"Witnessing swordsmanship like this in person? I could die without regrets," Nobutomo Tsukahara nodded in agreement.
At this moment, the three swordmasters no longer doubted Luke's mastery of Japanese kendo.
This young, handsome man was like a natural-born kendo genius, shattering their last traces of arrogance with undeniable skill.
In the arena, after unleashing a strike with the ferocity of a raging fire, Luke began a relentless series of attacks.
The One-Word Slash, the Cross Slash, the Double Slash—these were the most basic kendo techniques, yet in Luke's hands, they were executed with breathtaking precision.
His movements were swift and accurate, flowing seamlessly from one to the next, almost impossible to follow. It wasn't just technique—it was an insight into life and death itself.
"Is this what they call 'swift as the wind'?"
"The simplest path leads to the greatest truth. I get it now."
"It's like a storm—impossible to withstand."
The three swordmasters, experts among experts, instantly recognized the brilliance in Luke's swordsmanship. He had mastered the essence of "swift as the wind" from the classic Fūrin Kazan philosophy, pushing it to its absolute limit.
But was this really the limit?
In the next moment, a blade flash so fast it was barely visible shattered their understanding once again.
"What… is that?"
"Is that…?"
"The Swallow's Return?"
Among birds, the swallow is renowned for its speed.
Legend has it that the sword technique "Swallow's Return," created by Sasaki Kojirō, could cut down a flying swallow mid-flight—a testament to its incredible speed.
But this strike was so fast it was almost absurd, the blade's gleam nearly impossible to track with the naked eye.
Could even the "Swallow's Return" match this speed?
"This move is my own creation. I call it 'Frigate Slash,'" Luke declared.
The three swordmasters immediately understood.
The fastest bird is the frigatebird, capable of flying at speeds up to 260 miles per hour, far surpassing any ordinary swallow.
A sword technique fast enough to cut down a frigatebird deserved the name "Frigate Slash."
Luke's demonstration wasn't over. His wind-like movements suddenly slowed, his blade tip weaving a dazzling array of patterns in the air. The sword's light flowed like water, its shadows blooming like flowers, captivating the eye.
Each swing carried the fluidity of water and the beauty of a flower, yet where the blade passed, the air seemed to freeze in an instant.
The paradoxical sensation of slow-yet-fast was maddening.
If an opponent charged in, they'd be instantly overwhelmed by this "slowly" flowing tide of blade light.
"This move is called 'Floating Boat,'" Luke's voice rang out.
Floating Boat?
In , it evokes the image of a boat drifting on water.
In Japanese culture, it carries deeper meaning. "Floating Boat" refers to Ukon, a character from The Tale of Genji, the cornerstone of Japanese spiritual culture—a woman who exits the story in solitude. Born an illegitimate daughter of a prince, raised in the countryside, and never truly acknowledged, she embodies loneliness.
Only in stillness can there be motion.
Only water can embrace all things.
The Floating Boat ferries others, ferries oneself, ferries through life.
"I see! Slow isn't just slow—it's a kind of speed!" Sai Jō exclaimed in awe.
"Steady as a forest, advancing by retreating!" Kō Mitsu Yagyū added with a sigh.
"I don't fully get it, but I'm blown away!" Takeshi Nakamura admitted.
In the arena, Luke had unleashed countless strikes, yet his breathing remained steady, and the shadow cast by his blade under the lights grew sharper.
His movements showed no sign of slowing—instead, they grew fiercer. Each motion seemed to burst from his very core, the result of decades of grueling practice and his unwavering dedication to the way of the sword.
Finally, he sheathed his blade, Tōjigiri Yasutsuna, and took a deep breath, as if the flurry of intense strikes had never happened.
As Luke's demonstration concluded, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause, their excitement uncontainable.
"Luke is a true kendo genius. We've trained our whole lives and can't even touch his level."
"To grasp the Way in the morning and die content by evening! Watching Luke's kendo for just a few minutes is worth ten years of blind training."
"I'd give anything to study under Luke and learn the secrets of 'Frigate Slash' and 'Floating Boat.'"
A single thought flashed through the minds of the three swordmasters: Luke's swordsmanship is just too strong.
Could the legendary sword saints of history really match his level?
Sword saints were honored for founding schools and shaping kendo philosophy. In terms of raw combat ability, even a powerhouse like Miyamoto Musashi might not surpass them by much.
The three swordmasters, all bearing the title of swordmaster themselves, knew they couldn't quite compare to Musashi or Yagyū Muneyoshi but felt they weren't far behind. Yet facing Luke was like staring into an unfathomable abyss—his depths were impossible to gauge.
Luke's strength was downright unreal.
They'd known he was strong, but not this strong—strong enough to shatter their imagination and break their understanding.
"So, did you all catch my swordsmanship?" Luke asked with a smile.
"I only caught a glimpse, barely one-tenth of it," Nobutomo Tsukahara replied honestly.
"It's like looking at flowers through fog—forgive my dullness," Kō Mitsu Yagyū added.
"It's a bold request, but this is a rare chance. Please, Luke, could you guide us further?" Sai Jō, the most devoted to kendo among them, pressed further.
Kendo culture runs deep in Japan.
These three kendo masters were willing to serve as stepping stones for Luke's reputation—a significant favor.
They'd likely face criticism and challenges from their peers back home, so Luke genuinely wanted to teach them something substantial, helping them prove themselves against future challengers. It would benefit him too.
"Watching with your eyes alone won't give you the full experience. How about this: let's spar, and you can feel my swordsmanship firsthand," Luke suggested.
Of course, they'd use wooden swords—no one would wield a live blade in a spar.
"The three of us probably couldn't even block a single strike from you. How could we grasp the subtleties of your swordsmanship?" Nobutomo Tsukahara said, lacking confidence.
"All three of you, come at me together."
"Together?"
"Yep. I'll stand in the center, and you three surround me."
When Luke proposed this, a spark of defiance flared in their hearts.
Sure, you're strong—insanely strong. But our years of kendo training aren't for nothing.
One-on-one is one thing, but three-on-one is a whole different ballgame, especially when you're giving up positional advantage and letting us surround you?
That's a bit too cocky, don't you think?
Together, the three of us could probably take on two sword saints and come out on top!
In a duel between masters, one extra person makes a world of difference.
"If Luke can defeat us like this, I'll gladly call you my master and serve at your side," one said.
"Alright, Luke, teach us your unmatched swordsmanship!"
"We'll humbly accept your challenge together!"
The three swordmasters weren't fools. If Luke could beat them under these conditions, hitching their wagon to him would be no loss.
They might even earn a place in history alongside the greats for their kendo achievements.
For the Japanese, who revere strength, following Luke carried no shame.
They coveted his sword techniques, but Luke needed their influence just as much.
"Alright, grab your wooden swords!" Luke said with bold confidence.