Chapter 19: Sword Expert
A ruined shrine. The autumn wind bit with a seasonal chill, and the bamboo forest outside whispered a restless, rustling melody. A heavily corroded Buddha statue sat in the shadows, looking less like a deity and more like a Shura fallen into the depths of hell. The air was thick—clogged with the scent of rotting wood and the faint, metallic tang of blood.
A single shaft of light pierced through a hole in the roof.
"Huu..."
A heavy, drawn-out breath echoed softly within the dilapidated walls. Chishima Akishin stood there, clad in common cloth rags stained dark with blood. His chest was exposed, revealing a deep gash that scraped the bone, still oozing a sluggish crimson trail.
The outfit was a poor match for Akishin's actual face, yet it harmonized perfectly with his aura—he looked every bit the part of a lawless Ronin from the Bakumatsu era.
He had stripped these clothes from a corpse. His own original attire had long since been shredded, deemed unfit for the rigors of slaughter.
As for his enemies... they were, naturally, an endless stream of Ronin.
His pupils darted, scanning the perimeter. A strange, twisted smile played at the corners of his mouth. The longsword in his grip was chipped and battered. At the shrine's gate lay three lifeless bodies: two with their throats opened, and one with a puncture wound straight through the heart.
A single drop of blood slid down the length of his blade.
Plink.
The sound was as clear as a water droplet hitting a still pond.
"Aaaagh!"
A sudden, guttural roar erupted. Simultaneously, a Ronin leapt from the overhead rafters. The shout vibrated through the ruined shrine, momentarily deafening Akishin.
However, as if he had sensed the trajectory before it manifested, Akishin stepped back. The lethal blade whistled past his cheek, the wind of its passage chilling his skin.
In that same heartbeat, Akishin thrust his own blade forward.
Squelch.
The steel sank deep into the Ronin's abdomen. Akishin's eyes flashed; he prepared to twist the blade for a horizontal rent—in this exchange, he was the victor.
But before the edge could turn, the Ronin looked up and flashed Akishin a grotesque, haunting grin. He forced his legs forward, impaling himself further onto Akishin's sword until the tip erupted from his back and snagged against his spine.
Thuck.
The Ronin's own sword plunged into Akishin's chest. An indescribable agony flared. Gritting his teeth, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks, Akishin tried to recoil and wrench the steel from his lungs.
It was then that a second Ronin dropped silently from behind a pillar. A blackened blade swung in a clean arc toward Akishin's neck.
Akishin didn't have time to turn. His vision suddenly soared upward, and he caught a fleeting, blurry glimpse of his own headless torso spraying a fountain of red.
Dammit, failed again...
That was his final thought.
A flash of white light. Akishin found himself back in the white void, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He was back in his gray pajamas, his body unmarred by wounds, with the longsword resting flat across his knees.
His gaze was hollow. He slowly raised a hand to touch his neck. The sensation of the cold steel biting through his flesh was still vivid, terrifyingly real.
He hadn't expected the Ronin to use a suicide tactic to pin him down. He had severed the man's spine; even if he hadn't died instantly, he should have been paralyzed. Logically, an opponent should retreat to minimize damage.
But had he done that, the two of them wouldn't have been able to kill Akishin.
Akishin recalibrated his understanding of the Ronin from that era. Even though they were training puppets created by the "Patch," they possessed the complete tactical mind of a human; they could coordinate, they could scream in pain...
A flash of madness flickered in his eyes before vanishing. Akishin exhaled a long breath, placing his hands calmly on his knees to stabilize his frayed emotions.
He remembered clearly: he had engaged in fifty-three life-or-death battles. He had also died fifty-three times. The methods of his demise varied, but the most frequent was decapitation—the neck was the most fragile point, the easiest to reap.
Of course, when he cut people down, he aimed for the neck too. It was the most efficient way to ensure a kill in a single stroke.
The "Patch's" upgrade system forced him to fight and kill; he fought ancient swordsmen and Bakumatsu Ronin. Every sensation of death was visceral.
The pain was anything but artificial.
An ordinary person experiencing death this many times would have likely lost their mind.
