'The Split. This place isn't as extravagant as High-Town, but it's not Old-Town either. This is where the Swivelling Blade is supposed to be.'
Jotou's hood covered her eyes from the morning Sun, walking past the people who strode with haste from place to place. The house she stopped at seemed to be the right address.
The public seemed to be nowhere near this plot surrounded by trees that gnarled up beyond the roof—the doors to it wide and of a darkened wood, like a dojo's.
Screen windows of white, framed in the same wood. Red and gold leaves crisped as she approached up the short stairs.
'I tried to get the best sword I could from that pile… A bit dull, but at least it doesn't look broken. I hope he'll teach me.' She knocked on the sliding wooden door.
"State your business," the voice of an old man echoed till the door.
Jotou faced the wood, "Hi, I'm Jotou Howllett. I was hoping to talk to you about learning how to fight with a sword. You may also know me as the Thundering Blade?"
A pause was her response, before, "Come inside." Jotou slid the door open and stepped into the polished wood floors and walls. An earthy scent hit her senses.
Mild dawn light shined into the vast room that had two extra layers of floors to the sides. A massive screen door was open on the other end, to an open space.
Doorways led to other rooms to the sides of where she entered, but the sight of a man on the raised flooring to the left caught her attention first.
He sat, cross-legged, in his black hakama-like garment with a white top. He had a paintbrush pinched delicately—a table was set with various tools on top of it. His fuzzy hair had greyed, brown eyes focused on his work.
His eyes did not shift as his silver goatee moved, "You want to learn the blade?" he dipped his paintbrush in pots of paint and moved his wrist like a feather in the wind.
"Yes. You must be Master Tensuo then? Is it like a monthly payment thing… or like per lesson? I just don't know how to go about this."
"You are the Thundering Blade, correct?" he brushed his paintbrush against a dry cloth. He got up and stretched his back with a pop.
"Yeah… but I'm not my title…" her eyes darted away. "That title might as well be a joke cause as far as swords go… I can swing and miss, that's about it."
"So? What is your intent by learning from me? That is if I can teach you anything," not glancing back at her, he sauntered down to the other end of the hall.
'I need to tell the truth.' "To maybe live up to that title someday. I'm not here to learn how to be a master like you in a day; I, at least want to see what I'm capable of…
I want to protect my friends and put an end to the Velatos Case. I realized that, just because I have a little lightning, I'm not invincible and that alone won't protect me.
And… I want to win my fights. I'm tired of either being overestimated or doubted. So, there are selfish reasons as well," as Jotou reasoned, the master handled a blade off the wall—examining it.
He walked over, finally looking at Jotou in the eyes. A blade sheathed in a blue dyed leather. He looked at her up and down, "Remove your cloak; show me your wrists," he ordered.
"I- Okay?" Jotou took off the cloak and let her blonde hair free; she stood in her adventuring gear and showed him her hands.
The master held her left ring finger, bending it up and down in examination before he let go. He held the end of the blade, unsheathing it.
Jotou's eyes bubbled, "Uh, I'm not ready for a fight-"
"Hold," he said, spinning the blade to let Jotou grasp the hilt. The blue string-grip around the handle felt soft yet firm; the blade was polished till the tip, a little curved and shining.
Jotou held it up. 'I don't think I've ever held a sword that looks this… amazing.' It was light—the movement through the air alone felt fluid. The master began walking to the other end, hands behind his back.
"Wait, is that a, yes?" Jotou followed behind.
He stopped at the end of the open space; a beautifully crafted garden made of stone and bonsais. Red and gold leaves drifted down from the corners that brought shade.
Few open spaces were present, a bench and some tables as well. The sunlight did not feel hot, but cool and lanterns hung around the open area. "Show me what you can do so far."
Jotou scratched the back of her neck, "Are you sure? I may need a few pointers first…" 'I don't wanna be confident; I have to be humble.'
Without saying a word, he turned around and moved slightly away. He watched in waiting; his thin body was kept well for his age, standing a bit taller than Jotou.
Jotou gulped, "Alright then," she took a step back. 'Not with two hands.' She swung the blade from her right hand to her left side.
"Stop," he told as Jotou held in position. Master Tensuo walked close, then pulled her arm up. "Back straight and only turn your shoulders and waist when swinging. If you need to go lower, bend your knees, not your back."
He straightened her arm to face forward with the blade, then bent her elbow slightly, "Keep your arm flexible, do not be stiff," he moved back.
Jotou's eyes darted back and forth, "Do I swing now?" No response… "Okay then," she swung it to her right and slashed down. The wind separated at the slice.
"No," he moved forward again, grabbing Jotou's hand, "Loosen your thumb and pointer finger," he adjusted her fingers on the hilt.
"The rest keep your sword steady. Move your wrist till its limit before moving your forearm; only after that, your arm, when making a heavy strike down. Now, go," he stepped back.
"Alright," Jotou swung, wrist first, forearm, then arm downwards. The air shifted stronger like a hollow whistle to the cut. Jotou smiled.
