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[SP-F04] The Frosted Path to Steel <<Katana Skill Acquisition>>


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Posted (edited)

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 now. Trust, and the faint rhythm of resolve that echoed with every crunch beneath her boots.

Her curved sword, the one she'd relied on since starting this game, sat dormant on her back. It hadn’t felt right in days. Not since she’d first watched that silent NPC in the village square moving through a series of graceful, precise motions with a katana unlike any weapon she had seen. It was more than technique.

It was ritual.

She stepped over a fallen cedar and paused, her breath turning to fog as she gazed forward.

There half-buried in snow stood a cracked red Torii, leaning slightly to one side. The beams were splintered, and the paint was faded by years of frost, but it was unmistakable. Something sacred lingered here. She stepped beneath it, heart steady.

That’s when she saw it: a white fox, standing perfectly still at the edge of a frozen stream. Its bright eyes watched her for only a second before it turned and trotted into the woods.

No system ping. No quest update.

But Miyuki smiled.

“Found you.”

And she followed.

 

Spoiler
Name: Miyukii
True Tier: 1
Level: 1
Paragon Level: 0
HP: 20/20
EN: 20/20
Stats:
Damage: 6
Equipped Gear:
Weapon/Armor/Trinket: - Beginner Curve Sword
Armor/Trinket: -
Shield/Armor/Trinket: -
Combat Mastery: -
Combat Shift: -
Familiar Skill: -
Custom Skill: -
Skills: -
Curved Sword R1
Extra Skills:
Inactive Extra Skills:
Addons: Mods:
Inactive Mods:
Battle Ready Inventory:
Housing Buffs: Guild Hall Buffs:
Scents of the Wild Totem:
Wedding Ring:
Crafting Profession:
Gathering Profession:
 
 

 

Edited by Miyukii
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  • 2 months later...

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 exhale formed a small cloud that lingered before fading into the cold. The curved sword at her hip felt heavier than usual, as if it too could sense what was about to change.

Sliding open the wooden door, Miyuki was greeted by the warmth of a small fire crackling at the far end of the room. The scent of pine and incense hung faintly in the air. A figure knelt beside the fire, his back straight despite the years that seemed etched into his posture. Long white hair, bound by a simple cord, flowed down the back of a dark blue robe.

“So,” the man said, his voice calm but clear, “the one who would trade the curve for the edge.”

Miyuki bowed deeply. “Yes, sir. I’ve come to learn the way of the katana.”

He turned then, revealing eyes as sharp and reflective as the ice outside. For a moment, he said nothing only studied her with a faint, knowing smile. Then, he nodded toward a wooden rack behind him. Upon it rested a sheathed katana, plain and unadorned, yet emanating quiet strength.

“Steel teaches only those who listen,” he said. “If you seek to understand, first learn to hear.”

Miyuki’s gaze softened. She stepped forward, kneeling before the rack. The quiet between them was filled only with the sound of the fire’s steady crackle a rhythm as steady as her breath.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, patient and eternal.

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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 nodded once, then knelt before her, his expression neither approving nor dismissive. He took a small stick from the fire and drew a thin line through the ash on the floor.

“Most say the same,” he murmured. “A blade divides. It cuts. It ends.” He paused, tracing a second line parallel to the first. “But a true swordsman sees not the cut only the space between the two lines.”

Miyuki watched the smoke curl from the ember in his hand, her eyes narrowing in thought. “The space between?” she echoed softly.

He smiled faintly. “Intention. Control. Stillness.” He rose once more, returning the ember to the fire. “The sword does not choose life or death. You do. The moment your heart wavers, the edge loses its meaning.”

For a time, neither spoke. The fire crackled quietly, painting soft light across the polished floorboards. Outside, a wind stirred the chimes hanging from the eaves, their delicate notes blending with the rhythm of the flames.

Finally, Miyuki bowed her head. “Then… to learn the katana, I must learn not just to strike, but to listen.”

The master’s eyes glimmered not with pride, but with recognition. “Good,” he said. “To listen, to breathe, and to act without hesitation. Only then can you draw without doubt.”

He gestured toward the plain katana on the rack. “When you can feel the breath between thought and action when the snow falls, and your heart remains unmoved then we will begin.”

Miyuki rose, her breath slow and steady, the weight of the moment pressing softly against her chest. She looked once more at the blade, feeling its quiet presence call to her not as a weapon, but as a mirror.

The snow continued to fall, and she stood still long enough to hear it.

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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 first cut you must learn is not against flesh, but against motion itself.”

Miyuki blinked, uncertain if she understood. The master gestured toward the floor before her. A single maple leaf rested upon a stand, its edges trembling faintly in the draft.

“Balance the blade beneath the leaf,” he continued. “Let it rest without falling. Do not hold the sword let the sword hold the world.”

She drew in a breath and stepped forward, lowering to one knee. Her hand found the hilt, her movements deliberate, quiet. The katana’s edge caught the dim light of the hall as she placed it beneath the fragile leaf. It swayed but did not fall.

For a time, she simply breathed.

The weight of the steel in her hands was familiar, but what the master asked for was not strength it was surrender. Her thoughts wandered to the cold forests outside, to the endless snow, to the sound of her own heartbeat echoing softly in her ears. Slowly, the world seemed to narrow until there was only breath, leaf, and silence.

A long moment passed before the master spoke again.

“You see? The sword does not crave movement. It waits.
The difference between life and death, between victory and failure lies in the stillness before the strike.”

Miyuki’s grip softened. The leaf quivered, but stayed balanced. She didn’t smile, but something in her chest eased a quiet understanding that strength wasn’t always loud.

The lesson was simple, yet infinite. And as the snow continued to fall outside, Miyuki felt the first thread of harmony between her blade and her heart begin to form.

When her mentor finally moved, it was with the fluidity of the falling snow effortless and deliberate. He gestured toward the training floor beyond the incense smoke.

“Now that you can hear the silence,” he said, “it’s time to teach it to move.”

Miyuki rose, her breath steady. The leaf still trembled on the blade as she stepped away, ready to begin the next part of her training.

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