Sword Training

The next day, before dawn.

Bai Ye was awakened by the sound of his own heartbeat.

He lay beneath the covers, staring at the wood grain on the ceiling, dyed gray-blue by the morning light, listening to his heart pound for a long time.

Ever since he turned three, he had rarely looked forward to anything. He ate to stay alive, slept to regain his strength, and practiced the sword because it was the only habit his father had left him. None of those things required anticipation. They only required doing.

But yesterday had been different.

Yesterday, someone had told him: "Tomorrow morning. Third Training Ground. Bring your sword."

Bai Ye rolled over and pulled his wooden sword from beneath his pillow. Gray-blue morning light streamed through the window, making the wooden blade seem older than usual. The scratches along its edge were clearer too. He brushed his thumb over the newest one, left there during last night's fight with Uchiha Yan and the other three.

He stared at that pale mark for several seconds.

Then he got up and dressed, moving quietly. His aunt was still asleep, and he did not want to wake her. It was not because he feared being scolded; his aunt had never scolded him over something like that. He simply did not want to explain—where he was going, who would teach him the sword, who that person was. Every explanation meant talking, and talking was tiring.

He put on a dark, high-collared short robe, tucked the wooden sword at his waist, and opened the door.

The late autumn morning was thick with fog.

Bai Ye exhaled a puff of white breath and walked into it.

There were only scattered figures on the stone paths of the Uchiha Clan Grounds. The fog was so dense that the distant houses and trees had blurred into gray shadows. Bai Ye headed west along the route he had memorized, passing through a grove of short trees and crossing a shallow stream. The Third Training Ground lay on the other side.

The Third Training Ground was larger than he had imagined.

It was an open space half-enclosed by a low grove and a shallow stream. The ground was packed dirt, hard beneath his feet. Several training posts stood around the edge, their surfaces covered in sword marks and kunai holes. In the center stood a waist-high stone, its surface worn smooth.

Bai Ye walked to the middle of the field, stopped, and began to wait.

He did not know how long he waited. The sky shifted from gray-blue to pale gold, and the fog gradually dispersed. He remained where he was. He did not sit, lean against the stone, or draw his wooden sword. He simply stood.

It was a habit he had learned from his father. Before carrying out a mission, his father would always stand like this for a while—silent and motionless. Bai Ye had gradually come to understand why. When one stood still, the body would adapt on its own to the surrounding temperature, sounds, and flow of air. Then, once it was time to move, the body would not hesitate because of a change in the environment.

"You're early."

The voice came from behind him.

Bai Ye turned around.

Hatake Sakumo stood at the edge of the training ground with the rising sun at his back. He wore dark casual clothes, his short white hair stirring slightly in the morning breeze. A short sword was strapped to his back, its sheath reflecting the pale golden sunlight.

"Draw your sword."

Hatake Sakumo walked over and stopped in the center of the field.

Bai Ye drew the wooden sword from his waist and held it in his right hand, its tip pointed at the ground—the same stance as last night.

Hatake Sakumo glanced at the hand gripping the sword.

"Who taught you to hold it like that?"

"No one."

"Then why do you hold it that way?"

Bai Ye looked down at his hand. "...It feels comfortable."

"Then that's right."

Hatake Sakumo drew his short sword with his right hand. Its blade was far shorter than an ordinary shinobi sword, but the pattern along its edge was incredibly fine. Under the sunlight, it glimmered with a cold white radiance—not reflected light, but a glow that seemed to come from within the steel itself.

"At its core, swordsmanship has only three things."

He raised one finger.

"First, holding the sword. You do not hold a sword with your hand. You hold it with your entire body. The hand is only the point that connects the sword to your body. The sword is an extension of you, not a tool you happen to carry."

Bai Ye looked down at the hand gripping his sword.

"Your hand is holding it comfortably right now," Hatake Sakumo said. "That is good. When many people first learn the sword, the first thing that happens is that someone corrects their grip. The more it is corrected, the more awkward it becomes. The more awkward it becomes, the less they know how to hold it. No one has corrected you, so your hand knows how to hold it comfortably. That comfort is your body telling you that this is how you must hold this sword for it to become a part of you."

Bai Ye said nothing, but the fingers around his sword hilt tightened slightly.

Hatake Sakumo raised a second finger.

"Second, seeing. Not seeing with your eyes, but with this." He tapped his temple. "What the eyes see takes time to reach the brain. On the battlefield, that tiny amount of time can mean the difference between life and death. You must learn to know what your opponent will do before he makes his move."

"How do I know?" Bai Ye asked.

"Observe. Keep observing. Before someone attacks, their body gives warning signs—their shoulders, knees, toes, gaze... Those parts are more honest than their hands. Hands can lie. Shoulders cannot."

Bai Ye remembered those words.

Hatake Sakumo raised a third finger.

"Third, cutting."

His voice became very soft on that word.

"Cutting is not merely swinging a sword. Cutting means knowing where the blade will land, how deep it will cut, and where the sword will stop afterward before it ever touches the target. True cutting is completed in the mind. The hand only carries it out."

