The night fog had yet to dissipate when Ren reached the eastern training field. Ganryū was already there, seated in seiza, his sword resting by his side. He did not look up.
"Sit," he ordered calmly.
Ren knelt, mirroring the formal position. Ganryū's gaze pierced him, a silent but undeniable pressure. Is this what it feels like to face an experienced ninja?
"The kenjutsu of Kirigakure," Ganryū began, "did not originate in dojos or on open battlefields. It was born from the mist, where nothing is clear and every sound can betray you."
With a fluid motion, he rose to his feet, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword. "First lesson: forget everything you think you know about the sword."
The blade hissed through the air without warning. Ren reacted instinctively, raising his tanto to parry. The clash rang sharply.
Too slow... if not for the tanto, I would have already lost. Maybe this is already too much for me.
"Wrong," Ganryū said. "You're thinking too much. The mist cannot be controlled; it can only be understood."
With another motion, he struck from an impossible angle. Ren tried to dodge, but the blade found an opening in his guard. Ganryū stopped, observing him with inscrutable eyes.
How does he know exactly where to strike? I don't even have time to react...
"Your body knows what to do, but your mind holds it back. Every action is calculated, measured. In the mist, there's no time for such luxuries."
The training continued relentlessly. Ganryū's blade seemed to emerge from the fog as a natural extension of the environment. Sometimes it was just a glint before it struck; other times, it was a sound that heralded the movement.
I can't see everything. I have to stop relying only on my eyes... but how?
"Sound is both your ally and your enemy," Ganryū explained as their blades clashed. "Listen."
Ren closed his eyes. The hiss of the blade, the slight shift of feet on the ground, even the rhythm of Ganryū's breathing—it all came together to tell a story his eyes couldn't see.
There are too many details... but if I can focus on one at a time...
"Better," Ganryū approved. "But it's not enough to listen. You must become part of the mist."
He formed a hand seal, and the fog around them thickened. "True kenjutsu of Kirigakure is not just technique. It's the art of blending with the environment, of using every element to your advantage."
Ren sensed more than saw the next attack. Ganryū's blade seemed to be everywhere, each strike a trail lost in the fog.
There's no stopping him. Not like this. I have to move before he strikes... but how do I predict it?
"The moisture in the air can extend your blade's reach. Chakra flows through the steel and mingles with the mist, creating a weapon that goes beyond its physical limits."
To demonstrate, Ganryū's sword traced an arc in the air. Ren felt the wind of the cut well beyond the blade's range.
This is what it means to turn the environment into a weapon. It's not just the sword... everything around him is part of his attack.
"This is only the beginning," Ganryū said, halting suddenly. "The kenjutsu I will teach you has been refined in the mist and blood over generations. But first, you must let go of control. True strength lies not in domination, but in flow."
He lifted his sword, his eyes shining with intensity. "Now, let's see how well you can flow."
The attack that followed was ruthless. Ganryū's blade moved in impossible patterns, weaving a lethal web of steel through the fog. Ren desperately tried to defend himself, his tanto intercepting strikes from every direction. His movements were quicker without the weights, but less controlled.
Am I improving? Or is he holding back?
"You're still thinking," Ganryū said, his voice seeming to come from everywhere. "The mist doesn't think; it flows. The blade doesn't think; it cuts."
A violent strike sent Ren's tanto flying from his hands. Before he could react, the blade was at his throat, cold and unyielding.
Here it is... again. How long will it take before I can overcome even a single attack?
"Do you see what happens when you lose control? Your first instinct is panic. But panic is just another form of rigidity."
He stepped back, allowing Ren to retrieve his weapon. "Again. This time, don't try to win. Just survive."
The dance resumed. Ganryū's blade moved like a shadow, chakra amplifying every strike. "Kirigakure's kenjutsu was born from our apparent weakness. The mist is our strength."
A precise movement left a series of cuts on a distant tree trunk, well beyond the blade's physical reach. "Chakra should not be forced through steel. It must flow like water finding its course."
Ganryū lowered his sword. "That's enough for today. You have much to reflect on."
As Ren caught his breath, Ganryū examined the tanto. "A good blade," he remarked. "But it's only a tool. The true art lies in how you use it."
He pulled out a scroll and tossed it to Ren. "These are the basic katas of our style. I want you to practice them not on solid ground, but in the mist. Find a place where it's thickest and start there. Don't watch your movements—feel them."
As the sun began to rise over Kirigakure, Ganryū vanished into the morning fog. Ren stood still, the scroll in his hands, aware that he had just embarked on a path requiring much more than physical strength or technique.
Can I do it? I have to.