The students at the dojo exchanged glances. After Koushirou finished his statement, he stood with his hands behind his back, still smiling warmly. The younger disciples, their minds filled with curiosity and wild ideas, found his demeanor suspicious. They waited patiently for a miracle, but none came. Contrary to what they imagined, the sword Wado Ichimonji did not leap up to slash the bamboo mat.
"Teacher?" A somewhat innocent voice filled with confusion rang through the hall.
Finally, Koushirou made a move. He unsheathed Wado Ichimonji once more, pointing the blade upward and setting it on the ground, then grabbed a bundle of bamboo mats and tossed it on top.
Wado Ichimonji was an exceptional blade, but it was no magical sword. Its edge was sharp as ever, but without an external force wielding it, it had no mystical aura to cut things on its own. Although the bundle pressed into the blade, after a few rolls, it still hadn't split like similar bundles had before.
Koushirou smiled as he put away the mats and Wado Ichimonji, addressing the students: "A sword is essential, even crucial, for a swordsman. But it is not the essence of a swordsman. The measure of a swordsman is not how sharp their sword is, but their own character."
He pointed to Edmond, who was standing awkwardly with a rusted blade in his hand. "For a swordsman, it's the person that matters most. Even without a prized sword, a swordsman can wield a rusty one and still show their skills. But if the person is gone, what use is a sharp blade? It cannot even move."
After Koushirou finished speaking, he looked at the disciples expectantly. "Do you understand?"
They responded with a synchronized shake of their heads. Most of the disciples were young, ranging from eleven or twelve to eighteen or nineteen, with even younger ones of eight or nine among them. This abstract teaching style wasn't easy for them to grasp.
Vallon shook his head like a rattle, drawing laughter from Aramis, who found the philosophy a weak point. Training hard was his strength, but abstract concepts were his shortcomings.
William, however, did not shake his head. His mind was shaken—not because of Koushirou's lesson, though he found it fascinating—but because, as Koushirou finished speaking, a scene appeared in his mind: the inscription on the Stone Platform of Destiny Square.
There were now a few new lines of text.
Background Specialty:
Apprentice of the Isshin Dojo: Your swordsmanship originates from Isshin Dojo in Shimotsuki Village of the East Sea. In your early years of honing your skills, the teachings of Koushirou, the dojo master, greatly benefited you, and this is well known.
This was the first time William felt Destiny Square's influence outside of a dream!
Considering the transformation of Destiny Square after completing the first path, William couldn't help but wonder if advancing through more paths would strengthen Destiny Square's power and influence.
That night, William eagerly fell asleep and entered Destiny Square. Though it hadn't changed much, a new path, titled The Seeker of Profits, had appeared—relevant to his upcoming plans, though he wasn't planning to walk it.
Before Genius of Swordsmanship, the inscription required the skill specialty Basic Swordsmanship and the background specialty Apprentice of Isshin Dojo, which William had attained. The mist that had blocked his progress now faded away as he moved forward.
Without looking back at the square, William walked toward the unknown, eager to see how the next square might change or improve, potentially confirming his suspicions.
Leaving the darkness-covered square behind, William advanced confidently. For some reason, he felt as if the shadows on either side of the path were stirring, ready to engulf him like a furious wave.
A golden thread, accompanied by a few silver strands, suddenly flew out from William's wrist, extending towards the end of the path as far as he could see. This thread showed no sign of stopping.
The unique thread of fate, symbolizing Aramis and the others—Vallon, Edmond—gently swayed. An invisible wave surged from them, calming the shadows along the path, which momentarily churned before settling again.
William gazed at the threads, which seemed intent on guiding him through the path of fate, a glimmer in his eye.
…
William wasn't sure just how deep swordsmanship in this world went. Even now, he hadn't reached a point where he felt his skills had truly advanced, though his power had increased tenfold since the previous year.
The comforting news was that his orders to Edmond had borne some results.
Throughout the year, William had been collecting information by reading various newspapers—local, regional, and global. He was searching for a long-term way to earn money. After all, even mountains of gold and silver could eventually be exhausted.
More importantly, he wanted to establish local connections to create future channels and relationships.
What distinguishes a pirate from another pirate?
In William's previous world, figures like Henry Morgan and Francis Drake were notorious pirates in the Atlantic and Caribbean, known for heinous acts like slave trading. But in England, they were celebrated as heroes, sometimes even holding high office.
They raided overseas, sold stolen goods within England, acquired valuable resources, and received intelligence support. In contrast to the stereotypical pirates who aimlessly wandered the seas, relying on chance to encounter merchant ships, these renowned pirates had powerful networks and influences beyond just the sea.
Their strength came not just from a well-armed crew but from varied connections. Their power allowed them to maintain ships and weapons, weather setbacks, and recover in times of need.
If the vast ocean were like a great prairie, then pirates like Henry Morgan and Francis Drake would be wolves, with a keen sense of smell and powerful tracking abilities, sniffing out prey from the moment it left its den.
In contrast, pirate gangs like the Denton Pirates might have eyes, yet they roamed blindly on the sea. They attacked anything they encountered, stashing loot on deserted islands to rot, unable to convert it to cash or supplies, fleeing in panic whenever the navy appeared. They weren't even wolves; they were headless flies.
For William, a modern man from the 21st century, the thought of risking life in such a harsh world, only to end up as a headless fly chased by the navy, was unthinkable.
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