6 months later...
I had finished my hundredth lap of the morning and had begun my sword swings; a thousand were in order, and it seemed too few for the task that lay ahead in my life. Every swing held an output of all the pain that I knew I should feel, but I couldn't. After six months of continuous swinging, I am now able to cut slashes through the air, though faintly and with no regularity.
After swinging, I moved to the ridiculous mountain obstacle course that Jigoro prepared for me, dodging under trees, jumping over boulders, all while being chased by wolves. Then followed the training to build my physique. Slowly but surely, I began to pull weights. It started with small rocks, then small boulders, then larger boulders, and nowadays, I do the job horses are meant to do with ploughing the field.
I had my eleventh birthday, it wasn't a celebration, it was a marker for how long I've spent in this world and how long I may have left. Despite being eleven, I had the physique of a peak man, and I ensured my body was growing in proportion to each of its parts. Having the eyes that I do, I can see minute differences in muscle growth and exactly what I should do to make them grow. I had a lean and muscular build, and the old man had finally deemed me fit to learn breathing styles, but since he couldn't teach my father's, he resigned to teaching me his breathing style, the breath of thunder.
Every evening following my birthday was spent learning stances and breathing techniques from old man Jigoro; sometimes it was one-to-one, sometimes the yellow-haired boy would watch. After a week or so after the old man started to demonstrate the techniques I was able to see the movements and copy them. I spent sleepless nights perfecting the first form until I had it. One morning, when Jigoro asked me to show him, I lowered my knees and shot off from the sport, leaving a crater in the ground where I stood, causing a large boom as I propelled myself forward, blade in hand, slashing the head off a training dummy.
One year later...
I bowed to the old man, as low as I could go, and for the first time since I got my voice back, I looked at him and said with complete and utter gratitude, "Thank you." The old man looked tearful as he grabbed my shoulders and straightened me up from my bow. He looked at me, and I watched as he spoke, "A student like you only comes once in a lifetime, go."
I bowed once more before I whispered in my mind, "Breath of thunder: First Form: Thunder Clap and Flash," and I was gone from where I stood.
I roamed the land for ages. I was now twelve years old, an age people would still call me a child, if not for my appearance. The first days were the most exciting. I would sleep in the day and hunt in the night. All I had was the blunt old nichirin blade from Jigoro, but that was enough.
On my first night, I walked undisturbed; perhaps that was only due to my deafness. I could see 360 degrees around me with my eyes; I did not need my ears. Finally, after what felt like ages, I was stalked by a demon. A ball of hatred formed in my chest, but it diffused, and I noted that the demon was a weak one. Soon, it jumped from the air and fell towards me, thinking of me as easy meat. I counted in my head the seconds it would take for it to reach me 1...2...3...4, and I stepped out of the way.
"Too slow."
I moved towards it and ended its existence in one cut. I had nothing in me but my purpose. Making demons suffer was not my purpose, making them beg for mercy while I torture is not going to be my thing, but it will be. When I get my hands on Kibutsuji Muzan.
The second night was much the same, though this time there were two. They came at me like starving dogs, their claws swiping wild, teeth gnashing at shadows. I did not flinch, nor did I give them the dignity of a stance. My blade moved once, then twice, and both demons fell apart in silence. I did not even breathe harder. Weak things, barely worth the steel they stained.
By the fourth night, three more demons had tried their luck. One lunged from beneath the earth, another from the canopy, and the third tried to circle behind me. None lasted longer than a heartbeat. I began to think of them as practice swings, like the wooden dummies Jigoro set up, only these screamed. Their fear meant nothing to me—it was the end that mattered.
A week passed in blood and stillness, until the land seemed to know I was here. The demons grew cautious. That was when, on the ninth night, I met one with some strength.
It emerged from the fog of an abandoned shrine, its body tall and hunched, with arms far too long, each fingertip tipped with nails like curved blades. Its eyes glowed the same cruel red I had grown used to, but its movement was sharper, quicker. It grinned when it saw me, and for the first time since I left Jigoro's side, I felt the faintest pulse of anticipation.
The demon dashed forward, fast enough that most men would have only seen a blur. My eyes caught it all: the twist of its torso, the angle of its arms, the intent to carve me open in one sweeping strike. I slid to the side, calm, blade drawn but not swung. Its claws shredded a stone lantern where I had stood.
"Better," I muttered.
It snarled and spun, coming again. I parried this time, sparks flying as steel met nail, the air ringing with the clash. It laughed, a guttural sound, like it thought me a toy. I could have dragged the fight, could have tested myself further, but there was no point.
I exhaled, lowering my stance. Lightning surged in my legs, a power born of breath and endless training.
"Thunder Breathing… First Form: Thunderclap and Flash."
The ground cracked as I launched forward. For the demon, there was no chance to react—only the boom of impact and the sudden severing of its head from its shoulders. Its body collapsed before the echo faded.
I stood over the corpse, blade still humming faintly from the strike. Not because I needed to use it, but because I wanted to feel it again—to feel the speed, the power, the inevitability.
The hunt had truly begun.