Chapter 6: Niten.

The second Uzziel pressed the altar, he appeared in the middle of an extensive bamboo forest, in a circular stone structure. Around him one or another wooden shed could be seen in the distance, several stone paths led to each other, with no major distinguishing marks between one or the other.

The sound of a river flowing in the distance complemented the quiet and desolate landscape. Uzziel knew immediately that something was wrong, the Martial District he had heard about and seen in the system guide was nothing like it, to top it off the GPS system seemed to be broken as he could only visualize the map around the area. 

He accessed the information guide section, rechecking to be sure. He also took the opportunity to review the relevant points of the schools that were pointed out by his friends. Also, he displayed a list of the most well-known ones, to his surprise several of them were crossed out, one especially caught his attention at the bottom of the list although he did not know how to explain it.

"The grass is our pillow, wet with dew. As the sun has set and the night is upon us, let us pray for the soul of him who so tragically died at The Heavens."

A voice was heard in the distance.

Somewhat worried but with no one to turn to, the boy took a deep breath, clenched his fists and concentrated before setting out on his journey. A subtle voice reached his ear from a certain direction, something similar to an opera but... different, reverberating, sad, perhaps.... Melancholic?

"Knowing the emptiness of The Heavens, flowers fall to the ground. Flowing water has no feelings but naturally clears a pure heart."

He walked for several minutes in the direction of the singing, on his way he came across even more wooden huts. He explored some of them but their owners were not there. Certain tools and utensils were scattered, dusty, with no trace of inhabitants. Only the melancholy singing filled the emptiness and interrupted the calm of the peaceful river.

"Suffering from sin and retribution comes from the same cause. Now i escape from the suffering and become Dust."

With each step the sound grew louder and the complexity of the singing increased as we listened more to his composition.

"How odd. As i lay here in the woods at The Heavens..."

A part of Uzziel felt it was similar to a certain chant he once heard somewhere.

"Who does not know that it is natural to give oneself to return a favor and to die when the duty calls?"

As he felt her closer he began to slowly enter the forest out of caution, away from the bamboo and vegetation there didn't seem to be anything dangerous.

"Yet there is no one who in taking the white wood bow as a warrior, facing the end, does not regret his ambition."

Approaching cautiously he saw an elderly man with a broad back, working on something while chanting in absolute concentration sitting in the middle of an open wooden structure, alone, on the ground. 

A moment later he turned to put down a finely finished clay pot in his hand and then picked up another one on the opposite side.

He caught a glimpse of oriental features, long hair tied to his forehead with a white cloth and an equally long beard. He was sitting in a half-covered space that looked out in all directions onto a neglected, withered garden. The structure reminded him of...Japan? 

The roof, in a sort of square, ascended in symmetrical succession diminishing and creating a golden triangle that seemed to pull at his heart.

"Now please tell me the end of the old swordman who died alone in this place..."

The chanting stopped, something whistled and very quickly stuck inches from his face, into the bamboo stalk he was leaning on inside a bush. Uzziel had no time to react, his joints suddenly trembled beyond his control.

"It is impolite to lurk in the shadows." A serious, deep voice nodded in the direction of the boy's hiding place. At the same time, a heavy murderous intent briefly made itself felt causing even more spasms in the stalker's limbs who could not breathe from the pressure.

"Come closer, it's almost time for tea." said the old man putting his work aside to then direct a Buddha-worthy expression towards the hideout, dispelling the oppressive atmosphere of seconds before. As he stood up to head out into the courtyard in the direction of the now guest.

Regaining his mobility, Uzziel took the chisel-like tool, ran in the direction of the structure and on the ground prior to the Engawa slid perfectly into a dogeza until he was an inch from the edge bordering the outside.

"Hontoni gomenasai Kami-sama!" burst forth from the depths of his soul with great passion and without knowing the reason or meaning. He proceeded to drop to his knees with his fists at his sides and his forehead on the ground.

He did not know the reason but something in the depths of his soul took control over him to release such actions and words.

The old man looked at him in surprise, especially the badge carried on his chest. He had not heard such vocal formulations in too long.

"Easy shonen, it's been eons since I've had guests." he said extending his hand.

The boy reached for it and proceeded to sit up.

[12:50 of the 4th day. Time until the Draw of Worlds: 3 days, 11 hours.]

___

Upon entering he found a gigantic open space with wooden doors that seemed to have paper over spaces to slide into. The floor was tatami and quite comfortable though quite old. Some scrolls with Kanji fell from the ceiling, certain paintings covered the space on the walls, swords were grouped in displays and a suit of armor was arranged in a certain part, giving the whole a minimalist composition at the ends of the large space.

"Thank you for your hospitality, sir..."

"Miyamoto, shonen. Excuse the mess." he said as he delicately placed a small wooden table in the middle of the room and arranged various tea making and drinking implements.

