Under the enthusiastic invitation of the older man, Gekkō Hoshiyomi was brought to Kazama Dojo.
Judging from the building's size, it was indeed the largest sword dojo in Hammer Town. Just standing at the gate, Hoshiyomi could hear the loud "Heh-ha!" shouts echoing from within as students swung their blades in synchronized rhythm.
The moment he stepped through the front entrance, led by the older man, several heads turned. The instructor directing the trainees immediately frowned, barking at them:
"What are you staring at? Keep training!"
Turning around, he looked at the middle-aged man and spoke with visible annoyance:
"Cousin, how many times have I told you—when we're in session, use the back door, not the main gate!"
The older man scratched his head sheepishly.
"Sorry, sorry. Don't be mad. I brought someone new in."
"A new recruit?"
Only then did the instructor notice Hoshiyomi standing behind his cousin. His eyes lit up briefly at the sight of the Mikazuki Munechika on the boy's waist, but seeing Hoshiyomi's youthful appearance—no older than eleven or twelve—accompanied by a large white dog, he couldn't help but sigh. A precious blade in the hands of a spoiled noble brat.
Still, as a guest, basic courtesy was due:
"I'm Kazama Masahiro, new instructor of this dojo. Judging from your stance, you've studied swordsmanship for some time. Tell me about your background."
Hoshiyomi paused, then offered an alias:
"My name is Himura Kenshin. I've trained in swordsmanship for about five years. Actually, I came here mainly to see what your dojo's swordsmanship is like."
Kazama Masahiro frowned slightly. For some reason, the boy's tone carried a subtle trace of challenge. But he quickly dismissed the thought. A kid this small could barely draw that blade on his hip—what was he supposed to challenge with?
Probably just a rich kid using the wrong words. At this age, a quick demo would usually win them over and get them to enroll.
Thinking so, Masahiro turned to the still-curious trainees and called out:
"Abei, come out and show off our Kazama-style sword techniques!"
A teenager of about fifteen or sixteen stepped forward obediently and prepared to demonstrate. But Hoshiyomi's lips twitched. He knew they were underestimating him.
He raised a hand, stopping Abei, took a deep breath, and clarified:
"Uh, Masahiro-senpai, right? What I meant is—I came to Kazama Dojo to spar with strong opponents."
Masahiro frowned again—but this time, his thoughts shifted. He's probably just full of himself, raised on flattery, thinks he's some kind of genius swordsman. Seen it before. Abei will teach him some humility.
He turned and said:
"Then Abei, spar with him."
Then to Hoshiyomi:
"Come on then. Let's see what you've got."
At the center of the dojo, Abei lazily got into stance and said:
"Come on, I'm ready."
He didn't think much of Hoshiyomi's chances. After all, he'd trained here for years.
Hoshiyomi raised an eyebrow, grabbed a wooden sword, and with one clean motion, struck Abei hard on the wrist.
Abei saw a blur, then pain shot through his hand. Instinctively, he let go—his wooden sword clattered to the floor. Clutching his hand, he grumbled:
"What the hell? That was a sneak attack!"
He reached down to retrieve his weapon, ready for a rematch.
Hoshiyomi sighed, preparing to properly finish the match—but Masahiro's voice cut in:
"Abei, stand down."
He stepped forward, faced Hoshiyomi, and gave a slight bow:
"I apologize. I underestimated you. On behalf of Kazama Dojo, I accept your challenge."
To an outsider, that strike might have looked like a lucky hit. But to Masahiro's trained eye, it was anything but. The timing. The control. The precision. That slash was flawless. Just that single move told him: This boy's level of swordsmanship is anything but ordinary. Possibly... on par with my own.
Masahiro felt a chill run down his spine. On par with me...? I'm nearly thirty. And this kid—what, twelve? Thirteen?
This wasn't some pampered heir. This was a once-in-a-generation sword prodigy.
All previous arrogance vanished. Masahiro bent to retrieve Abei's fallen wooden sword, then saluted:
"Kazama Masahiro. Please, instruct me."
Around them, the dojo erupted. The trainees whispered and speculated, trying to figure out who this boy really was.
The older man clapped his hands sharply:
"Quiet, all of you! Watch closely and learn! Even picking up half a move from their match will skyrocket your skills!"
As the students settled, Masahiro and Hoshiyomi clashed.
Their wooden sword collided with a crisp crack.
And with just that single strike, Masahiro was shaken.
Hoshiyomi's movements were mercilessly sharp. There were no openings—only relentless forward pressure. He hadn't felt this kind of pressure since sparring with his father in his youth. One strike, and it felt like being hunted by a wild predator. The only option—defend.
Worse—when the blades met, Masahiro's hand went numb from the impact.
Fast and precise, sure. But this much raw strength too? Has he really only practiced for five years?
What Masahiro didn't know was that Hoshiyomi was still wearing 500 pounds of training weights. At full power, he could have shattered Masahiro's weapon in a single swing.
Still, Hoshiyomi was pleased. He'd put over 70% of his strength into that blow, and Masahiro had blocked it.
Not bad at all, he thought.
Looks like coming to the Land of Iron really was the right move.
Smiling, he warned:
"Careful—I'm coming again!"
PS: Read Advance Chapters at https://www.patreon.com/c/ReadJin