"Young master, that kid, his techniques are near perfection... Has he trained here for a while?"

The thin moustache that was trimmed well and balanced atop his upper lip twitched as the man whispered into Ryugyu's ears. His eyes were mesmerized by the powerful strikes demonstrated by the boy, almost perplexed by how it was even possible for a child to generate that much power behind his downward swings. The kid, who had a buzzcut was warming up by practicing the basic strikes of the Takeguchi style to get his limbs used to the powerful swings that was a staple to the sword school. 

"He goes by the name Genjiro. I'm thinking of sending him for the upcoming regional tournament. It is my duty to cultivate this style and spread it to others."

"With all due respect, I feel that you are the best candidate to represent the style in the competition..."

"There's no point in competing in the eastern tournament. After all, this is the weakest region in the nation when it comes to swordfighting... The majority of the strongest swordsmen all compete up in the north and west."

Ryugyu spoke the truth. When it came to swordfighting, it was clear as day that the styles in the other parts of the country were levels above those in the east. His retainer, Chiaki who had been constantly persuading him to take part in the eastern tournament stayed silent after his retort as it was the truth that he refused to accept. Deep down, he was afraid that the Takeguchi School would be brought to shame against the highly regarded styles in the other parts of the country.

"Do you fear that our style would be defeated? Have some faith Chiaki. My grandfather created this style to be lethal. To finish the opponent in a single swing."

"N-No young m-master! I do have faith in this style! It's just that-"

"Good. Now observe."

Genjiro who was practicing his moves on the straw built figure stopped and turned as Ryugyu's footsteps approached him. The sound of the underside of his foot, specifically the base of his fingers slightly dragging against the wooden floor and only reverted to a heavy flat footed placement at the end of his steps as he inched closer and closer to the boy. Ryugyu now, having his left leg in front of his right, parallel to each other stood in a stiff position and bent his knees to a 90 degree angle as though he was sitting on air. Maintaining the deep stance, he pointed the wooden sword at Genjiro's forehead, elbows tucked in and shoulder blades pushed forward. Instinctively, Genjiro too took a similar stance. This is the Takeguchi School.

The basis of the style was simple. Putting everything behind a single swing to finish the opponent. Every position taken, every smite thrown and every defensive maneuver was created for the sake of a single hit to kill the enemy. If Fyodor's swordsmanship is like a rapid stream of water that sliced through the rocks then the Takeguchi style is a huge wave that burst through boulders. Ryugyu was a huge man, although his muscles were hidden behind his meaty hands and only visible when he flexed his body, his strength was immense. He spent his entire youth sculpting his physique into the hulking monster he is now in order to perfect the Takeguchi style which relied solely on power. His long, straight hair cascaded down his black kimono, the uniform of the Takeguchi School and his small eyes were calm as though he was able to foresee the future. Unlike the usual swordsmen who were mostly unkempt and did not bother to groom themselves, Ryugyu was clean shaven and looked sharp.

"Throw away that sword and pick the toughest sword in the dojo... I don't want to break that. I'm sure it's valuable to you."

Across the shiny floorboards was a collection of wooden swords stacked above each other, the heavier and denser weapons rested on the higher stands of the wall. As Genjiro grabbed the sword, there was an earthquake that shook his spirit. He was up against one of the greatest fighters in the region. Despite that, he maintained a calm demeanor looking stoic as ever as he approached Ryugyu mirroring a fearless look on his face. He took the signature stance and began to execute the breathing technique that he was taught to maximize the impact of the blow. Every breath taken was felt throughout his body, sensing every bit of oxygen that ran through his blood vessels reaching to the tip of his hands and legs. However, the nervousness in his chest ricocheted around faster and faster as every microsecond flew by. Ryugyu, whose eyes were sharply narrowed towards his was enough to make his will to fight crumble as he put on a false bravado before his master.

"The tree stands not because of the visible bark but the unseen roots that anchor it to the soil. Even if your technique is impeccable, the strand of uneasiness in you will kill you before I even move."

Plak! Ryugyu's wooden sword was released from his tight grip and he departed from his young student's view, disappointed in him. In a few hours time, the empty dojo will be filled by students just like Genjiro aiming to hone their combat prowess under Ryugyu's tutelage. The difference was Genjiro started training before the rest did and ended training after everyone went home. Among the adults, few could take his strikes head on among the minority that managed to defend against it, none would be on their feet after his second swing. Even then, the 16 year old was not recognized by Ryugyu. He stared into space, his emotions balanced well, now preoccupied with his performance against the young master of the Takeguchi style.

"If you could control your emotions the way you did while striking the straw dummy, I would have taken you on. You'll fight in the eastern tournament-"

"What? Master, I'm not ready to enter the tournament, I need more time to improve-"

"Don't be foolish. I'm giving you this chance to represent this school so grasp this opportunity. Haven't you realised the honour that you are carrying with you? You aren't ready? Then train harder! Train till you drop in exhaustion! Train till you struggle to even take in a gulp of air!"

