"The sword is an extension of the arm..."
"The saying goes, 'an inch longer, an inch stronger,' the places your arms and legs can't reach, that's where the sword comes in as a substitute."
"Holding the sword wrong, your back should be straight and slightly leaning forward, your lower body steady, eyes aligned with the tip of the sword, forming a straight line..."
"When you slash downwards, you must focus the force onto the blade, maximizing the impact force..."
"No, lift your hand a little higher, where's your elbow supposed to be...?"
"I told you to face forward, not to expose your chin for the opponent to stab..."
"The downward stroke should be straight, you're likely to break the blade like this..."
"One, slash down... use some force..."
"Two, again..."
"Three... four... if you don't complete two thousand strokes before sunset, no dinner for you!"
On a clearing deep within Sagiri yama, a few split wooden stakes were scattered... Urokodaki Sakonji tirelessly corrected Roy's stance, footwork, and sword slashing angle. After observing for a while, he left behind the task of "slash the sword two thousand times today" and disappeared.
According to the experiences of Shinsuke Fukuda and others, a novice can perform a thousand sword swings without fainting and is considered successful.
But... two thousand times... one could only say, "Eiichiro Oda is going to have it rough later."
"Master is betting." Makomo stood atop a tall birch tree, leaning down to watch Roy focus on his "Iaido Slash" training... The young man was calm and methodical, showing no dissatisfaction or complaints despite Urokodaki Sakonji's "temporary increase in quantity."
A bit too calm...
"It's not betting, but rather, Master has never taught a disciple as outstanding as Eiichiro Oda."
Ten days to comprehend the mysteries of "Breathing Technique," such talent is practically unheard of... Sabito corrected Makomo, eyes focused from beneath the Celestial Dog Mask watching Roy train, for a moment seeing the vision of a youthful Giyu, with the same thick black hair and extraordinary talent that draws envy.
"How many swings did Brother Giyu do when he started learning?" Makomo asked curiously.
"Him..." Sabito laughed: "He barely managed eight hundred at first, and the last two hundred were completed with Master's help, holding his arm stiffly..."
Carrying a hint of recollection, Sabito continued: "But later, his endurance grew stronger, completing three rounds of the 'Ten Thousand Basic Swings,' and from that day, Master took him to the waterfall to begin training the Breathing Technique."
"Three times? I've only done it twice..." Makomo pouted, somewhat unconvinced.
"You're skilled enough, Fukuda at most managed eighteen hundred swings..."
Shinsuke chimed in, unreservedly exposing his friend's old bottom line.
"What makes you think you're so much better?" Fukuda caught Shinsuke by the throat in a rear naked choke: "Trash, only ten swings more than me? Bragging about it every day..."
"Ten more is still ten more..." Shinsuke counterattacked Fukuda's crotch, the two squabbling and wrestling, raising clouds of aggressive breeze just like always...
Sabito was long accustomed to their crude antics, his beautiful eyes locked on Roy below, curious to see what he, a novice, could accomplish.
"He can't fall behind Tanjiro at the very least." Roy swung down one strike after another, knowing full well that in the original work, Tanjiro's first sword swinging record was one and a half "Ten Thousand Basic Swings," which is fifteen hundred... Urokodaki Sakonji added five hundred to this as a clear test.
Yet even two thousand is still too few, given the premise of ten times the physical quality of an ordinary person here; as long as the stance and sword angle are correct, Roy feels he can complete an actual "Ten Thousand Basic Swings," meaning ten thousand swings daily.
"Whoosh~" The blade slices through wind and snow, forming a whistle.
From morning to noon and onto evening, aside from drinking water and eating two dumplings packed by Urokodaki Sakonji, Roy didn't pause, aiming for nine thousand...
"Nine thousand one... nine thousand two... nine thousand three... nine thousand four..."
With each strike falling, he began to tire, arms grew sore, chest was like a worn-out bellows, "Huff~ huff~" gasping...
"Monster," Shinsuke Fukuda and all present souls eerily quieted, from wrestling to pass time to lying lethargically, and finally rising upright, stunned watching Roy... within just one day.
"He's not human, he's a ghost!" Shinsuke refused to believe his eyes, firmly concluding: "Eiichiro Oda must be an Evil Ghost, approaching Master on purpose, then biting Master's head off when he's off guard."
"Shut the hell up!" Fukuda swung a hard flick on his forehead, cursing loudly: "You think the sun is just for show?"
"What ghost dares operate in daylight?!"
Though Sagiri yama is shrouded in thick fog year-round, sunlight occasionally breaks through, projecting into the mountain.
Not only Evil Ghosts, even the Ghost King must turn to ash.
Nonetheless... for a novice to swing a sword ten thousand times, achieving a proper "Ten Thousand Basic Swings," indeed seemed too extraordinary...
Eiichiro Oda truly, again and again, challenges everyone's perceptions!
Sabito stared in a daze, feeling his sleeve tugged gently, turning to see Makomo with glowing eyes saying, "We can be liberated."
Liberation... was the dream everyone hoped for day and night!
"Yes."
Makomo was right; they could be liberated.
Sabito took a breath, nodded heavily, and looked again—
The youth in the Birch Forest, standing in Snow Country, with the last bit of strength took a fierce step forward and slashed...
"Slice~" The blade sank into the wooden stake, like scissors through paper, easily cutting it in half!
"Ten thousand!"
[Hint: Swordsmanship +10...]
"Whew—"
A long breath expelled, forming a dragon of mist.
The severed wood rolled to his feet...
Roy stood, supporting himself with the sword, bangs on his forehead frosted with sweat...
He smiled: "Master, is dinner ready?"
Behind... in the misty mountain woods, a shadowy figure approached,
wearing a Celestial Dog Mask, silently watching the youthful yet not overly tall shadow, before leaving a statement: "Add two thousand more tomorrow."
Turning to leave...
"Hahaha..." The youth suppressed a soft laugh, followed by shoulder shaking, chin lifted, face turned skyward, facing the wind and snow, transforming into a wild laugh...
"Jubilant!"
The laughter pierced the thick fog...
stirring a flock of birds to flight...
"Tweet—"
A foolish snowy owl, overtly frightened, failed to escape, and bumped into a branch, fainting on the spot...