Miyukii

Miyukii: Word Count: 6627 Word EXP: 6627/5*1 = 1325 (Word Count) = 1325 EXP Col: 400 (Page) <<Katana>> Weapon Skill SP Invested into <<Curved Sword>> is refunded to the player for free.

The sun had begun its slow descent behind the evergreens, turning the snowy clearing into a field of soft amber light. Each flake that drifted through the air glimmered like dust in a dream fleeting, weightless, eternal. Miyuki stood at the center, her sword resting loosely in her hand. The blade no longer gleamed with the sharp defiance it once had; instead, it caught the fading light gently, humbly, as if aware of the quiet purpose it now carried. Her mentor approached without a word, his steps barely leaving prints in the snow. For a while, they simply stood together, watching the

The forest was different today. The wind had softened, carrying a gentler tone as though the very air knew that something within it had changed. The faintest hint of sunlight slipped through the clouds, painting the snow in delicate gold. Miyuki stood where she always did, blade unsheathed, posture still as the trees that surrounded her. But there was no tension now. The sword no longer looked like a weapon in her hands it looked like an extension of her breath. She began to move. Each motion flowed seamlessly into the next: strike, pivot, guard, release. Her blade traced arcs o

The next morning came quietly, dressed in silver mist and frost. The world was still asleep when Miyuki returned to the clearing. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath, as though waiting for something sacred to begin. She placed her katana gently on the snow, then knelt beside it. For a while, she didn’t move. Her eyes traced the faint line of her previous training the pattern of her footprints now buried under the night’s snowfall. It was as though the world had erased her yesterday, inviting her to start again. She closed her eyes. And breathed. The sound of the air fill

Snow still clung to the folds of Miyuki’s cloak as she stepped back into the clearing. The world was untouched only her earlier footprints marked the ground, fading slowly beneath fresh flakes. The silence left behind by her mentor lingered like incense in the air, soft and grounding. She unsheathed her sword without a sound. The curve of the blade caught a single glint of light, like the horizon itself had bent to meet her steel. There was no command, no audience, no expectation. Only the faint rhythm of her heartbeat. She inhaled. Her sword moved not fast, but fluid, trac

The world had grown quieter since her last breath. Miyuki stood in the clearing, her sword now sheathed at her side. The snowfall eased to a slow drift, flakes catching faint glimmers of morning light that broke through the overcast sky. The forest exhaled a soft, wintry sigh as if it, too, had been meditating alongside her. Footsteps approached, muffled by the snow. Her mentor’s presence did not startle her. She’d sensed him long before he arrived not through instinct or skill, but through stillness. “You’ve been silent for a long time,” the old man said. His voice carried the cal

After her mentor’s words faded, silence reclaimed the clearing. The snowfall had thickened, but each flake landed soundlessly small, fragile reminders of the world’s constant motion. Miyuki knelt where she had stood moments ago, the tip of her blade resting in the snow beside her. Her breath slowed until it matched the rhythm of the drifting flakes. In and out. Stillness. The cold bit at her fingertips, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she welcomed it. It kept her awake kept her here. The ache in her arms, the faint sting of exertion, the memory of her mentor’s strikes… they all exist

When the clash faded, only the wind spoke. The snow that had been shaken loose from the trees drifted lazily between them slow, soft, and unbothered by the violence that had briefly filled the air. Her mentor’s stance eased. He slid his blade into its sheath with a quiet finality. The sound was delicate, almost reverent. “Do you know why I strike without warning?” he asked at last. Miyuki straightened, her breath still heavy from the exchange. “Because the world doesn’t wait for us to be ready.” A small nod. “That is the surface of it.” His eyes softened, yet carried the sh

The mentor’s footsteps were nearly soundless as he stepped away, sheathing his blade with a soft click that seemed to echo longer than it should have. “The world rarely warns you before it moves,” he said, turning his gaze toward the tree line. “Your blade must not answer thought it must answer truth.” Miyuki blinked, lowering her sword slightly. “Truth?” He smiled faintly. “You’ll see.” Without another word, he vanished into the forest path not teleporting, but slipping between the branches like smoke. Silence fell heavy, save for the rustle of leaves and the distant chirp

