Gekkō Hoshiyomi was genuinely thrilled. More and more, he was starting to understand why, in martial arts novels, grandmasters often found no pleasure in being challenged by others.
Before coming to the Land of Iron, his battles had entered a strange state: enemies weaker than him were easily taken down in just a few strikes, and those stronger than him left him with few chances to fight with all his might.
Ever since his swordsmanship had pulled ahead of Sakumo's, it had been a long time since he last felt the thrill of true combat—the sharp ring of blades clashing, like the hammering of a blacksmith at the forge.
But after arriving at the Kazama Dojo, that feeling had returned. He'd once again found that abandon—the unrestrained swing of the sword until exhaustion set in.
That rush had him fired up. He charged forward, unleashing a flurry of attacks in a somewhat chaotic and unrefined offensive.
Though disorderly, his solid swordsmanship foundation and freakish speed still managed to pin down Masahiro.
Masahiro felt utterly frustrated. He could clearly see the openings in Hoshiyomi's stance, but couldn't land a single hit. Hoshiyomi's berserker-style assault left him momentarily flustered and unable to counter.
Forced into retreat, Masahiro's wooden blade was already creaking under the stress of repeated blocks. He knew he couldn't keep this up much longer—without a counterattack, he'd be completely defeated within two rounds.
Resolved, Masahiro made his move. Dodging one of Hoshiyomi's horizontal slashes with a move similar to an iron bridge, he rolled twice along the ground to create distance between them.
Rising to his feet, he gripped the wooden sword tightly. Suddenly, an intense aura flared from him. Though Hoshiyomi had lost his chakra, he could still feel the chakra coursing through Masahiro's body.
This… was the true secret technique of the Kazama Dojo—Kazama Style Secret Art: Wind Severing Slash.
Masahiro reversed his grip and tucked the wooden blade beneath his right arm in a strange stance—like a mantis raising its sickle. In the next instant, the "mantis blade" lashed out, the wooden sword cutting through the air with a howl.
Hoshiyomi was prepared. He stepped back, dodging the blade itself.
He thought that was the end of it—avoiding the wooden sword should've been enough. But to his shock, a faint, nearly invisible blade of compressed air sliced toward him, tearing through the air.
Startled by the sudden wave of pressure, Hoshiyomi quickly ducked and rolled to the side. The speed of the air blade wasn't overwhelming—he could still dodge.
As he rolled out of the way, he charged forward again. Before Masahiro could swing a second time, Hoshiyomi brought his own wooden blade down hard on Masahiro's.
Masahiro's weapon, already damaged, snapped in two under the impact.
Hoshiyomi skillfully dispersed the force of his strike. Though the blade still struck Masahiro's forearm, it didn't cause serious harm.
The broken half of Masahiro's wooden sword spun to the ground with a soft clack.
The match was decided.
Clutching his arm, Masahiro lowered his head and said to Hoshiyomi:
"Your skill surpasses mine. I concede."
Hoshiyomi spun his blade once in his hand and sheathed it, bowing respectfully with the hilt pointed forward:
"My apologies."
He then turned to leave. Masahiro watched his back, hesitating for a moment, unsure whether to stop him. Just then, a hoarse, aged voice called out from the side:
"Young man, wait."
The voice made Hoshiyomi pause instinctively. He turned to see a frail old man, leaning heavily on a cane, slowly emerging from the shadows.
Masahiro's eyes widened in surprise.
"Father? What are you doing out here?"
The old man snorted with discontent:
"I'm not dead yet. What's wrong with moving around?"
Masahiro hurried over to support him, explaining:
"That's not what I meant… your illness…"
"I won't die yet. I know my own body."
Turning back to Hoshiyomi, the old man said:
"Young man, you are truly gifted. Your talent in swordsmanship is truly a once-in-a-century occurrence, worthy of the name Kenshin.
If I were twenty years younger, I'd insist on crossing blades with you myself.
Alas, age has taken its toll, and I can no longer fight.
But please—stay. Allow me to show you the true essence of the Kazama Style Secret Art."
He shook off Masahiro's support and didn't even reach for a training sword. With only his cane, he assumed the same stance Masahiro had earlier.
But in that instant, the aura that erupted from him was leagues beyond Masahiro's. In just a single glance, Hoshiyomi could tell—this man had been a fearsome warrior in his youth.
Everyone present held their breath, fixated on the old man's movements, eager to witness the "true essence" he had spoken of.
The old man's body trembled—his strength clearly no longer up to the intense chakra flow—but he persisted. When he opened his eyes, his cane came crashing down in a swift arc.
A crescent-shaped blast of wind surged forward with a howling roar, carving a deep trench into the ground and crashing into a nearby stone pillar.
The pillar, thick as a wash basin, bore a deep gash where the air blade had struck—an incision that ran halfway up its length. And this had been done with just a cane.
If that cane had been a real blade—like the Mikazuki Munechika—it would've cleaved the pillar clean in two.
Even Hoshiyomi inhaled sharply. That one strike alone had the destructive power of a B-rank Wind Release Ninjutsu.
…
Had the Kazama Style Secret Art been only as strong as Masahiro's version, Hoshiyomi wouldn't have thought much of this dojo.
But this old man's demonstration? It had truly stunned him.
Even at his peak, Hoshiyomi would have struggled to block that strike. He thought through his options: either clash head-on with Swallow Return (Tsubame Gaeshi), or flee in advance using Crescent Moon Slash. There were no other viable strategies.
He found himself rooted to the spot. Partly out of curiosity about this old man's past, but also because… he genuinely coveted that technique.
Sword aura like this—what man could resist it?
And more importantly, Hoshiyomi had Wind Release chakra himself. Though he couldn't use it right now, once his chakra recovered, this technique would become a powerful trump card.
There was one more thing—the move reminded him of the Draw Sword from Dungeon Fighter Online (DNF).
If he could master this move and alter the execution style, wouldn't it become a real-life version of Draw Slash? And if he took it a step further—adding elemental Wind chakra nature transformation—maybe he could even create a Sky-Rending Draw sword.
With that thought, Hoshiyomi turned and bowed deeply to the old man:
"Forgive my disrespect, but may I have your name, elder?"
The old man laughed heartily and lightly supported Hoshiyomi:
"My name is Kazama Morishige, founder of the Kazama Dojo.
I feel a kinship with you at first sight. Would you be willing to hear an old man's tales of the past?"
"It would be my honor."
Hoshiyomi then helped Kazama Morishige toward the back quarters of the dojo, leaving Kazama Masahiro standing alone in the courtyard, windblown and dumbfounded.
"Old man… I'm your actual son, you know."