Akishin was different; it was as if he were born specifically for the blade. He faced the slaughter with cold rationality—no retreat, no arrogance. He just swung the sword, over and over, refining his technique to cut down whatever stood before him.
Akishin enjoyed the process of the swing, though he wasn't obsessed with the act of killing itself.
The difficulty ramped up incrementally. Initially, it was one enemy, then two. After he mastered two, it became three, then four...
The highest count was when he faced seven Ronin at once. Just like what had just happened: he had slain five, but was dragged into a mutual kill by the sixth, and finally finished off by the seventh.
These Ronin were roughly of the same skill level—mid-to-low tier fighters by Bakumatsu standards.
Because he had never trained in a formal style, Akishin started by fighting the most basic swordsmen. At first, he was killed almost every time before he could even land a hit. Each time he returned to the void, the "Patch" would use text to highlight his fatal errors.
By the tenth death, he began to develop his own rhythm, and the "Patch" stopped giving hints.
According to the system's text, Akishin possessed extraordinary talent for swordsmanship. Had he studied a specific school, these fifty-odd real battles would have surely seen him break through to [Expert] level long ago.
But again, if he followed a set style now, the difficulty of reaching [Grandmaster] later would likely double.
More importantly, Akishin hadn't lost his sense of self or descended into psychosis from this "minor" amount of combat.
"Minor" being fifty deaths. If it continued, he might not go insane, but he would fall into a state that would make it impossible to lead a normal life in reality.
That wasn't the result Akishin wanted. This place was merely a training ground.
"Patch!" Akishin said, his voice heavy. "How much time has passed?"
[Patch: Fifty days.]
An average of one battle per day. After each fight, Akishin would meditate, evaluating his mistakes and devising counters to the techniques that had ended him.
Akishin asked again, "Still haven't broken through to [Expert] swordsmanship?"
[Patch: This assessment depends on the heights Akishin can reach. For example, if Cooking allows one to prepare the Manchu Han Imperial Feast perfectly, it is rated as [Master]. To reach [Swordsmanship Expert], Akishin must defeat seven Ronin simultaneously.]
"Seven people, huh? I guess I almost had it just now."
Akishin's expression showed a hint of annoyance, but his eyes remained as still as a frozen lake. "Reaching [Expert] is this hard... what about [Master]?"
[Patch: Currently, you are facing generic swordsmen. For the [Master] level, you will be pitted against swordsmen of the same caliber whose names are recorded in history or fiction.]
The system's standards were brutal.
Historical or fictional figures? Would someone like Ashina Isshin show up?
"Then... what about [Grandmaster]?" Akishin asked with a mix of dread and curiosity.
[Patch: Information unavailable due to insufficient access authority.]
Akishin shook his head, closed his eyes, and entered [Sword Meditation]. Three hours later, he snapped his eyes open, and for a split second, an imaginary flash of steel seemed to glint in the air!
After a long exhale, that strange smile returned. "Let's do this."
Akishin vanished from the spot...
Two hours later.
Akishin reappeared. His eyes were bloodshot. This time, he didn't check his body for wounds. He looked at the longsword on his knees and picked it up.
Ching!
He drew it, the blade singing a clear, sharp note.
Akishin stared at the unremarkable sword that had accompanied him through fifty-four battles. A trace of regret, like that felt for an old friend, surfaced in his eyes.
His lips parted slightly. "Rest in peace."
A moment later...
The sword in Akishin's hand changed. Blood manifested on the steel, and the blade became webbed with countless cracks. Upon reaching its limit, the sword snapped in two with a sharp clack.
Akishin caught the broken shard, letting the edge slice into his palm. Crimson blood dripped onto the white floor of the void.
In that last battle, this nameless sword had shattered. Akishin had driven the broken shard into the last Ronin's throat.
The "Patch" text appeared:
[Congratulations to Chishima Akishin. Swordsmanship has increased to [Expert] level.]
Simultaneously, the blue screen flickered:
Name: Chishima Akishin.
Strength: 22.
Agility: 18.
Charisma: 10. (Needs improvement)
Constitution: 22.
Skills: Swordsmanship [Expert]—Grandmaster, Cooking (Master), Go—Master, Hand-to-Hand Combat (Expert), Firearms (Expert), Sword Meditation...
Skill Points: 0.
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