicker of understanding.

This man he was dueling was stronger than him. Stronger, faster, and probably smarter too.

And yet...he was standing. And yet, he could still fight. In a duel, there was either death or surrender. Yoemon would not surrender. A symptom of youth and the pride of being Miyamoto Musashi’s student.

Passionate. Talented. Not the greatest. Never the greatest. Exactly like those fishermen but with a gift. A gift that could bring more love.

Yoemon straightened and took a step back. His blue katana gleamed as he raised it in a different stance, one he hadn’t used yet. His body relaxed and his arms lowered, the tip of the blade nearly touching the ground.

Kazi noticed the change, a satisfied smile on his lips. "There it is," he said. "That’s it. Come on. Show me what Yoemon can do."

Without another word, Yoemon’s blade swung in an upward smooth arc, Magic rippled. This time, the water-like energy wasn’t slowing him down. It was becoming one with him and his life force.

Fascinating. The battle suddenly resumed. The battle suddenly restarted with a new intensity.

Kazi eagerly met him, katana parrying this fresh blue streak. Except the intent and strength had skyrocked. Clang! Clang! Clang! Yoemon was relentless now. He pressed forward, his strikes bending and flowing like a river that refused to be blocked. There were not several branches of river, suddenly adapting and changing in fear of his own mortality.

This was just Yoemon. This was all him. This was him accepting the fear and the love. He looked ahead. He carved a single path of a river.

Clang, clang, clang! Clang, clang!

Kazi could feel its quickening pressure, even as he deflected each blow.

"Good," Kazi grunted between clashes, genuinely impressed. "You fight like those fishermen now! But you are a samurai! Do better!"

Yoemon broke off the clash and latched a hand to his wrist, channeling all his energy into a single, focused attack. His katana glowed with a brilliant blue, water-like energy swirling around it, coiling and intensifying. Kazi could see it, feel it. Chills went down his spine.

’This is....!’

With a roar, Yoemon swung forward and released the blue energy in a powerful slash.

The air itself seemed to ripple as the wave of energy surged forward. Kazi’s eyes widened, and he raised his katana, blocking the strike, but the blue energy shattered his blade, splintering it into fragments. The energy blast roared past him.

Yoemon remained still and panting. Kazi peered over his shoulder. Behind him, an entire column of trees exploded, sliced cleanly down the center as the slash tore through the forest, its reach stretching far beyond the shrine grounds. For a moment, there was only silence.

’A water swordspell principally stronger than Super Spark Strike. Amazing.’

Kazi glanced down at the broken remains of his katana, then back at the massive swath of sliced trees that stretched through the forest.

He let out a low whistle, raising an eyebrow. "Ah, crud," he said, a happy smile breaking across his face. "How about we call it a tie?"

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