"And the ultimate goal we pursue…"
Isshin paused, then said word by word, "is to strive for victory by any means necessary—to exhaust every possible tool and technique that can be utilized in battle, to achieve the objective of the fight. For the sake of victory, for survival, for protection, one's thinking must not become rigid."
"For example… this firelock in my hand." He looked at Motoya and said calmly, "In your eyes, it may be a mere trick device, a firearm. But in my eyes, within the principles of my Ashina-ryū…"
"It is a sword!"
Isshin continued, as if stating a most natural fact: "Its construction is an extension of a sword's structure; its firing is another form of a sword's thrust and slash; the flames and bullets it spits forth are the projection of a sword's edge and power into the distance. The method of using it, the timing, and the coordination with one's own movements—the Way contained within these is, in essence, no different from wielding a true blade."
"So, marksmanship is also swordsmanship, and ballistics is also the Way of the sword!"
Motoya was completely stunned; his mind nearly stopped turning.
A firelock is also a sword?
Marksmanship is also swordsmanship?
Ballistics is also the Way of the sword?
His shisho's words entirely overturned everything he had previously understood about martial skill and weapons.
Then Motoya heard his shisho speak another set of words—somewhat abstruse in sound, yet seemingly containing reason within: "So-called, all things possess their own principles, and all can be transformed into a sword. When there is no sword in one's hand, if there is the principle of the sword in one's heart, then grass, wood, bamboo, and stone can all serve as swords. When there is no principle of the sword in one's heart, even if one holds a divine weapon, it is nothing more than a lump of dead iron. What is important is not clinging to the form of the sword, but comprehending the method of employing all things."
This reasoning—that all things may serve as swords, that having no sword surpasses having a sword—was even more bewildering to Motoya, who had only just entered this path and had not yet systematically studied the Way of the sword. He listened as though shrouded in mist, half understanding and half not.
Yet when he looked at his shisho's solemn and profound gaze, and at the natural manner in which he toyed with the firelock—as though man and weapon were one—every doubt in his heart transformed into deeper shock and reverence.
So this is what the Ashina-ryū is like?
So true martial skill and the Way can encompass something so vast?
Though Motoya remained confused, an inexplicable sense of conviction arose within him.
Since his shisho said so, then it must be correct!
Ashina-ryū swordsmanship really was different from any school of swordplay he had imagined before!
"Yes! Shisho, I understand!"
Motoya nodded hard, engraving his shisho's words firmly in his heart—even though their deeper meaning would still need time to be digested.
…
A few days later, at the Seishin Meichi-ryū dōjō.
Sunlight filtered through the dōjō's high windows, casting neat patches of light across the floor. A faint scent of wood and sweat drifted in the air.
Sōichirō let out a low shout. His iron staff tore through the air with a heavy whoosh as it drove straight in—precisely the Seishin Meichi-ryū opening form: upright and direct, yet carrying tremendous force.
Isshin's footwork flowed. The tachi slid half an inch from its scabbard, as if he were about to parry.
However, just as the two were about to enter the usual weapon-clash distance, Isshin's right hand—resting on the hilt—suddenly slipped downward in an extremely smooth, unbroken motion, as though it were merely dropping casually to his side…
Then, like lightning, he drew something from behind his waist!
It was unmistakably a firelock—crudely modified, with the barrel clearly lengthened a little!
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
A rapid series of deafening reports exploded in an instant, shattering the dōjō's solemn atmosphere!
Blazing muzzle-flashes spat from the barrel as five lead bullets screamed toward Sōichirō!
The distance was too close, the speed too fast!
'What the hell is that?!'
Sōichirō's pupils shrank abruptly—he had never expected anything like this.
At the critical moment, his rich combat experience and extraordinary reaction speed saved him.
His body, which had been charging forward, forcibly stopped short; his feet rooted in place. He drove power from his waist and abdomen. The iron staff in his hands no longer pressed the attack—instead, it whirled into a blurred black shadow, guarding his entire body!
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Thud!
Four crisp rings of metal striking metal and one dull impact sounded almost at the same time!
Four bullets were precisely knocked away by the iron staff, leaving deep dents and sparks in the dōjō floor and walls. The last one grazed past his shoulder and the edge of his clothing, tearing away a thin strand of cloth.
He had blocked them, but that firelock seemed to have been specially modified by its owner. The tremendous impact still made Sōichirō's body sway; he involuntarily took two small steps back before he managed to steady himself.
A searing pain flared where his shoulder had been grazed. What stoked his fury even more was this kind of attack—one that utterly violated the rules!
"You bastard brat!!!" Sōichirō steadied himself. His face was flushed red with rage, veins bulging. He pointed the iron staff at Isshin, his voice nearly ready to tear the dōjō roof off: "How can you be this dishonorable?! We agreed to test swordsmanship—how can you use a firelock?! What kind of match is this supposed to be?!"
Firearms were not a novelty in the shinobi world; they had existed for nearly a hundred years.
But in a world where chakra, an extraordinary power system, was the mainstream, they had always struggled to enter the grand stage.
They were usually only equipped by ordinary soldiers of various countries, local security forces, and even underground factions. Their power still posed a threat to genin, but against chūnin and above—ninjas who had mastered various defensive and evasive methods—they appeared clumsy and inefficient, and thus were looked down upon by orthodox shinobi.
And in the Land of Iron, where swordsmanship lineage and the spirit of bushidō were held in extreme esteem, even ordinary soldiers were ashamed to carry them, regarding them as lowly trick devices unfit for the serious path.
In his wildest dreams, Sōichirō had never imagined that one day he would see such a thing used in a dignified swordsmanship match—by a young swordsman he had acknowledged and even sparred with multiple times!
And judging by the sound, the bullet velocity, and the impact, it was clearly no ordinary piece of equipment. It had definitely been specially modified and reinforced by the bastard brat in front of him!
When he had traveled the shinobi world in his early years, he had seen various kinds of firearms—but ordinary ones absolutely did not possess this level of power and speed.
"President, you are attached to appearances," Isshin said calmly in the face of Sōichirō's furious questioning.
"As the saying goes, marksmanship is also an art, and ballistics is also a Way."
"When I use this firelock and you use that iron staff, there is no essential difference. We are both exchanging swordsmanship!"
"We both channel our own strength through the medium of a tool, releasing it in a specific technical form, in order to overcome the opponent or to engage in mutual exchange."
He spread his hands, his expression innocent yet tinged with a trace of disappointment.
"I had thought that a sword hero like you, President—one who uses a staff—had long transcended the shackles of concrete forms such as swords and blades, and had comprehended the true essence of the Way of swordsmanship—that tools have no hierarchy; what matters is whether they are suited to the task."
"Who would have thought… sigh, President, you are still constrained by those rigid rules and frameworks."
Sōichirō: "…"
I really want to smash your head with this staff…
While this clone of Isshin had obtained his exclusive equipment and was flaunting his Ashina-ryū swordsmanship in the Land of Iron—time was also passing, and faint ripples were beginning to stir upon the calm surface of the shinobi world.
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