Chapter 51: Practicing Swordsmanship in the Sea

Kenshiro, who had chased after Tang Shen and Kuina, was now just as drenched as they were. At this moment, he harbored a deep grudge against Tang Shen’s mouth. It had been perfectly sunny, but after a single sigh from Tang Shen, thunder rumbled; another sigh, and the sky opened up with rain. Not even a hint of dark clouds beforehand—just another sigh, and the downpour intensified. How infuriating! If only he’d brought an umbrella. But that was wishful thinking; who could have predicted such sudden rain?

He squinted, his gaze growing sharper as he watched Tang Shen and Kuina head toward the sea. Drenched as he was, it didn’t matter. The key was to observe—yes, observe, not spy.

Tang Shen strode straight into the ocean. Sea water, rainwater—what did it matter? Either way, they were destined to be soaked. “Take this iron-bamboo sword and stand atop the reef in the sea. I’ve chosen one where your head will be just above the water’s surface. Practice your swordsmanship—any style is fine, whether it’s the basic forms or the One-Heart Sword Technique. The point is to keep your balance, withstand the force of the sea and the battering of the waves. When the waves come, don’t dodge—find a way to cleave through them.” Tang Shen handed Kuina the iron-bamboo sword as he spoke.

The iron-bamboo sword was modeled exactly after the bamboo swords they’d trained with, but forged entirely from iron, weighing about thirty pounds. In the past, Kuina would have struggled with such a heavy weapon—not that she couldn’t use it, but it would have placed a great burden on her arms and wrists. Now, however, she accepted it with ease, as if it were no heavier than the bamboo sword she’d once wielded.

“Follow me!” Tang Shen called, and dove forward.

With a splash, he swam towards the surface of the sea. The ocean, churned up by the rain and wind, was wild and unstable.

Without hesitation, Kuina followed right behind Tang Shen.

“Sword training in the sea?” Kenshiro’s mind immediately leapt to this idea upon overhearing Tang Shen’s instructions. It wasn’t as if no one had ever thought of such a thing, but practicing swordsmanship in the ocean was incredibly difficult—especially with the waves so rough, the water’s force formidable. The sea was nothing like solid ground; on land, one could be agile, but in the water, movement was far more restricted, especially in weather like this. Usually, such ideas were abandoned quickly. It was all too easy to get injured—or even lose one’s life.

Kenshiro’s eyes flickered. He wanted to rush out and stop them, but after some thought, he held his ground, deciding to wait and see what would happen next.

After all, in his observations, that boy was never reckless. He only began a new training regimen when he was sure it was feasible. It had been this way for the past month or more, each time leaving Kenshiro surprised, even dumbfounded—eventually, he’d developed a measure of respect.

Besides, they were only tens of meters from the shore.

Tang Shen had surveyed these reefs the day before and chosen them specifically. The ocean here was turbulent, the water full of power yet difficult to utilize—a source of endless frustration. And to stand upon a reef and practice sword techniques, no less.

He clambered up onto a reef, a slab about one square meter in size. Years of relentless waves had polished its surface smooth as glass, shaped by countless arcs of water.

With a splash, he failed to climb up, his foot slipping, tumbling straight into the sea.

Kuina, following Tang Shen’s direction, was only a few meters from his chosen reef, hers slightly higher. Unsurprisingly, she too slipped and fell into the water as she tried to climb up.

Never mind practicing swordsmanship—right now, even getting onto the reef was a struggle.

With the iron-bamboo sword strapped to her back, she plunged into the water, only to be swept far afield by the current. She had to swim back and try again.

Sea water and rain lashed their faces, but the determination in their eyes never wavered. This was how they had come so far.

Kenshiro watched as the two figures—one large, one small—tried again and again, falling into the sea, swimming back, climbing the reef, only to fall once more and return to try again.

It took them half an hour just to climb onto the reef—a mere beginning.

One second… five seconds… thirty seconds… a minute! The time they managed to stay atop the slick reef grew longer, their progress visible to the naked eye. What had seemed impossible became possible.

The rain poured down, yet it could never extinguish the fire burning in their hearts—the fervent flame of effort. If anything, the rain became their fuel, feeding the blaze within.

And in Kenshiro’s heart, a third fire began to kindle, growing larger, burning fiercely.

He felt his heart pounding powerfully in his chest, caught between astonishment and confusion. How many years had it been since he’d felt this way? Now, simply by watching two younger students train, that feeling had returned.

It was the passion he’d once held for the way of the sword—the pure drive he’d long since forgotten.

In his mind, echoes of his master’s words resounded: “Kenshiro, why do you study the sword?” “Kenshiro, what kind of swordsman do you want to become?” “Kenshiro, does learning the sword make you happy?”

Memories flickered before his eyes like slides: no matter how tired, exhausted, or battered he had been in those early years, he’d always lift his head and smile at his master, declaring, “Master, I want to be the world’s greatest swordsman. I want to be an upright swordsman. I am happy.”

Heaven is indifferent, nature is indifferent, the sea is indifferent, and the waves are indifferent as well. Yet no matter how many times the ocean toppled the two small figures, they pressed forward with all their might.

They never doubted their ability; they only thought, “Next time, I will succeed.”

At last, after hundreds of failures, out of breath and exhausted, they finally managed to stand firm atop the reef, remaining longer than ever before.

“Kuina, the Pillar Stance. Inhale, sink your breath, let your energy settle in your center.” Rain mingled with the sea, striking Tang Shen’s face, but his clear voice carried above the wind.

“Yes, Master,” Kuina replied with clarity.

Their voices were like a balm to each other, soothing and steadying them. Even as the sea blocked their vision and the rain blurred their eyes, nothing could diminish their mutual reliance.

The reef’s surface was slick—like a mirror, like glass, even like oil—yet the two figures planted their feet firmly as if fused with the stone itself.

The Pillar Stance: when the legs could bear a weight of over a hundred pounds, standing atop a post in a horse-stance for an hour, the strength in those legs would amount to a thousand pounds or more. Standing on flat ground, one would be like a figure of iron and bronze; even a force of a thousand pounds could not move them an inch. The resilience of their legs was so great that even an ordinary blade would not harm them.

Tang Shen and Kuina’s Pillar Stance had long surpassed the standard, their legs having carried far more than a hundred pounds. Moreover, to strengthen their wrists, they trained holding stone locks as well.