"Mr. Miyamoto, don't worry, I'm the one who should apologize again for my attitude. Some call me Uzziel..." he said with a smile on his pale countenance.

"Do you have any idea what you said before?" he asked without showing his curiosity.

"I'm sorry, I have... gaps in my mind, sometimes things and thoughts happen that I don't know how to explain although it seems to me that it was some sort of apology" the young man excused himself for the abruptness.

"Mmmh... It's ok..." agreed the old man.

"Tell me, uh... Uzzi-el, what brings you here?" He consulted as he continued to organize everything.

"I don't really know how I got here, it seems to me that there was a problem with the transportation device, my map doesn't work as it should either. I appeared in the middle of the forest, I could only get to you by singing, I didn't find anyone else on my way here."

"I see..." said the old man with some melancholy in his voice as he lit a fire to heat a kettle prepared with some herbs.

"What kind of singing were you performing? I think I've heard it before." The boy asked curiously.

"I find it difficult, unfortunately it is the song of a world that no longer exists... and of a story soon to end." expressed the old man while he placed some cups on the table with a halo of resignation.

"Did you compose it?" 

"Yes, I have long been given to introspection and other arts. One of them is that tipe of singing ...it was called Noh." He conversed as he poured the brew from the teapot into two handmade cups.

"I find it beautiful within the rare, calm within the erratic and... sad" the boy commented somewhat ruefully before tasting the tea.

"I couldn't describe it better." said the older man as his impression of the young man increased.

They both drank silently for a few minutes.

Finally the old man summed up the conversation "I presume you are looking for a Sponsor yet, while I percieve the essence of a God it seems to me that you have not been marked as his property." 

"Indeed Mr. Miyamoto, I was on my way to the Martial Arts District when I had the problem."

"So you've chosen that path... are you interested in any particular one?" The old man asked curiously as he poured more tea.

"The sword." He said with conviction in his countenance.

The old man paused in surprise, he turned a sharp expression to the boy who caught his attention in one sentence before speaking.

"And why the sword?" 

"I want to know the reason too..." he said looking at the air filtering through the bamboo forest in front of him.

"Young man, there is no weapon more powerful than the mind. Perhaps you are missing your target if your intention is..."

"I don't think it's for something vain like be the strongest." he expressed convincingly interrupting Mr. Miyamoto.

The old man gave two thumbs up in his heart as he watched him carefully, soon he said, "Well, humility is the noblest virtue of a warrior.... Can you stand up for a moment?"

The boy complied with the order. Once standing, swiftly the old man approached and examined his back, hips, legs, shoulders, arms and... hands. His overwhelming experience could not deny what he felt in his sturdy, stunted hands. Typical of a man who lived by and for the sword... and, something else that he could not fully distinguish. 

The physical form of the soul was the reflection of the person. That was an invariable rule for the mortals.

He watched him self-absorbed for a few more seconds before walking away and sitting in his place followed by the same action coming from Uzziel.

"Mmh..." he cleared his throat briefly. "Sounds to me like you have some aptitude, though you need to work on it thoroughly." 

"Mind and body shonen... Mind, body, and... kintamas." advised the man which sensei.

"Have you thought of any style?" he continued.

"I was told of a famous swordsman by the name of Yoshioka..." commented the black-haired man.

The old man earnestly tried to hold back his laughter as he listened carefully.

"Y-Yes? Any others that catch your attention?"

"Yagyu, the guidebook says that some of the best swordsmen are Japanese like Yoshioka and Yagyu..."

A grimace settled on his mouth and he tried to imbue seriousness with his eyelashes.

The boy thought the old man was getting angry.

"I was also quite interested in Shinto Ryu and the style of that guy nicknamed Ganryū. Although the long sword doesn't look comfortable for me to wield."

"Pff! At least you have eyesight to see some branches, but you're missing the tree and the forest. It's not your fault though, there's always something new to learn." Said the old man proudly.

"All those techniques are inferior to say the least." He expressed with disdain.

"Oh yeah, why?" 

The old man did not answer immediately, he stood and walked in the direction of a suit of armor, on it a large scroll hung and at its sides various katanas.

"The true Art of the Sword cannot be understood from the narrow confines of mere swordplay." 

"The true beauty of the martial arts lies in mastering oneself, rather than defeating an opponent." he continued.

These words settled deeply in the mind of the young man who watched the old man who radiated an aura of knowledge and nobility. 

"Though achieving one will inevitably achieve the other." he asserted with some guilt in his voice as he observed a particular katana behind a glass display.

"Uzziel shonen what is wider than the heaven itself? "The old man asked.

The boy thought for a few more seconds and found no answer.

The old man catching the expression turned in his direction and pointed about himself where gigantic kanji could be read from a long scroll falling vertically from the ceiling with black, energetic strokes marking its structure.

"Niten Ichi Ryu."

"Two heavens." He said arrogantly.

