"Yes… you are indeed nothing. Compared to the heavens and the earth, you are nothing. Compared to the great cycle, you are nothing. Compared to the grand scheme of existence, you are nothing. And there are battles you cannot fight—fights you cannot win, no matter how much you desire to.
You have finally realized this truth, haven't you… tall man? You have come to understand the insignificance of your existence in the face of all things.
So, if you are nothing compared to the heavens and the earth… if you are nothing outward… then there is only one direction left to look—inward."
Umeboshi did not know where the voice came from. One might have expected him to be startled or defensive—after all, most spirits of the mountain were dangerous to him.
And yet, he remained still, lying on his back, gazing at the sky.
He listened intently to the words that echoed through the forest.
"Strength, infinity, purpose… No, the desire for strength itself always comes from within. True strength has always existed within you.
For fifty-one years, you searched outward in vain. But now, you will compare yourself only to yourself—not to things beyond your comprehension."
After a while, Umeboshi lay on his back and turned to face the source of the voice, unshaken by fear.
A few feet away, he saw a monkey draped in a red cape, a wooden staff resting on its shoulder. Aside from the cape and staff, it looked exactly like a wild monkey should. The creature stared at him with an indifferent expression.
Breaking the silence, Umeboshi spoke in a serious tone:
"You look strong."
The monkey looked at him and scoffed, speaking in an arrogant tone.
"And you look weak."
Umeboshi met its gaze with an indifferent expression, then sighed.
"I guess you're right... It took me my entire life and even my afterlife to truly realize—"
Before he could finish, a sudden, violent blow struck his head.
"Argh!"
Gripping his head in pain, he quickly realized the culprit—the monkey had just smacked him with its staff.
"Why the hell did you hit me?!" he shouted angrily.
As he tried to get up to confront the monkey, another strike landed, this time hitting him square in the face and sending him flying back a few steps.
The monkey clicked its tongue in frustration.
"Yes, yes, we get it—you're weak. So what are you going to do about it? I hate people like you, always pitying themselves and expecting sympathy from others!"
Umeboshi slowly got up, his eyes burning with anger. He spat out his words.
"You damn macaque!"
In an instant, he dashed forward, turning into a blur as he charged at the monkey.
The monkey swung its staff at him, but Umeboshi rolled to the side, snatching his own staff from the ground before swiftly turning to face his opponent.
As Umeboshi observed the monkey holding its wooden staff, he noticed something strange—the monkey's grip was so loose it looked as if the staff could slip from its hand at any moment. On top of that, the creature was barely even looking at him.
Breathing heavily, Umeboshi thought to himself:
Why is he holding his staff like that? And why is he barely paying attention to me?
Normally, I'd see an enemy like this as nothing more than an ant… but even with all those flaws in his stance, why do I feel like I have no chance of beating him?
Umeboshi dashed forward like a bullet, swinging his staff violently at the monkey's left temple.
But in a split second, the monkey simply ducked and, with a slight push, redirected the force of Umeboshi's attack. The motion sent Umeboshi's own staff flying over his shoulder—despite how tightly he had been gripping it.
The monkey struck next, thrusting its staff into Umeboshi's stomach with explosive force, sending him flying several feet away.
As he lay on the ground, gasping for breath, a single thought ran through his mind:
Man… how the hell did he make me lose my grip so easily?!
The monkey let out a mocking grin, his voice dripping with arrogance.
"What are you lying around for? Hurry up and pick up your staff, you lazyhead!"
As those words rang in Umeboshi's ears, his thoughts deepened.
He's not just strong… he's the real deal… just like that brat.
I don't know why, but something tells me he's the key to the answer I've been searching for…
***
"C-Y-boy."
"C-Y-boy."
"C-Y-boy!!"
Viora's voice rang out, calling Cyrus's name in an annoyingly persistent tone.
They were all gathered in his backyard, where the air carried a sharp chill—autumn had arrived late this year. The lone tree in Cyrus's yard was already shedding its leaves, scattering them across the ground.
After finishing her breakfast, Viora had hurried home to change, returning an hour later. She was now dressed in a cute panda hoodie and black pants.
Cyrus sighed and spoke in his usual tone.
"What do you want, Viora?"
She grinned widely, her voice brimming with excitement.
"Can you show me how you handle your sword?"
Gwishin tilted her head, asking in a confused tone,
"Didn't you two fight together against the spirit at the amusement park?"
Viora looked at her and shook her head.
"Yes, but… I kinda got—"
Before she could finish, Cyrus smirked and cut in with a teasing tone.
"She got taken out first by the spirit, so obviously, she couldn't see my swordsmanship."
Viora glared at Cyrus, her face flushed with anger and embarrassment. Her cheeks turned pink as she hurried toward him, grabbing his shoulders with both hands.
Then, she shook him violently.
At first, Cyrus watched her with his usual indifferent expression, but then Viora blurted out in an embarrassed tone:
"Why the hell did you say that, Cyrus?! You dummy!"
