Chapter Five: Will

Whether it came from goodwill or malice, encountering a shipwreck after sailing into the New World was highly probable. However, running into a swordsman of Ryoma’s caliber was anything but.

Thus, Qiubai would not let this rare opportunity slip by. His intent was simple and direct, and what he needed to do was clear: he would merely display all he had learned in swordsmanship thus far. The rest would be left to the whims of chance, over which he had no control.

After the “Shurazakura” Seven Swords—a name born of a sudden inspiration—he had another set of seven techniques, but only one had truly been completed: “Riku.” And from the outcome, it was evident that this technique had the desired effect.

From the perspective of an uninvolved third party, Qiubai’s iaido seemed ordinary, even excessively slow, lacking the dazzling speed of his previous assault. Judging by the draw speed that had earned “Slashing Blade: Dull” its fame, Qiubai’s technique appeared nowhere near the instant flash of “Zero Slash.” Yet, in reality, it was far more complex; his attack was not so simple. Compared to the single-minded pursuit of speed, what he wielded was infinitely more intricate.

So, for the first time since their duel began, Ryoma took a step back, abandoning his previously unruffled composure. In swordsmanship, there is spirit, mind, intent, eye, and form. For many swordsmen, the moment a blade is drawn, its trajectory is determined—especially in iaido, which seeks instantaneous attack speed.

Because of their obsession with speed, the attack path is set the instant the sword leaves the scabbard. Most swordsmen strive only to make that predetermined line faster—so fast the opponent cannot react. But as long as such a “trajectory” exists, the attack can be anticipated. For a swordsman like Ryoma, preemptively reading an opponent’s movement is no great difficulty.

Especially when there is a vast disparity in strength, mere speed is meaningless.

Qiubai had realized this through his probing attacks: all straightforward, unvaried strikes were futile. Thus, he employed the most mutable technique in his repertoire.

Riku’s greatest feature lay in its ability to alter the sword’s entire path after the draw. Whether in the choice of attack points within the three-dimensional range or the sequence and speed of its strikes, each element was variable. Along each trajectory, Qiubai’s sword could shift continuously from the utmost movement to utter stillness and back again, endlessly combining extremes to create an attack that was truly unpredictable.

This was more difficult to counter than mere speed. Executing such a move was also no simple matter; it demanded not only extreme control from the swordsman, but—more fundamentally—wrist strength.

No matter the method, it all boiled down to strength itself. When variations reached the subtlest degree, it became impossible to marshal the body’s full power; such manipulation simply couldn’t be executed within those limited moments and movements. Thus, with Riku, the arms—and even more specifically, the forearms—must bear the entire burden of change.

Simply put, this was a technique utterly dependent on both the quality and the mastery of wrist strength. Without that foundation, Riku could not exist.

Indeed, because it required suppressing and even harnessing inertia, the sword in Qiubai’s hand now felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

Thus, Ryoma had retreated a step. If a swordsman of equal caliber used such a technique against him, this would be his first instinct.

Compared to rigid defense, withdrawing from the opponent’s range and waiting for the right moment to counterattack was the most prudent choice.

But this time, Ryoma had no need to strike back. After executing the technique, Qiubai made no move to attack again—nor did he have the ability to. To put it plainly, while such a technique was a rare feat, he had performed it now only to “demonstrate” for Ryoma.

Qiubai released his grip on the sword, flexing and shaking his wrist to ease the strain. Though the technique had been completed, he was still a step away from wielding it at will.

Nevertheless, as he himself had said, such attacks could certainly be classified as sword skills now.

A pity… they still failed to pose any real threat to a swordsman like Ryoma. Qiubai was somewhat dissatisfied; he had already used all the strength he had as a swordsman.

Well, perhaps he had expected too much. There was never meant to be a definitive outcome to this.

Even now, Ryoma ranked among the world’s greatest swordsmen. To threaten him? A quick evaluation of Qiubai’s overall ability revealed he couldn’t even project sword energy, let alone unleash mid-range attacks like the “Hundredfold Troublesome Wind” of certain masters.

