Time trickled by like sand slipping through an hourglass. The sun sank slowly in the west, like a ripe persimmon sliding down from the edge of the sky. Its afterglow covered the earth in a thin golden veil, but the spreading darkness soon swallowed it up. Night fell quietly, like a vast, heavy black curtain draped over the whole world.
The lights in the courtyard came on. Their dim, yellow glow was like twinkling stars in the night sky, faint but heartwarming.
In the pool of light, two children could be seen panting as they swung their wooden swords with all their might. Their movements were still a little clumsy, but each swing was full of strength.
The shadows cast by the lights danced across the ground, creating a lively scene. They crossed and overlapped, then scattered apart, as though a group of mischievous sprites were playing to their hearts' content.
Their presence brought a little life and energy to the otherwise quiet courtyard.
Just then, Madara, who had been watching silently from the side, spoke up. "Kagami, your training is over for today." As he spoke, he picked up the scroll beside him and flicked it accurately toward Kagami.
Kagami quickly reached out with both hands and caught the flying scroll. Looking down, he saw the four large characters "Dragon Flame Song" written on it. His face immediately lit up with delight, and his voice trembled with excitement. "Thank you, Clan Head!"
At first, Madara had intended to send Kagami on his way with an ordinary A-rank scroll.
After all, to Madara, Kagami was little more than an unknown youngster, so an A-rank scroll should have been enough. But as time passed, Madara began to notice Kagami's perseverance and talent.
Moreover, Madara had keenly sensed that, despite Qile's cheerful appearance, he carried a deep loneliness within him.
When Madara thought back to his own childhood, at least he had ... by his side.
But what about Qile now? He had no one. He was all alone.
Besides, although in theory every member of the Uchiha Clan could learn any ninjutsu, the reality was far more complicated. To truly master high-level techniques, clan members had to earn the right to learn them through sufficient merit.
Kagami's father was merely a guard for one of the clan elders, so his achievements were naturally limited. They were nowhere near enough to get Kagami many precious ninjutsu scrolls.
The scroll Madara had given Kagami also had a special significance.
According to clan rules, once the clan head bestowed a scroll on someone, that person was allowed to learn the technique. And as long as Kagami agreed, he had every right to share it with anyone he considered suitable.
"You'll..." Madara had just begun to continue when he suddenly seemed to sense something. His gaze snapped to the side. A figure had appeared in the darkness not far away.
Kagami only had to hold his stance for an hour and a half and swing his sword two hundred times, so he had already finished training for the day. His face was exhausted, but when he looked at the mysterious scroll gripped tightly in his hands, all his fatigue seemed to vanish, replaced by irrepressible excitement.
He could hardly wait to sprout wings and fly home to tell his father the wonderful news in person. As if he knew what Kagami was thinking, Madara didn't make him wait long before saying, "You can go home now."
Kagami, who had been eager to leave, quickly bowed deeply to Madara. Then he turned toward Qile, who was still swinging his sword with all his might, and called out, "Qile, I'll come train with you again tomorrow!" Before he'd even finished speaking, he dashed off like a wild horse, vanishing in the blink of an eye.
Watching Kagami's retreating figure, Qile shook his head helplessly and shouted, "Remember to come early tomorrow morning! We still have to practice Hand Seals."
Only after Kagami had left did Qile turn to Yeling, who was standing nearby, and ask, "How many times have I swung my sword so far?"
Yeling answered without a moment's hesitation. "Two hundred and thirty!"
Learning that he was still seventy swings short of his goal, Qile breathed out slowly and rolled his aching shoulders. Then he adjusted his stance, gripped the hilt tightly with both hands, and swung his sword again without hesitation.
"Hahaha, not bad, not bad! Your sword swings are a little clumsy and ugly, but after you've had a few more days to get used to it, Madara can teach you the proper form." A hearty, cheerful laugh rang out. The voice came before its owner appeared.
Qile had been completely focused on swinging his sword. At the familiar voice, he jerked his head up and looked toward the figure in the distance.
When he saw that it was Hashirama, Qile couldn't help exclaiming in surprise, "Lord Hokage?"
Before Qile could finish asking his question, the thin whip lashed out and struck him squarely.
A searing pain shot through him, making Qile grimace again. Even so, he didn't dare slack off. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he quickly composed himself and returned to his training.
Seeing Qile endure the pain and keep going, Hashirama smiled with satisfaction, then burst into hearty laughter. When he was done, he leisurely walked over to the stone bench beside Madara and sat down, watching Qile swing his sword with interest.
Time slipped by, and before long, Qile had swung his sword two hundred and sixty times in a row.
By now, his body was utterly exhausted, and his arms trembled uncontrollably from overexertion. But his mind was still clear. Even he was a little surprised. He had only been training for about ten days, yet somehow he had managed to grit his teeth and persevere this far.
But during those final forty swings, his mind gradually grew hazy, and he felt dizzy all over. At the same time, his once-strong arms began to cramp and spasm uncontrollably. Every swing came with a piercing ache and a feeling of weakness.
At last, he completed the grueling task of swinging his sword three hundred times. This time, he didn't pass out as he usually did. But he was hardly in good shape. The intense spasms and pain in his arms were unbearable, as though thousands of ants were gnawing at his muscles.
On top of that, it felt as though a massive boulder were pressing down on his chest, making it extraordinarily difficult to breathe. Every breath was a struggle. His stomach churned violently, bringing wave after wave of unbearable nausea.
"Blergh..." In the end, a large amount of vomit surged from his mouth. After heaving it all up, the awful feeling eased a little.
Seeing this, Hashirama, who had been keeping a close eye on him, hurried forward without hesitation. He placed one hand gently against Qile's back.
In an instant, Qile felt an incredibly cool, soothing energy flowing through him like a gentle stream. The miraculous force eased the pain in his arms considerably, and even his exhaustion seemed to fade a little.
"Hashirama, that's enough. He needs to get used to this feeling!" Madara, who had been silent all this time, slowly rose to his feet and spoke sternly.
Hearing this, Hashirama understood what Madara meant. He wanted to keep easing Qile's pain, but he knew that in the end, Qile had to gradually adapt to such intense training on his own—and to the exhaustion that followed.
"Yeling, go tell Yan to have someone bring over some food. Also tell Yan that starting tomorrow, he should arrange for someone to deliver meals to the house," Madara said flatly.
Yeling didn't leave right away. She first helped Qile to his feet, then turned and left.
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