For a long while, neither spoke. The wind whispered through the trees, scattering faint motes of frost that shimmered in the pale morning light. Miyuki held her stance blade low, breath even waiting for the next strike that never came. Instead, her mentor’s voice reached her, low and steady. “Awareness is not the end of the path,” he said. “To sense the strike is one thing. To move with it that is mastery.” He raised his katana once more, but this time there was no warning. His movements were fluid, deliberate, yet unpredictable each cut flowed like water, impossible to anticipa

The mentor stepped forward again, the snow crunching softly beneath his sandals. Without a word, he drew a thin strip of dark cloth from his sleeve and held it toward Miyuki. “Vision clouds instinct,” he said simply. “Let us see what remains when you take it away.” Miyuki hesitated, but then took the blindfold and tied it around her eyes. The world vanished. All that remained was the bite of the cold, the scent of pine, and the soft whisper of the wind weaving between branches. Her heartbeat filled the silence at first. Slow. Uneven. Searching. Then she heard it the faint s

By the time the mentor finally stepped back, Miyuki’s breath had formed a halo of mist in the cold air. Her shoulders ached, her wrists burned, and her fingers trembled from repetition yet her focus remained sharp. He studied her silently, then gave a small nod. “You’ve learned to move deliberately,” he said. “Now, we see if you can move without thought.” Before she could ask what he meant, he moved. A flurry of snow erupted as the mentor’s blade flashed toward her not fast enough to harm, but quick enough to demand instinct. Her eyes widened, and without thinking, she drew. Ste

The snow had stopped falling. The air hung motionless, heavy with the promise of something about to begin. Miyuki rose from her meditation, the faint sound of her breath the only thing breaking the quiet. Her mentor watched her from across the clearing, his expression unreadable. “Your spirit is settling,” he said at last. “Now it is time to teach your body to follow.” He stepped closer and rested a hand on the hilt of his katana. “The blade’s first movement is its most honest one. Drawing is both the birth of attack and the end of hesitation. You must learn to exist in that space be

When the sparring ended, silence returned to the clearing but it was no longer the same silence as before. It was thicker now, like the air itself was holding its breath. Miyuki stood motionless for a moment before lowering herself to her knees, the katana resting across her lap. Her gloves brushed the snow, and she let the chill seep through, anchoring her in the present. The world around her was still. A single breeze stirred the branches above, carrying the soft whisper of steel clashing from moments ago. Each echo felt distant, almost dreamlike, yet they resonated inside her chest.

The clearing had quieted to a soft drift, snowflakes spiraling lazily between the towering pines. Miyuki’s breath came slow and measured, the katana resting in her grip felt foreign yet alive as if it, too, was waiting for her to understand it. The mentor stood opposite her, his expression unreadable beneath the hood of his cloak. “Steel learns through conflict,” he said simply, drawing his blade in one fluid motion. “As do we.” Miyuki mirrored him, her stance lower, knees bent, the way she’d been taught in kendo years ago but this was different. There was no scoreboard here, no poli

The snow whispered softly around the clearing, each flake falling like a breath of time. Miyuki stood before her mentor a tall man wrapped in layered robes of grey, his presence so still it seemed the world itself paused to accommodate him. His katana rested at his side, untouched, but its aura filled the air like quiet thunder. “You move with intent,” he said at last, his voice low and even. “But intent without understanding is noise. Before a blade can speak, the heart must learn silence.” Miyuki bowed her head, her gloved hands tightening around the hilt of her curved sword. The c

The dojo floor was polished smooth by years of quiet repetition the echo of countless students who had stood where Miyuki now stood. Her breath misted faintly in the cold air as her mentor stepped into the open space before her, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his katana. “You’ve learned stillness,” he said, voice calm yet resonant. “Now, learn how to move without breaking it.” He drew his sword in a single flowing motion no flash, no sound, just the soft hiss of air being parted. The strike ended before it began, a whisper through the wind, and the blade was sheathed on

