Strongest Among the Heavens
Chapter 416: Everything is within

Chapter 416: Everything is within

Yoemon lifted his katana, its blue blade dripping with water. This was magic.

’If my eyes aren’t deceiving me...magic powered from the soul.’

The craftmanship of that sword...

Suddenly, it became all that much greater and sharper. Who forged it? It was obvious. Yoemon himself. Miyamoto Musashi was an esteemed swordsmith on top of being a swordsmaster. He passed on the vital skill to his students.

Only they could learn to harness their souls. Only they could complete themselves.

"Everything is within. Everything exists. Seek nothing outside of yourself."

Kazi said it out loud. Yoemon did not react to his great master’s words, still catching his breath, his muscles tense and trembling from the overwhelming attack he had unleashed. Trees lay cleaved in a neat, devastating line through the forest behind Kazi. The older warrior glanced at his shattered katana, now little more than a handle and a few shards, before looking back at Yoemon with a sly smile.

"So what’s the call here, samurai?"

But Yoemon didn’t lower his blade. His eyes were fierce, determined, a hint of desperation shining through. "No. I... I don’t want to stop here." His voice was steady, though his breathing was not. "If I stop now, I’ll never know how much further I can go. I don’t want to end this until... until I’ve become stronger."

Kazi’s eyebrows rose, impressed. For a moment, he simply observed the young swordsman. Then, a grin broke across his face, broader and more feral than before. "Well, well. So you’re serious about this, huh?" He rolled his shoulders, letting out a deep breath. "Alright, Yoemon. If you’re so determined, I’ll give you something to push against."

With a casual flick of his hand, a surge of mana sparked in Kazi’s grip. Threads of translucent blue light coalesced into the shape of a sword, a blade of pure mana. That was the shape. So then he added the electricity of Super Spark Strike. The yellow-blue crackles spread.

Yoemon’s eyes widened in shock. "You... you can manifest weapons like sensei..."

Kazi tilted his head, examining his mana blade as if it were an ordinary tool. "So Miyamoto Musashi can do this too, huh?" He chuckled, testing the weightless feel of the mana sword. "I wanted to see what you could do first, and I must say—you’ve got spirit. But if you’re looking to truly get stronger, then I won’t hold back this time. Prepare yourself, Yoemon. You’ll need every ounce of your will."

Yoemon swallowed, feeling both fear and excitement swell within him. He steadied his stance, tightening his grip on his katana. "I am ready, foreign warrior."

Without further words, Kazi took three steps faster than Yoemon could react. The mana sword swung in an arc and Yoemon barely managed to block in time, his arms straining against the impact. Even though it was made of mana, the sword held weight, and it hit like steel. Only for Kazi, the weight was nothing. For everyone else, it was absurd.

Overhead strike, overhead strike, a back-step thrust. Yoemon could barely keep up, his blade meeting Kazi’s mana sword in a series of rapid, jarring clashes.

"Don’t let your mind wander!" Kazi barked between attacks, his strikes growing sharper, more unpredictable. "A true warrior doesn’t waste a single moment doubting his purpose. You love! Etch that love into your soul! Do not let it waver your mind and body!"

Yoemon gritted his teeth. Water magic pulsed through his katana and clang, clang, clang! It helped him deflect some of Kazi’s attacks. Each counter strike sent vibrations down his arm, rattling his bones. Still, he refused to back down, even as Kazi pushed him closer to his limit.

Whatever that limit was. So far it kept going higher and higher. Faster and faster.

Their swords clashed over and over, the rhythm almost like a conversation, punctuated by Kazi’s occasional, taunting words. Clang! A two-handed Kumdo strike. "Are you ready to give up yet, Yoemon?" he asked, pressing down with his mana blade.

Yoemon glared back, his defiance blazing. "Not... even... close!"

With a roar, Yoemon released a second pulse of water magic. That same strike that sliced apart a hundred trees, that temporarily forced Kazi back once more. Yoemon knew simply launching wasn’t enough. He had to go beyond his limits, dig deeper, find the space and understand he had only glimpsed before. He panted, he gasped, and he got ready again.

Yoemon dashed. He stopped. He swung. Kazi raised his fake blade to counter and Yoemon swish and hacked back like water navigated his blade—and then struck with the force of a raging river. Of a blade that could slice a hundred trees.

Kazi dodged.

Yoemon breathed in and out. The magic did not end. Swish and flick, the watery blade came down upon Kazi for a second time and Kazi leaped back a great distance. Yoemon chased, the blue river of the blade growing stronger and the split river splashing and slicing into the Earth.