"Why are you doing a heavy strike?" the master questioned, a little rage in his croaking and gravelly voice.
"What? You, you told me to," Jotou knitted her brows.
"I believe I said 'when' making a heavy strike. Those types of strikes must be used at the end of a fight; or when you have an open window on your opponent.
Listen very carefully; using the blade, draw an eight in the air," the master instructed.
Jotou shook her head, sighing as she focused back on the sword. She began drawing- "Only your wrist!" the master quickly corrected.
Jotou flinched, correcting it, and only twisting her wrist to move the sword, making an eight in the air, doing it three or four times before stopping.
"Now, do the same but sideways," he commanded.
'An infinity symbol?' Jotou brought the blade down- "Up! Near you eyeline!" he shouted, startling Jotou to correct it. She twisted her wrist making an infinity symbol in the air eight or ten times.
"Moving left and right is swifter while moving up and down takes more effort. You leave yourself vulnerable longer by striking down or up.
Swing right and left for now. Keep moving in that sideways shape. And do the opposite of your arm movements. Arm first, forearm, then wrist," he guided.
Jotou did as he asked, following that same pattern while the master walked around her and towards his painting supplies. He halted for a second, looking to Jotou.
"Stop," he pushed Jotou's legs apart with his, "Your stance is unstable. Keep your feet close when in motion and wide when stationary.
That way you fully utilize your speed and balance," he adjusted the way Jotou was holding the sword, "The curved edge must face your target.
When you move sideways, rotate the edge towards the end you are striking by using your thumb. Keep a light grip," he went back on his way to his supplies, "Keep that movement," he said as Jotou twisted her wrist.
He sat down, going back to his brush. Jotou kept it up for ten minutes… 'What is this? Some movie-level training? How long do I have to do this?'
Jotou stopped for a second, "Uhm, sorry I stopped but I'm confused. Are you teaching me or not?"
He looked up, drying his brush to the side and poured a pot of water down onto the table Jotou could not see. "Have I not already taught you!?"
Jotou flinched, "I meant taking me in as a student…"
He groaned, "Never mind; I wanted to test how your movements fare. Your performance tells me of your stubbornness and stiff motive. Yet you can fluidly adapt if need be.
Which is good. Without a gauge on your current performance, how am I to know if I can teach you? Your impatience tells much, but so does your nature to question.
You want to see your worth; you are unguided. Your reasons, you call them selfish despite many calling them noble. Your awareness of your flaws gives you the need to prove.
You hide your confidence in humbleness in hopes of gaining more. Your decision is wise to go against your true nature. You have room to learn, but also uphold strongly to your ideals; and such a student, I know I can teach.
However, your judgement is clouded. You're unsure of your reasons to fight, trying to convince even yourself. So, one last test, if you wish to learn," he stood up and invited Jotou up to his table.
"Sit; back straight," he spoke as Jotou sat. Before her were various colours in little pots and a clean paintbrush. Crystal clear water laid still in a wooden frame—the edges appeared oily.
"Water painting? I've heard of this… though, I'm more used to a pen and a screen… or even a pencil," Jotou examined the table, moving her crossed legs inwards.
"If you're an artist, even better. Paint. Pick up the brush and be gentle. Do not let the water ripple and move slowly," he stood with his hands behind, observing what Jotou would do.
"Paint? Paint what?" Jotou looked up to him, picking up the brush.
"Anything that comes to your mind; be it an object or simply strokes of a brush."
Jotou gulped, dipping the brush in red. 'It's been a while since I've drawn freely… There's always a commission.' She inhaled and looked at the water. 'Art. Just let go and put your feelings into it—simple.'
Her hand began moving, making a light stroke that curved at the top of the water. She continued doing so in silence.
"This technique originated during the old war, when there was a territory between Cravolta and Luxinor. The people were in the crossfire, unsure of which side they belonged to.
But through two different nations, came the culmination of painting on the surface of water. The world would come to know the local speciality in an art they discovered.
The technique is lost to time and the one that remains have two styles; Cravoltan and Luxinorian, both having subtle differences. This is Cravoltan," he gave a history while Jotou painted.
What was almost an hour in that small, shallow pool felt like minutes. With a final dip of the brush, a brilliant blue dotted the end of her painting.
Red streaks like hair, a red triangle at the top and a black smile on the peach face with the blue eye. "Interesting," he examined, "A person?"
"A friend of mine," Jotou replied, "I don't know why, I just felt like drawing her," she shrugged in a smile.
His head tilted, watching the paint, "A blade is a tool that scribes. By learning the sword, you learn not only discipline, but an artform. Stand; stand by the reasons you told me you wanted to learn.
Remove the doubts and calm your mind. If you're conflicting with yourself then don't hope to be better. Guide those doubts onto your canvas; into the art you stroke," he walked away; Jotou did not see his subtle smirk.
"Now come; I have not taught in quite a while."