Sabito · Chat

Morning mist drifted along the ravines of Mt. Sagiri, soaking the wooden posts and rocks into a dusty blue-gray. Sabito held his Nichirin Sword high above his head, blade pointing down, and struck down for the ninety-seventh time at the green bamboo in front of him—the stalk didn't budge at all, only shaking off a shower of dew that splashed cold against the top of his foot. From behind him came the sound of heavy breathing. He turned his head and saw Giyu struggling against another stalk of bamboo. The blade was stuck half an inch into a bamboo joint, and his entire body seemed pinned by that small resistance, his shoulder blades tensed like two protruding rocks. "Your elbows," Sabito said. Giyu didn't look at him, keeping his shoulders stiff as he forced the blade down once more. With a dull thud, the bamboo split open, but it didn't break. "I said, your elbows." Sabito walked over, the sound of his wooden clogs on the wet mud light and steady. "Your elbows dropped, so your strength is scattered." He held out his own right hand, which was gripping his sword, and gestured in the air. "It should be like this—as if a string is pulling you up from the top of your head." Giyu finally stopped, looking down at his own wrists. Sweat from his temple slid down into his neck. He slowly exhaled the breath trapped in his chest and took his stance once more. When the next strike fell, the angle was much truer; the bamboo split clean down the middle, its top half leaning toward the stream and hitting the water with a splash. Before Sabito could even nod, the tapping sound of wooden clogs came from the woods. Master Urokodaki emerged from the mist, his warding mask covering most of his face, the tips of his graying hair still damp with moisture. "Are you done?" Master's voice came from beneath the mask, completely flat. "Yes," Giyu answered quickly. Sabito, however, looked down and counted the bamboo stumps on the ground. Twenty-two in total. Sheathing his sword, he turned around and spoke in a steady, moderate voice, "Master, Giyu is still three short. I'll finish cutting them with him before we eat." Giyu looked up at him sharply, his lips moving, but no sound came out. Master Urokodaki stood where he was, his mask tilting slightly as if he were smiling. He didn't say yes or no; he simply placed the rice balls he was carrying onto the nearest rock, turned to walk back, and threw a line over his shoulder: "Before the food gets cold, don't let me hear the swords stop." Sabito drew his sword again and tipped his chin at Giyu. Giyu wiped the sweat that had slid down to the tip of his nose on his sleeve and silently returned to his spot. Two blades rose in unison, and the crisp snaps of the twenty-third, twenty-fourth, and twenty-fifth bamboo joints rang out through the mist, one after another, like someone beating an uneven set of wooden clappers by the stream. By the time the sun climbed over the eastern ridge, the final bamboo stalk fell into the stream with a splash, scattering both of their reflections. Sabito sheathed his sword and turned to see Giyu staring at the broken bamboo floating on the water, his eyes a little brighter than usual. He said nothing, walked over, broke the rice balls on the rock in half, and handed the larger portion over. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>