Once Qiubai released his sword, the duel came to an end. Exiting that heightened state, Ryoma first sheathed his blade, then began to cough softly. Even Qiubai could see that something was amiss with the man’s health.

Only after some time did Ryoma regain his composure. Rather than comment further on Qiubai’s swordsmanship, he asked, “Qiubai… what is your purpose for going to sea?”

Qiubai lowered his head slightly, his gaze veiled beneath his lashes. Ryoma was repeating a question he had already answered at the outset.

“When a man chooses to go to sea, the reason is nothing more than that…”

He declined to repeat his answer, unwilling to restate the obvious.

“Indeed—perhaps I am getting old…” Ryoma shook his head. Anyone who dared embark upon the New World alone at fifteen could not be lacking in resolve.

“If… if one day you face an enemy you cannot defeat, what then?” he asked.

But this was no hypothetical—if the goal was the summit, such a day was inevitable.

Yet Qiubai replied, “Such a day will never come. If I cannot win the first time, I will fight and win the second. Should I fail in that, then the moment a swordsman ceases to advance is the moment ‘death’ arrives.”

Whether a man speaks truth or lies, the graver the moment, the more their words diverge. In Qiubai’s current state, though he spoke with seeming nonchalance, his conviction was unmistakable.

He lacked neither determination nor resolve; perhaps it was a reaction to the constraints of his previous life. In this world, he would not settle for anything less than extraordinary.

“So… even if it’s me, you’ll defeat me one day?”

Qiubai did not answer.

To say “yes” would be arrogant, but to say “no” would betray his heart. Neither overconfident nor overly humble—this was Qiubai’s way. He would continue step by step; though besting someone of Ryoma’s level might be years away, the words “cannot win” had never crossed his mind.

To tease and defy the “Sovereign” who governed everything in a world entirely unknown—such a person must either possess a heart of steel or be a complete fool.

“…Heh, your outlook is much like mine when I was young.” With a soft chuckle, Ryoma abruptly changed the subject, returning to the matter of swordsmanship. “From our brief bout, even including your final technique, ‘Riku,’ your approach to the sword is straightforward and forceful. Compared to seeking finesse, you seem to rely more on sheer power. There’s nothing wrong with that. Yielding with softness is a form of technique, but if you have other advantages, forging ahead with strength alone is equally valid. However, this path, while appearing to demand talent, in truth requires a master’s guidance even more.”

“So, Qiubai, before you set sail again, would you be willing to relearn how to wield a blade?”

In Ryoma’s eyes, “self-taught” Qiubai was truly a rough gem. Yet that was not his chief reason for making this offer. Over the years, he had seen countless so-called sword prodigies. Only now, with Qiubai, had he ever felt this urge.

What mattered most was this: in the final years of one’s life, it was more meaningful to complete one last work than to cling to other pursuits.

“Besides, it happens we’ve just lost our ship.”

What more could Qiubai say? From the moment he learned Ryoma’s identity, this had been his plan. With things proceeding so smoothly, he had no reason to refuse.

“For the next month, I will teach you all anew how to wield a blade. How much you learn—that depends on your own ability.”

“One month?”

Even a month was a gift, but Qiubai was curious why the time limit was so precise.

Ryoma glanced at him, then spoke openly. “I had planned to return immediately to my homeland, Wano, because of a certain custom… But I’ve changed my mind. At the end of my life, I’d rather forge one last sword…”

This was the reason for the time limit: Ryoma had but one month to live.

In the end, all swords are born from the hands of smiths, and so are all swordsmen. Whether for the sake of legacy or simply to wield a renowned blade and escape oblivion, many swordsmen at the twilight of their journey ultimately become smiths themselves. It is almost a law of the art.

Ryoma was no exception. He, too, had set upon that path: to forge, in the closing days of his life, one final peerless blade. Whether he succeeded or not, he would have no regrets. Yet, if in the end he could truly create a sword unmatched in all the world, so much the better.