Spirit... A Subject [Akira, Mura]

When it came to inspiration, then being nagged day and night by a senile ghost wouldn’t cut it. Mura would have to sort of push Kyūken’s annoying remarks aside – after all, it was his power that enabled him to use that martial art to begin with. And Akira was swift and efficient to suddenly pull a number of other dummies to the floor, now totaling five.

Come to think of it, this idea of his resembled the use of Iaijutsu… but without the Iai in it. Nor with any Battō. It wasn’t a martial art at all – it was just as he did earlier… lifting the sword up straight, then letting his Reishi do the work. It slowly entered Harukami like a stream of electricity, running along the rusty blade and gathering wind around it – yes, he could feel it! Like pressure kept enveloping Harukami’s frame.

...

...

His Reishi finally reached some sort of ‘breaking point’ and released an explosion of wind in all directions – however, it managed to cut through only 3 dummies. The 2 remaining were simply slapped to the ground, but suffered no further injuries, and the explosion felt more... uncontrolled than before. As if it wasn’t what Mura initially desired – wind scythes that were controlled with the purpose of landing on a select few targets only. Imagine quickdrawing a revolver and shooting 5 guys in a typical Wild West setting, while your betrothed stood in their midst all bewildered and unharmed?

That was what he aimed for. But it wasn’t a martial art... it wasn’t anything he could just pick up in a day or two. And it showed on his sweating forehead.

“If I could just focus some more...” he groaned, perhaps distraught with something on his mind. Once things had settled down in his life, he had the opportunity to reflect upon his 10-year vagabond journey... and be pained at its outcome.

It felt like he hadn’t achieved anything but a bunch of stress from his last 10 years of loneliness. Carried on his own two feet from village to village, hiding from authorities, begging for a living, then reaching temple after temple for shelter. At least, he was now able to use that dumb ghost’s martial art, but… it proved limiting. Almost stagnating. Every fiber of his being could feel that, now. He wouldn’t go anywhere with just that – Akira proved it to him, and so did Veralia. Who could he beat in a duel? Who could he succeed against? Who could he protect with his life on the line? What could he change?

Akira basically told him to relax. It was clear that Mura needed a break to let the training soak in, and the moment that realization kicked in, his legs gave up, launching Mura onto his butt on the ground. “… Akira, how long have you trained to reach your current skill? And how do you keep such a grasp on all of those weird spells? When all I have… is Niten Muryū-“

“And it’s all you need! Don’t let him patronize you like that!”

“… Ignore him,” Mura apologized, “But… I can’t see myself learning any of your fancy spells, if that’s even possible. I learned that Quincies, too, can cast spells and such, but- wait, are you a Quincy, too? Ah, actually, forget I asked. I distract myself with my lack of knowledge all the time."

…

"… I don’t think it feels right with me – all I want is to cut like the wind. Simple, right? That’s the spine of Niten Muryū. That’s all of Niten Muryū. It sounds so simple, so utterly simple that it pains me to fall behind as easily as I do…”

He wasn’t talking about being held back in training. He was talking about being held back by a track record. Every person outside of his dojo that he’d dueled had won against him. Kyūken blew a fuse each time, so Mura was made painfully sure to remember each loss. Kyūken’s bragging… his proclaims… they must’ve been lies. Niten Muryū wasn’t this all-powerful martial art.

Had he wasted 10 years mastering it? Was this it? Frankly, 10 years in Japan with his Head Master likely could’ve pushed him even further, but he was late now. Training under Akira, and it was clear that Mura needed some fresh air. Air… fresher than fruits. Clearer than water. Colder than the north.

Akira seemed to have something else in mind, something to help ‘solidify’ the time spent in here. Although, Mura was currently more interested in the bottle of water lunged his way, which he swiftly grabbed and opened with his teeth before refreshing himself. “Perfect…” he relieved, feeling the cool sensation run down his stomach and travel across all of his skin.

Apparently, tomorrow’s schedule would be far more violent. It did make something to look forward to, learning more about how to manipulate wind as orthodoxly as he tried to. Akira seemed really knowledgeable in these things – lecturing other people about Spiritual Energy and helping them hone skills, even some as different from the black mage bullshit Akira had as Mura’s arsenal of martial arts.

He seemed like he really meant well for everyone. Maybe he’d traveled across the globe and gotten wise…