The situation was rather comical. While their explanation of what happened at the Hellride amusement park was mostly accurate, there was one small issue—Viora didn't seem to recall most of what had happened in the Canvas World.
Of course, that wasn't the real reason she lied—it was simply because she was too embarrassed to admit how easily she had been taken out of the fight.
So, to preserve her ego, she decided to twist the story. In fact, she had completely lied to Gwishin, pushing the narrative that she had been captured alongside Umeboshi and Cyrus, rather than being the first one taken.
Cyrus, at first, didn't bother correcting her.
Cyrus let out a teasing sigh.
"Isn't that what actually happened, though?"
Viora quickly looked away, her voice still laced with embarrassment.
"It is… but you didn't have to tell her that!"
Cyrus, surprised by her response, let out a soft chuckle. The sound caught Gwishin's attention.
She glanced at the two of them with her usual indifferent expression, but deep down, a thought lingered in her mind.
Miss Viora… she's really amazing… To be able to make someone like Master Cyrus smile so effortlessly… I was never able to do that, no matter how desperately I wanted to…
For a brief moment, her eyes darkened with emotion, but she quickly shook away the thought. Then, with a gentle smile, she said,
"I think Viora's idea is a good one. By doing this, you can show me your progress in mastering the swordsmanship of the Miravine family in the meantime."
Cyrus gently placed his hand on Viora's wrist, pulling her hands away before letting out a sigh. Turning his gaze toward Gwishin, he walked over to the wooden sword resting against the fence and picked it up.
With a gentle smile, he said, "Well, if you think so… but I think you'll be surprised by how much progress I've made in four years."
Gwishin placed her hand on the same tree, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia as she spoke.
"Oh, I see… Do you plan to strike all the falling leaves with your wooden sword?"
Cyrus nodded.
Viora's eyes lit up with curiosity and excitement. "Wait, your family has a sword style? That's so cool! Does it have a name?"
Still focused on the tree, Cyrus responded in a confident tone.
"It does have a name. It's a sword style created by one of my ancestors, and we have followed it without alteration to this day. Over the years, not a single change has been made to it—because the style itself is flawless."
He took a deep breath, then continued.
"The name of that sword style is…"
***
"Yagyū Itto-ryū… It means 'One Sword of the Willow'... Now that you've somewhat learned the basics of Itto-ryū and Yagyū Shinkage-ryū and inherited the sacred relic of our family, you can now finally begin learning the sword style that every worthy future head of the clan must master!"
His grandpa had said this to a ten-year-old Cyrus. It had only been a week since Cyrus inherited his mother's wooden sword. They were walking through the garden of their mansion, a place filled with both Japanese and shamanic cultural elements, a truly beautiful sight.
The day Cyrus inherited the sword was also his birthday. In a way, the wooden sword was his gift. He didn't mind, though—he had no real interest in the things his classmates liked, nor did he care to brag about presents. In truth, he was a loner, often the target of bullies. Even so, he would have preferred receiving anything other than a musty old wooden sword.
Cyrus, wearing his "battle outfit" that his grandmother had made for him—a bright orange suit with black flower patterns, matching pants, and black sandals—rested his wooden sword lazily on his shoulder. With a tired sigh, he said,
"Aren't we supposed to be a family of shamans?"
His grandpa, dressed in a blue kimono and geta, responded with a raised eyebrow,
"Well, yes, we are… Why are you asking such an obvious question all of a sudden?"
Cyrus responded with a frustrated spat,
"Then why the hell does our family have some kind of legendary sword style, along with all the rest!? I'm tired, Grandpa! Learning those two sword styles was already a pain, but I almost died from falling when I tried to do Shukuchi! And now you want me to do that?!"
Grandpa Sol punched Cyrus in the head, though it didn't hurt him at all, and spat,
"You moron!"
Then, in an offended tone, he continued,
"Didn't I tell you many times that our family was, and still is, the oldest and most iconic shamanic family in the history of not only this country but the entire world? All the past heads of the clan shaped history in some way or another! So stop complaining! You're the future head of this clan, so act like it!"
With a sigh, Grandpa Sol patted Cyrus on the head, who was looking down with a somber expression. Grandpa shook his head before continuing,
"I don't have a choice, it seems. If you don't understand the importance of the Yagyū Itto-ryū, then I'll just have to explain it to you."
Cyrus let out a bored sigh as he looked at his grandfather.
"I already have enough history lessons, Grandpa Sol... so I don't need more at home."
As he looked at his grandson, Grandpa Sol couldn't help but think,
This lazy brat! Sometimes, I wish my sweet granddaughter Lunaris would become the future head of the clan!
He pushed the thought aside and, in an excited tone, said,
"Don't worry, it's not going to be a boring story, I promise. There's some context I need to explain before I start the story, but it's about the founder of the Yagyū Itto-ryū style... Solvallis Miravine, or... the name he has chosen to go by... Kōun Kenja!"
chapter eighty-one end...