Three years of training under the tutelage of Master Kazama Morishige had come to an end. According to the plan Morishige had laid out, it was now time for Gekkō Hoshiyomi to depart and head for the capital of the Land of Iron to participate in the once-every-five-years Kenjutsu Tournament.
Just thinking about it sent a rush of anticipation through Hoshiyomi's chest. He couldn't help but wonder what kinds of powerful opponents he might face there. Every time he fought a strong enemy, his experience bar surged—and if the competition was fierce enough, he might even leap straight to Advanced Swordsmanship in one go.
Bringing Lobo with him, Hoshiyomi made his way to Morishige's room. Though the old master often claimed he didn't have many years left, in truth his body was still sturdy—barring accidents, he likely had another decade or more.
At the moment, Morishige was seated cross-legged on a cushion, carefully polishing his beloved blade. Though he could no longer wield it in battle, he still took time now and then to maintain the sword he'd once trusted with his life.
The moment he saw Hoshiyomi standing there, gear packed and ready, Morishige understood immediately. He sheathed the sword with practiced grace and said:
"Heading out, are you? Makes sense—the tournament is only half a month away. Any later and you might not make it in time."
Maybe it was because he'd seen too many goodbyes in his life, or maybe he knew Hoshiyomi would return soon, but Morishige showed no sign of reluctance.
"Go. Do your best to place well. Don't bring shame to my name."
Hoshiyomi bowed deeply and offered some parting words before leaving the Kazama Dojo, Lobo trotting faithfully behind.
As he watched Hoshiyomi walk away, Morishige allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips. To have a disciple like that in his twilight years—someone with such talent—was more than enough to leave him content.
Once he saw the completed Wind Severing Slash, his life would be free of regrets.
…
Hoshiyomi didn't rush. With time to spare before the tournament, he took his time traveling, occasionally stopping in towns along the way to enjoy the scenery and local sights.
But the closer he got to the capital, the more crowded the roads became. Streams of people were heading the same way—young men and women drawn by the fame of the Kenjutsu Tournament.
The tournament only accepted applicants under twenty-five. For most young swordsmen in the Land of Iron, it was a once- or twice-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Countless aspirants had spent five years sharpening their skills, all hoping to make a name for themselves and become famed Sword masters.
Success in the tournament didn't just bring fame—it opened doors to massive opportunities.
Those who ranked highly were often recruited by elite dojos and trained as inner disciples, with access to the dojo's most guarded secrets.
The top few would be directly chosen for training by the General of the Land of Iron, offered high-ranking posts within the shogunate.
In some cases, the champion was even groomed as the General's successor.
And then there were the matchmaking perks. The Land of Iron had a long-standing tradition of marrying off daughters to skilled swordsmen. A top performer in the tournament could walk down the street and be swept away by a noble clan—becoming their son-in-law by the next morning.
In other words, the Kenjutsu Tournament was a shortcut to glory:
Rise to high office, marry into wealth, and reach the peak of life.
At the gates of the Land of Iron's capital—
Hoshiyomi clicked his tongue in surprise. Since arriving in the shinobi world, this was the first time he'd seen a line this absurd.
The queue stretched for over a kilometer. Even standing within it, Hoshiyomi couldn't see the end.
He exchanged a glance with Lobo, who had used Transformation Jutsu to shrink down a size. They both shook their heads at once. How long was this going to take? The thought alone was exhausting.
It took them the entire morning to reach the front of the line. Upon finally entering the city, Hoshiyomi looked around at the bustling streets, overwhelmed by the sheer number of people. The crowd density here was greater than the busiest marketplaces he'd seen—even more packed than festival days in Konoha.
The Kenjutsu Tournament really was as massive as they said.
Still, after a few minutes of wandering the capital, the novelty wore off. It felt just like a tourist hotspot during Golden Week in his past life—people as far as the eye could see, nowhere interesting to look.
Rubbing his stomach, which had begun to protest loudly, Hoshiyomi glanced at Lobo and decided food and lodging were now top priority.
If it were just him, some cheap street food would have sufficed—but with Lobo, things got complicated.
Lobo had a huge appetite. If let loose, he could down an entire full-grown pig by himself. Honestly, bringing him along was starting to feel like a potential bankruptcy risk.
So instead of dining out, Hoshiyomi decided to first find a place to stay and then buy supplies to cook for Lobo himself. If Lobo were allowed to eat normal restaurant fare, Hoshiyomi's savings wouldn't last the week.
In fact, most people wouldn't travel with giant ninja beasts like Lobo. They caused too many problems in public. Typically, once a contract was signed, they were sent to the Summoning Realm.
The Summoning Realm was a mysterious place—believed to exist somewhere on the same continent as the shinobi world, but hidden away in some dimensional fold.
Few had ever seen it. The ninja beasts' domain seemed like a pocket world that only intersected with the shinobi world at specific points. Passing through one of these points would bring you to an entirely different dimension. The manga itself had never explained who created that realm.
Under normal circumstances, summoning beasts stayed in their own world, only appearing when called upon by contract holders. Once the task was done, they'd vanish again.
But Hoshiyomi was an exception—not because he couldn't bear to part with Lobo, but because he had no chakra and thus couldn't form a contract at all.
And since he never knew when he might need Lobo in battle, the wolf had to stay by his side until Hoshiyomi could recover his chakra and officially sign the summoning pact.
He had expected lodging to be a nightmare with so many people in town—but to his surprise, the Land of Iron had planned ahead.
Every inn had reserved rooms set aside specifically for tournament participants.
At each inn's entrance stood a slab of cloud-iron, a special alloy. Anyone who could leave a sword mark on it—using only the standard iron blade provided—could earn access to a reserved room at 30% off.
It was a clever system—one that clearly separated the real contenders from the average rabble.
Hoshiyomi was quite pleased with this arrangement.
He walked up to one inn, took the ordinary sword handed to him, and casually slashed down. A deep groove was left in the iron slab.
Ignoring the stunned look on the innkeeper's assistant, he led Lobo inside and said flatly:
"One room, please."
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