Chapter 3 : What it means to be the greatest
(zoros training and also his choice of using 3 swords)
The soft light of late afternoon slanted through the dojo's paper doors, painting the polished wood floor with gold. Zoro stood in the center, still sweaty from drills, Wado Ichimonji resting loosely in his hands. His breathing was heavy but steady, the product of years of Koushirou's training.
Koushiro leaning on his own sheathed katana, watched his student with a faint smile that gave nothing away. It was late in the afternoon most students had gone back home
"Zoro," Koushirou began, his voice calm but carrying that quiet authority that made the air itself feel still, "you've grown strong. Stronger than most men your age. But strength alone doesn't win every battle."
Zoro tilted his head. "Then what does?"
"Understanding." Koushirou walked forward, his steps silent on the floor. "It's time you learned of something… beyond swordsmanship." He paused, letting the words settle. "Have you heard of Breathing Styles?"
Zoro shook his head.
"They are a method used by a very particular swordsman" Koushirou continued. "Demon Slayers. Men and women who dedicate their lives to hunting the creatures of the night — beings of great strength, speed, and cruelty. Without these breathing techniques, a normal person or a swordsman who lacks skill would last only moments against them."
Zoro's brows drew together. "So… it's just a way to make you stronger?"
"Yes… and no." Koushirou unsheathed his katana just enough for the blade to catch the sunlight. "Breathing Styles focus on brute force — power pushed beyond human limits, channeling the breath into the body to strike harder, move faster, and endure longer. It is a method built for war against monsters, not for the elegance of the blade."
He let the blade slide fully free and took a stance, the tip angled toward the floor in perfect balance. "Swordsmanship, on the other hand, is the art of the blade itself — precision, timing, control. Every cut has purpose, every movement grace. It is skill refined until it becomes beauty in motion."
Koushirou's eyes met Zoro's. "Swordsmanship wins duels between men. Breathing Styles kill demons. One is a scalpel, the other a hammer."
Zoro's grip tightened on Wado Ichimonji. "Then which is better?"
"The greatest swordsman," Koushirou said, lowering his sword, "is one who can use both at their highest level. To move with the elegance and precision of a master swordsman, yet strike with the raw, overwhelming force of a Demon Slayer. Few have ever achieved this. Even fewer lived long enough to master both. "
He sheathed his sword with a single, fluid motion, the click echoing in the empty dojo. "But remember — Breathing sacrifices some skill for power, so the user can fight longer and save stamina against demons. Swordsmanship sacrifices raw force for control, making it deadlier against humans but less effective against creatures that can only be killed through overwhelming might."
Zoro looked down at his blade, the polished steel reflecting the dim light. "Then I'll learn both," he said without hesitation.
Koushirou smiled faintly, the kind of smile that was almost hidden by thought. "Ambition alone will not bridge the gap between two worlds, Zoro . To have ambition but take no action thats no different from dreaming . You have to work and back up all the words you have spoken . "
"Although the learning of Breath styles will have to wait , I know about breath styles but I myself never had any talent for them ,therefore I only know the basics , you'll have to find someone to teach them to you"
Zoro nodded ,he was determined to succeed
The wind stirred outside, rustling the leaves. The boy stood taller, already seeing not the difference between the two paths — but the challenge of walking them both
Some days later
The morning sun spilled through the open paper doors of the dojo, painting soft golden rectangles on the wooden floor. Young Zoro, barely reaching Koushirou's waist, sat cross-legged with his two practice swords at his side. His hair was messier than usual, and his expression was one of restless impatience.
Koushirou entered quietly, carrying a neatly folded cloth, a small bottle of oil, and a long, slender case. Without saying a word, he sat opposite Zoro and placed the items between them.
"Today," Koushirou began, his voice calm and even, "you will learn something most swordsmen forget until it's too late."
Zoro tilted his head. "How to cut even harder?"
Koushirou's lips twiched 'is that all he thinks about '
"No. How to make sure your sword can cut at all."
He opened the case, revealing a sheathed katana. Even in its resting state, the blade seemed to hum with a quiet authority. Koushirou unsheathed it halfway, letting the light catch on the edge before sliding it fully out.
"This," he said, "is not just steel. It is a reflection of your spirit. Neglect it, and it will rust. Abuse it, and it will break. Care for it, and it will carry you through a hundred battles."
Zoro leaned forward, eyes glued to the blade. "So… how do you take care of it?"
Koushirou placed the sword across his knees. "First, you must clean away any blood, dirt, or moisture after every use. Not later. Not 'when you feel like it.' Immediately. Steel remembers neglect."
He took the cloth, folding it carefully, and began to wipe along the blade in smooth, deliberate strokes from the back toward the edge, never touching the cutting side directly with his fingers. "The oil prevents rust. A light coat is all you need. Too much and you drown the blade, too little and you starve it."
Zoro watched every movement as if the sword itself was whispering secrets to him.
Once Koushirou finished, he handed the oiling cloth to Zoro. "Your turn. Slow. Steady. The way you clean it tells me the way you fight."
Zoro began wiping the blade, at first clumsy, smearing too much oil. Koushirou reached over, gently guiding his hands. "A sword feels your hesitation. You must move with certainty, even in this. Remember, Zoro—"
His tone grew firm. "A sword is an extension of you. If it is sharp, you are sharp. If it is dull, so are you. And if it breaks… it is your shame as a swordsman."
Zoro's grip tightened, the words sinking deep.
When the cleaning was done, Koushirou stood, sheathed the katana, and slid it back into the case. "Mastering the sword is not only about how you wield it in battle, but how you treat it in peace. This… is part of your training. Never forget it."
Zoro nodded, more serious than usual. "I won't."
Koushirou's smile was small but proud.