The air within the training site was hushed a vast wooden hall where the chill of the fourth floor lingered just beyond the thin paper doors. A faint scent of burning incense curled through the space, soft and grounding, mixing with the rhythm of Miyuki’s breath. Snow fell gently beyond the window, each flake a whisper of silence made visible. Her mentor stood several paces away, still as the statue of an old deity. For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the soft creak of wood as the fire’s warmth shifted. Finally, the mentor’s voice broke the silence deep, even, and patient

The silence in the dojo deepened as the old swordsman rose from his seat beside the fire. His movements were deliberate, almost weightless, like someone who had long since learned to walk without disturbing the world around him. He crossed the room with unhurried grace, each step matching the faint rhythm of the wind brushing against the walls. “Tell me,” he began, his voice as calm as the falling snow outside, “what is a blade?” Miyuki hesitated. The question seemed simple but his gaze told her otherwise. “A weapon,” she answered carefully, “used to protect or to kill.” The man

The snowfall had quieted to a gentle drift, each flake descending like a whispered breath upon the still world. Miyuki stood at the edge of the glade where the message had directed her a clearing nestled between towering evergreens, their boughs weighed down by ice. In the center sat a simple structure, half-buried in snow: a small dojo built of pale wood and stone, its roof bowed beneath winter’s weight. Thin trails of smoke curled from a lantern above the door, swaying softly in the wind. Her boots crunched as she stepped forward. The air felt different here thinner, quieter. Each exhal

The snow was knee-deep and silent. Every step Miyuki took through the Winter Wood left behind a trail that vanished just as quickly as it came the falling flakes filling her prints in seconds. This part of the forest had long since swallowed any sign of a road. Even the whisper of civilization felt like a dream behind her now. The only guide she had was what the old woodcutter in Snowfrost had told her: “Head north until the wind cuts sideways. When you reach the broken Torii gate, follow the fox.” It had sounded cryptic probably a local legend but she was running on trust

Miyukii: Word Count: 6774 Word EXP: 6774/5*1 = 1355 (Word Count) + 800 (Quest) = 2155 EXP Col: 400 (Page) + 250 (Treasure Chest) + 2000 (Quest) = 2650 Col Perfect Weapon (1) | ID#248648 Perfect Armor/Shield (1) | ID#248648 Perfect Consumables (2) | ID#248648

The walk back to Tolbana’s square felt different now. Not easier, necessarily her leg still throbbed faintly from the boarlet’s tusk, and the grime of the day clung to her sleeves and boots. But there was a quiet rhythm in her step. Confidence, maybe. Familiarity. The unknown edges of this world had softened ever so slightly. She spotted Dorian near the fountain again, standing tall in his polished coat, monocle gleaming in the low light. He noticed her instantly his eyes lighting up with recognition, then nervous hope. “Ah! You’ve returned. And with good news, I hope?”

Miyuki knelt beside the chest, letting her hand hover above the aged lid for a moment. There was no trap, no magic seal just a simple lock mechanism. Her fingers worked quickly, clicking through the latch until it gave with a soft metallic snap. The hinges groaned in protest as she lifted the top. Inside, cushioned by a worn velvet lining, were glints of polished steel and vials of swirling liquid. Her breath caught for a second not in disbelief, but in silent gratitude. A curved blade, far more refined than the loaner she currently carried, rested atop a folded set of leather a

Pete didn’t need to say much after their brief exchange. With a lazy hand gesture toward the back of his rickety boat, he grunted: “There’s somethin’ shiny in there somewhere. Bring it up, and I’ll call it square.” Miyuki stepped up to the boat, peering over the warped railing. Inside was a chaotic heap of fishing nets, rusty crab traps, and soggy crates, all tangled together like a forgotten corner of someone’s messy garage. She frowned slightly, rolling up her sleeves. "This is less treasure hunting and more swamp diving..." Her hands gripped the edge of th