His booming, powerful voice reverberated to every corner of the room. Almost in a daze, Genjiro seemed to finally understand how heavy the responsibility that had been placed atop his shoulders truly was. He walked away, head down and his grip on the wooden sword almost crushing the handle. There was a drop of flame that ignited in his chest as his master's words continued sclading his thoughts. In the short period of time left, he wanted to give it his all. More so than the gruesome training regime that he already subjected himself through. If he were to die in pursuit of skill then he would be more than happy to give his life away. With a sip of water, he continued his training. This was an opportunity every warrior should be looking forward to and not frown upon, the chance to represent their style in a regional tournament where all eyes are watching.

Genjiro's eyes slit through the top of the straw dummy. In his mind it wasn't just a straw dummy, it was his master swiftly shifting towards him in rage, attempting to cut him down. His visualisation spread further across the space and the wooden floorboards became thick snow that piled up to his ankles and the roof above his head were drizzling snowflakes that blurred his vision. All these factors meant that he had to move with absolute focus and execute the perfect technique without a single centimeter to slip from his fingers to cut down his opponent. In other words, he had to be the perfect swordsman. Genjiro closed his eyes, his vision only burdened his other senses that he needed more to kill the enemy. His entire face contorted with focus. Chiaki, who was seated at the back of the dojo let out a soft giggle as he witnessed Genjiro's actions dismissing it as some 'antics' the boy was doing. Little did he know that Genjiro was existing in a totally different plane.

Beside Chiaki was Ryugyu himself, emotionless as he stared down his student who's focus was like an iron curtain that shielded him from any interferences. Noticing Chiaki's chuckle, he gave him a light tap on his back, his index finger from his other hand rested against his lips gesturing Chiaki to stay silent the moment his retainer turned towards him. Genjiro now begun to position himself into a stance. It was deeper and more grounded than anything Ryugyu had done or witnessed before. From the point of view of the untrained, he looked like a maniac who had no clue on how to fight but a master swordsman like Ryugyu knew exactly how difficult it was even for him to stay in an absurdly deep stance while not moving a single muscle. Realistically, to stay in such a position for so long would be straining for his limbs considering his lean build. Within a fraction of a second, Genjiro gravitated past the dummy with great speed. Chiaki, failing to notice the swing of his weapon had confusion strewn all over his face as the dummy that before this moment stood still like a brick wall had split into two. Its upper abdomen slid down from the lower abdomen and dropped to the ground. Chiaki's mouth gaped wide open and his receding hairline that bordered his neatly combed grey hair were raised. This was insanity in his eyes as he had never witness such a feat in his life. Even Ryugyu had never once displayed such an incredible show of swordsmanship in front of him. The instant the dummy was decapacitated, Genjiro felt his veins all over his body burst under his skin like small explosions that occurred all at once as the sheer pain alone caused a throbbing, unbearable pain at the back of his head. His view gradually became blurry from his rising blood pressure and the boy eventually kneeled to the ground. Like a fish struggling to live on land, Genjiro's back slammed onto the ground, his mouth gulping for as much air as possible as his eyes bulged out of his skull. The technique was perfect and so was the power. 'If this was my final strike before my death then I'm more than satisfied' were the words repeated by his soul that was fleeting away from his body.

"Genjiro! Breathe! Calm down and focus on your breathing. Look at me, don't say anything alright. Just breathe boy... That's right, slow and steady. Don't give up! Keep the breathing going and you'll be alright soon. Breathe, breathe."

Sprinting from his seat, Ryugyu arrived at Genjiro's aid as he held him in his arms urging him to control his breathing. What he had just witness was one of the few techniques that if executed by a swordsman who lacked skill was more detrimental than effective. Despite that, he was surprised that his youngest student could pull off something so complex that even he, had to take years to master. Chiaki at this point of time was stumbling around, panic stricken trying to figure out how he could be useful in this situation at times, tripping over his own legs as he hugging all the medicine in the storeroom of the dojo with his two hands and running towards Genjiro and Ryugyu. After several minutes, Genjiro finally calmed down. His breathing was back to normal and fainted into a deep slumber after the strenuous ordeal he just went through. Instructing his retainer to carry the boy to the resting room, he slowly walked out of the dojo, his eyes probed to the bustling city of Nozoru below the hills in which the dojo stood proudly atop as the sun leisurely swam down the skies. Somewhere out there, there might just be a warrior training hard in the desolate forests to surpass him and that thought alone drove Ryugyu's will to practice harder.

The Takeguchi Dojo was the place that had sheltered his bloodline for decades, each of them continuing to hone their skills in pursuit of strength yet none dared to venture to the north and west to challenge the other sword schools. The contradiction made him grimace at the fact that cowardice might just be the reason why the style never flourished as well as the other sword schools in the other parts of the country. Ryugyu looked upwards in the direction of the moving clouds, a small grin etched on his face.

"Genjiro might just catch up to me in a couple of years time. But just how strong am I when compared to the monsters in the other parts of this country? Heck, how strong are the monsters here when compared to the swordsmen around the world? I will be the strongest. The best ever."

Meanwhile, a hundred miles away from Nozoru, Arakan was deep in the wilderness in an attempt to get himself ready for the Eastern Swordfighting Championships.