Hatake Sakumo sheathed his sword.

"Today, we'll start with the first thing: holding the sword."

Bai Ye froze for a moment.

"You think it's too simple?" Hatake Sakumo saw through his thoughts.

Bai Ye hesitated, then nodded.

Hatake Sakumo did not get angry. He drew his short sword again, held it in his right hand, and turned the flat of the blade toward Bai Ye.

"Strike my sword with all your strength."

Bai Ye gripped his wooden sword tightly, took a deep breath, and slashed with all his strength.

The wooden sword collided with the short blade.

The web between his thumb and forefinger felt as though it had been struck by lightning. The wooden sword nearly flew from his hand. Bai Ye clenched his teeth and held onto the hilt, his entire right arm numb. Yet Hatake Sakumo's hand did not move in the slightest, and the short sword in his grip did not shift even a fraction.

"Do you know why your sword almost flew out of your hand?" Hatake Sakumo sheathed his blade.

Bai Ye looked down at his numbed right hand.

"Because... I didn't grip it tightly enough?"

"Because you were only gripping with your fingers," Hatake Sakumo said. "True sword-gripping begins from the soles of your feet. Power travels from the ground to the legs, from the legs to the waist, from the waist to the shoulders, from the shoulders to the arms, and finally to the hands. You only used your hand, so all your strength came from a single arm. I used my entire body. When one arm clashes with my whole body, of course your sword will fly away."

Bai Ye lowered his head and stared at his hand.

After a while, he tightened his grip on the wooden sword again, adjusted his stance, and closed his eyes.

Hatake Sakumo watched him without speaking.

Bai Ye was feeling his body—the sensation of his soles against the ground, the hardness of the earth, the angle of his ankles, the bend in his knees, the position of his waist, the height of his shoulders, the angle of his arms, the pressure of his fingers. One by one, he confirmed these sensations, trying to find the connection between them.

The feeling was unfamiliar. When he had practiced the sword before, he had only imitated the movements of his father from memory, pursuing something that "looked alike." But Hatake Sakumo's words made him realize that between "looking alike" and "becoming a part of the body" lay a gulf he had never noticed.

Bai Ye opened his eyes, gripped his sword again, and struck at Hatake Sakumo's short blade once more.

This time, the wooden sword did not fly away, but Hatake Sakumo's hand still did not move.

"Better than before."

"At least you know to use your waist now."

Bai Ye looked down at his waist.

"How did you know I used my waist?"

"Because when you swung, your left foot pressed into the ground. You were instinctively borrowing force from the earth."

Bai Ye was silent for a while.

Hatake Sakumo said nothing. He raised his short sword again.

"Again."

Bai Ye gripped his sword and adjusted his stance. He tried to shift his attention from his hand to his feet, imagining power being drawn up from the ground, passing through his legs, waist, and shoulders before flowing into the sword.

He struck.

The wooden sword collided with the short blade. This time, there was no electric shock in the web of his hand. His entire arm, shoulder, waist, and legs bore the impact together. Like a nail driven into wood by a hammer, the force spread through his whole body.

A flicker of surprise passed through Hatake Sakumo's eyes.

Not because Bai Ye had succeeded. A five-year-old child encountering true swordsmanship for the first time could not possibly master it. But in the child's movements, he saw the direction of understanding. Bai Ye did not ask, "Did I do it right?" Nor did he ask, "How long until I can learn it?" He simply struck, lowered his head to feel his body's response, adjusted, then struck again. Every strike was slightly different from the last. He was learning with his body.

Clang!

"Again!"

Clang!

"Again!"

Hatake Sakumo sheathed his sword.

"That's enough for today."

Bai Ye looked up. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, but his breathing remained fairly steady.

"Not practicing a little longer?"

"Enough. Your body needs time to remember what it felt just now. If you practice too much, you'll remember less instead."

Bai Ye remembered those words.

Hatake Sakumo turned and walked toward the edge of the training ground. After several steps, he stopped without looking back.

"On your seventh strike, your left heel lifted before you exerted force. That movement was unnecessary. The power cannot break as it travels from the ground to your legs. The moment your heel lifts, the force breaks."

Bai Ye's eyes brightened.

"I'll remember."

Hatake Sakumo did not repeat himself. He headed back along the path he had taken, and his figure soon vanished into the low grove.

Bai Ye remained where he was, watching that back disappear.

Then he lowered his head and looked at his left foot.

His heel had lifted first.

He closed his eyes and recalled the feeling of the seventh strike. Yes. Before exerting force, his left heel really had lifted first. It had been an unconscious movement, one he had not noticed himself.

Bai Ye opened his eyes and gripped his sword again.

He did not strike again. He simply stood there, feeling over and over how force traveled from the soles of his feet to his arms. His feet planted firmly, knees slightly bent, waist relaxed, shoulders lowered, arms naturally extended, fingers wrapped around the hilt.

He confirmed that feeling again and again until the sun rose high and the ground of the training field turned white beneath its light.

Then he sheathed the sword at his waist, turned around, and headed home.