A part of Uzziel burned with passion, he unconsciously clenched his fists until blood gushed from the right as a question came from inside his mind.

"Mr. Miyamoto... your name by any chance is... Musashi?" Expressed the boy with a gleam in his whitish eyes driven by a powerful desire inside him. 

"Yes... at least one of them."

The boy stood up and concurred to within a few feet of the tall old man.

"Master Miyamoto," he said formally bowing. "Would you do me the honor of making me your disciple?"

The old man took on a serious expression, walked over to a wall and picked up two four-foot wooden shinai throwing one to the young man.

"That will have to be seen." he expressed, defiantly.

[13:30 of the 4th day. Time until the Draw of Worlds: 3 days, 10 hours, 30 minutes].

They both left the house of the sharp-eyed old man.

Musashi led him to a circular area of his garden surrounded by stones, passing over a red, worn bridge laid out over a long pond.

"Watch these movements and then imitate them." Musashi ordered.

The boy stood up straight, with the wooden sword in his left hand, spinning around to better observe from outside the circle the old man's position.

Musashi positioned himself erect, back straight, his right foot slightly in front of the left, the latter separated horizontally by a few centimeters and with the heel slightly raised.

In this position he raised his shinai with his arms extended in a "V" shape with his shoulders relaxed, his right hand close to the suba and his left hand lower, in front of his hip. His right arm remained perfectly extended behind his fist.

"This is Chūdan-no-kamae, study it thoroughly."

Once Uzziel passed in front of the swordsman he positioned the tip of the sword straight at his neck. An intense killing intent paralyzed the young man in place.

The old man's expression changed recalling an angry Deva. The old man breathed in and shouted with gravity in his voice, quickly tracing two 45° degree angles in perfectly coordinated movements moving back and forth and then lowering the wooden sword.

Two thunderous blows of immeasurable force detonated, making one think that the very air was struck with such a demonstration, at the same time dust rose up being expelled in the opposite direction to that projected vertically by the blade, echoing in the silent bamboo forest.

"DEATH!"

In the middle of the cuts the word echoed in his mind, he could not look away, he could not move his body, just trembling with his gaze fixed on the sword and who was directing it.

An immense image similar to a great murderous shadow was projected in front of him coming from the old man who was a couple of meters in front of him.

Finished the demonstration some visible marks could be seen under the old man's feet both in the initial and final position.

"Your turn" Said the man, soothing the aftermath of the impact on the even paler Uzziel who was sweating coldly.

The boy hurried to the center of the makeshift dojo they were using.

He mimicked every body gesture with his gaze forward, the sword naturally settled between his hands, if slower, his form had little to envy of Musashi's form.

"Mmh, again." he said blandly.

The boy struck, tracing the advance and retreat in a similar fashion to Sensei falling back into the marks left behind.

"Faster!" he shouted effusively as he held the shinai in his left hand below his waist.

He struck again with greater speed but losing strength.

"What's that, so you'll break a defense? Harder!" he said stomping his foot.

"Kiai!" shouted the young man at the same time imbuing the blade with force as it came down, losing some balance.

"Don't neglect the form, again!" said the old man with an angry expression.

"Kiai!" using strength, speed and affirming the sword in position at the end of its trajectory. He began to feel pain in his dorsals.

"More..." he commanded seriously.

"Kiai!" Gradually the pain was increasing adding another pain caused by the stance.

"More!"

"Kiai!" 

"I SAID, MORE!!!" He shouted with great effusiveness.

"KIAI!!!" 

[16:10 of the 4th day. Time to Draw of Worlds: 3 days, 7 hours, 50 minutes].

He kept him doing Suburi for a couple of hours.

Towards the end, his movements were slow, devoid of technique, his joints were heavy and his legs trembled erratically. Drops fell from his head and sweat soaked his clothes. New wounds covered his palms clinging to the white hilt of the shinai.

"Enough." he said turning his back to the boy from outside the makeshift dojo.

The pale boy lowered the sword and placed it in his left hand with the tip diagonally back, he struggled to catch his breath.

"I can... continue! I want to... learn..." He said exhaustedly before dropping to his knees and bowing his head.

The old man took a breath looking at the horizon before turning around and reaching over, he touched his shoulder.

The young man lifted his powdered and sweat covered face.

"Shonen... Discipline is the bridge between dreams and reality, true power does not lie in physical strength, it lies here." He said bowing, pointing to his chest and looking determinedly into her eyes. 

"Willpower and determination, never forget that." He said with a kind expression as he patted her right shoulder.

A part of her soul felt in harmony.

[Soul integrity: 108%]

"Now..." he expressed getting up "Go jogging, come back in an hour."

"The pale boy" looked incredulously at the old swordsman who retreated in the direction of his house picking his nose.

"Eh?!" he vociferated in surprise.

[Soul integrity: 75.08%]