The shift was subtle but immediate. Kouzaburou's relaxed posture transformed in an instant, his stance becoming firm and grounded, his gaze sharpening with focus. Erwin's grip on his Blood Sword tightened, his muscles coiled as he sensed the shift in the air, feeling a surge of energy and anticipation, unlike anything he had felt before. He had spent countless hours honing his strength and pushing his limits, but standing here, facing Kouzaburou, he understood that this battle would be nothing like his training.
Kouzaburou moved first, stepping forward with a swift, calculated movement that caught Erwin off guard. Kouzaburou was fast—faster than Erwin could have anticipated. His hand cut through the air with precision, forcing Erwin into a defensive stance. Erwin raised his Blood Sword to block, hoping to parry the strike, but Kouzaburou's attack was perfectly placed, his hand angled just so to avoid the blade and connect with Erwin's wrist instead. The impact sent a jolt through Erwin's arm, and he stumbled back, struggling to steady his stance.
Kouzaburou didn't hesitate. He advanced smoothly, his strikes flowing one after the other in a seamless rhythm that left Erwin scrambling. The man's hands moved in precise, controlled arcs, targeting Erwin's wrists, elbows, and shoulders accurately. Each strike disrupted Erwin's balance, forcing him to step back and realign himself just to keep from toppling over. Every hit was meant not to wound, but to destabilize—to test his form, his control, and his ability to maintain focus under pressure.
Erwin's breaths came faster, his muscles straining as he fought to keep up. The sparring match was unlike anything he had ever experienced. On the island, he'd faced creatures with brute strength, beasts that relied on instinct and raw power.
But Kouzaburou's attacks were something else entirely—each movement was intentional, every strike placed with the care of a craftsman. It was a form of combat that was as much an art as it was a display of strength, and Erwin could feel himself faltering against it.
Despite his hard-won skills, Erwin realized just how different it was to face a true master. Kouzaburou wasn't just strong; he was relentless and precise, his movements honed to perfection through years of practice. Erwin could sense that the man was reading him, assessing his weaknesses, and exploiting each one with merciless efficiency.
It was as if Kouzaburou could see every flaw in his form, every hesitation, and he used them to unbalance Erwin at every turn. With each failed attempt to counterattack, Erwin's frustration grew. He pushed himself harder, swinging the Blood Sword with everything he had, trying to land even a single blow on Kouzaburou.
But each time he struck, the master dodged or deflected his attack with an effortless grace, his calm demeanor unshaken. Kouzaburou's focus was unwavering, his gaze steady as he moved with a fluidity that made Erwin feel clumsy in comparison.
Erwin tried to center himself, to control his breathing and clear his mind, but Kouzaburou's strikes were relentless, giving him no time to recover. It felt as if he were fighting against the tide, each swing of his blade absorbed or redirected by the man's skill. The harder Erwin pushed, the more it felt like his own strength was turning against him.
At one point, Erwin tried a rapid sequence of attacks, hoping to overwhelm Kouzaburou through sheer speed. He poured his energy into each strike, letting his instincts guide him as he pressed forward. But Kouzaburou met each swing with calm, calculated movements, blocking and sidestepping with a precision that left Erwin breathless. Kouzaburou seemed to be anticipating his every move, deflecting his attacks with such ease that it felt as though Erwin's strength was nothing more than a ripple against the surface of an ocean.
The Blood Sword began to waver, its edge softening as Erwin's focus faltered under the strain. He was using too much energy, too quickly, and he could feel his control slipping. The blood blade flickered faintly, threatening to dissolve with each swing.
Suddenly, Kouzaburou shifted his stance, closing the distance between them with startling speed. Before Erwin could react, Kouzaburou landed a solid blow to his chest, his palm connecting with a force that knocked the wind out of him. Erwin staggered, stumbling back as he struggled to catch his breath, his grip on the Blood Sword weakening. The blade flickered again, its form wavering as his concentration faltered.
Kouzaburou stepped back, his expression calm but with a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "You've trained well, Erwin," he said, his voice steady and firm. "But this…" He gestured to Erwin's stance, his blade, the very foundation of his fighting style. "This is not your true path. You fight as though your body seeks something else."
The words struck something deep within Erwin. Still catching his breath, he couldn't ignore the truth in Kouzaburou's assessment. The Blood Sword was slipping, the edges dulling as his control over it wavered with every second of the fight. It was different from his training—different from the challenges he had faced on the island. Against a true master, he felt the vast gap in skill, the difference in experience and purpose.
Determined to push forward, Erwin tried to steady the Blood Sword, channeling every ounce of concentration he had into stabilizing its form. He lunged forward with a desperate strike, hoping to break through Kouzaburou's defenses. But the master sidestepped effortlessly, his movement so fluid it seemed he was anticipating the attack before Erwin had even committed to it.
In the next instant, Kouzaburou delivered a precise blow to the back of Erwin's knee, his hand moving in a calculated arc. Erwin's leg buckled under him, and he dropped to the floor, his body and mind drained from the relentless pace of the sparring match. He looked up, seeing Kouzaburou standing above him, calm and steady.
The match was over.
Kouzaburou extended a hand to help Erwin up, his gaze filled with the quiet wisdom that only came from years of experience. "Strength is not enough," he said, his voice carrying a weight that echoed through the dojo. "And swordsmanship is not a skill learned with brute force alone. You have potential, but your instincts and body, it's ferality are more suited to a fistfight."
Erwin looked up, meeting Kouzaburou's gaze, feeling a strange mix of respect and frustration. There was a part of him that wanted to argue, to insist that he could master the way of the sword with enough time and effort. But something about Kouzaburou's words resonated deeply as if they were touching on a truth he hadn't yet accepted.
"I wanted to grow stronger," Erwin murmured, taking the offered hand and pulling himself to his feet. There was a heaviness in his voice, a vulnerability he rarely showed, yet he couldn't deny the impact of the sparring match. He had been humbled, shown the limits of his own strength, and he knew that this experience would stay with him.
Kouzaburou smiled, though there was a touch of sadness in his eyes. "Strength can be found in many paths. From what I can see, you are still young, not much older than my son, Koushirou. For you, the way of the sword may not be that path. But do not be discouraged. You have discipline, spirit, and skill. There is much you can achieve—even if it lies beyond the blade."
Erwin felt a flicker of hope. Kouzaburou's words were both a gentle rebuke and a powerful encouragement, a reminder that true growth came not just from strength, but from understanding oneself and one's purpose.
As he stood there, catching his breath and letting the sting of defeat settle, Erwin felt something shift within him. The dojo, with its quiet discipline and focused energy, felt like more than just a place of training. It was a place of purpose, a place where one's path could be discovered rather than merely pursued. Kouzaburou's calm wisdom and his respect for Erwin despite the loss made the experience feel transformative.
For the first time, Erwin began to wonder if there was a greater purpose awaiting him beyond the strength he sought. Perhaps his journey was not just about power or survival, but about finding a path that resonated with who he truly was. As he looked at Kouzaburou, he realized that the way of the sword, even if it was not his ultimate path, had shown him a glimpse of that purpose.
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AN:
1. While swordsmanship is not his ultimate path, he still can wield it with proficiency. For Erwin, his fists are his primary weapons.
2. I revised the Blood Blood Fruit details to give more clarity about the fruit.
3. In the future he can covers all ranges of attacks with his devil fruit; close, medium, and long range.