It was the same attack. Same but growing and adapting. The work of a genius that was learning.

Clang!

Mastered Flow of Mana met the penultimate attack and cancelled it out. Shock flashed Yoemon yet he mildly expected it.

"You are amazing." Yoemon took three steps back. Still on guard yet appreciating this warrior in front of him. "I believed my sensei to be the only samurai capable of manifesting his life energy to the blade. Is it a skill he learned from foreign lands, perhaps? From your kind?"

"Tell me, is he better with his life blade or a metal blade?"

"The metal, of course."

Kazi’s mana blade dissipated. "The same goes for me. This is a weapon for those that understand themselves. And yet, we use blades. Why? Because sometimes, it is others that understand us better. The love that a blacksmith endows in his blade. The love that a blacksmith blesses the samurai with to be able to wield their blade. Do you see now?"

"Yes. Yes, I do." He did not fight. Instead, Yoemon sheathed his blade and bowed his head low. "I understand it. The love of the past, the love of the present, the love for the future, the love of the gods...I now know it all and I know to fight with it."

Kazi smiled and that smile was reflected by Yoemon—until they both heard footsteps. Eyes narrowed. Fists tightened. Kazi gestured to stay quiet. This energy...it was dark and elegant.

"Ah, fuck. It’s you."

The cocky British accent rose from the staircase with a click of annoyance, accompanied by a semi-messy set of blond hair and a suit.

"Nash," Kazi acknowledged, smiling and relaxing. "Long time no see, pal."

"I’m not your pal, mate." Nash eyed Yoemon who did not let down his hand on the hilt of his katana. "A’ight, so that’s Musashi’s student."

"I am Yoemon."

"Show me."

"Show...you?"

"Yeah, show me you’re a samurai. Prove it." Nash crossed his arms. "Do some katas. Swing that bloody blade."

Kazi burst into chuckles and walked over beside Nash. Yoemon did not seem to know how to respond until Kazi joined Nash in that expectant look. Still puzzled, he took out his blue katana and recited katas. Sword exercises and precise techniques that he learned from his mentor.

Nash tapped his foot. He watched. He was fascinated. Going from offensive stance to swing to defensive stance, Yoemon’s talent and instincts became plain for anyone to see. He did not make mistakes. He could only create elegance.

Kazi side-eyed Nash, almost cackling. The curiosity and fascination was genuine, like an eight year old boy at a carnival for knights. "You sensed me?"

"Got lucky. Was in the area."

"Mm." Kazi side-eyed him. "You were planning on praying to this shrine, weren’t you?"

"So you already know."

See, the gods watched the Heavenly Games; maybe not all the time, maybe sometimes, but they did watch. And if they watched, then they could hear prayer and desires and needs. Many players have claimed to have gained divine gifts after sufficient prayer. As a matter of fact, among the top five pieces of advice from former players was to pray and hope for a Gifted Skill.

Kazi wasn’t able to do a deep dive on whether this was fact or myth. If players were merely being superstitious, pathetic, or desperate. What he could say was that the gods did give blessings. That much was true. It was practically a commonality in the White Abyss. Sun-young was offered to receive several and Kazi was advised by Drona to take one. The conditions to actually receiving them though?

Kazi suspected that in all likelihood, gods were as they were in myth. They did things on a whim. They enjoyed acts other than worship. They wanted followers to prove themselves.

’Drona wants to give a Gifted Skill, but...’

Yeah, he rejected it.

"You do realize the gods aren’t idiots," Kazi said. "If you pray for the sake of it, they won’t give you anything. You have to prove yourself."

"Better to try than not try. I talked to this one man who said he learned a new sword ability after a week of beg—I mean, praying." Nash was smirking. The mistake was no mistake at all.

"Two birds in one stone," Kazi joked. "You potentially get a gift, and you also get to see a childhood dream of yours fulfilled."

Nash put his hands in his pockets. "You think they have ninjas too? Me and my men want to see some."

"I doubt it."

"Damn." Nash suddenly had to break away from Yoemon. He received a message. "Looks like that pink bitch found the big one."

"Kurōtarō," Kazi said.

"Yeah, him. Ah, fucking hell." Nash face-palmed. "She’s fighting him."

Fighting one of their few strong allies in this gate? Who the hell would do something so stupid? Oh, right, Kazi. But that was more of a spar. Eh, actually, not really.

"How bad is it?"

"According to my men, pretty bad. Shit is getting destroyed. Oh, and the pink bitch just got knocked into a building."

Kazi wanted to sigh. "Great."

’I called over Marta to help out with the search for the samurai. I hope it doesn’t go too badly.’