Soul of a Samurai

Two years had passed since I had first learned how to control chakra.

I was now nine years old, and a lot had changed.

My swordsmanship was on a completely different level.

Every day, I practiced with my wooden sword, now infused with chakra. I could coat it with energy to make it incredibly hard or to give it a razor-sharp edge.

With just the right amount of concentration, I could even expel chakra from the blade, creating a chakra slash that cut through the air with speed and power.

It was the most satisfying feeling—watching my father's eyes widen just slightly when I landed a hit, knowing that I was getting closer to beating him.

But even after all my improvements, my father still beat me in our sparring matches.

I would manage to land a few hits—sometimes barely dodging his strikes—but ultimately, I still lost.

I didn't mind, though. Each fight taught me something new.

One thing I had definitely gotten better at was taijutsu—the hand-to-hand combat.

Father had taught me some basic techniques, showing me how to strike, block, and move. I wasn't an expert, but I had enough skill to be useful in battle.

The only thing that didn't change was the wooden sword.

"No real swords until you're ready," my father would say.

I had asked him, a few months ago, when I would finally get a proper sword, but his response was always the same.

"You don't need one."

He would point to the wooden blade in my hand.

"This sword can achieve the same results as any other if you know how to use it."

I couldn't argue with that. My wooden sword had served me well.

But I still couldn't help but feel the itch to hold a real blade. Maybe someday…

As the days passed, I noticed something I hadn't before—Father was getting older.

It was subtle at first—the slight hunch in his back, the graying of his hair, the slow, deliberate movements.

He had always been an older man when I was born, but now, he seemed to be aging faster.

I didn't say anything.

But there were days when I would catch him sitting down, staring off into the distance, his eyes clouded with something—something I couldn't understand.

It made me uneasy.

But there was still so much for me to learn.

One day, during training, I asked Father about other techniques I could learn.

His answer was immediate.

"We'll start with walking on water and up trees."

I blinked. "Water walking? Tree walking?"

He nodded. "Chakra control is key to many things. These are basic exercises to improve your focus."

I spent the next few weeks learning these new techniques.

At first, I struggled. The water walking was easy enough, but my feet would slip off the surface sometimes, and I'd fall into the water.

The tree walking was even harder. I had to focus chakra into my feet to stick to the bark of the tree. At first, I would fall off before even reaching the top.

But eventually, with enough practice, I mastered both.

Walking on water became second nature, and walking up trees—though still difficult—was no longer impossible.

I could see how important these exercises were for controlling chakra. They helped me focus, keep my chakra in check, and improved my overall concentration.

One afternoon, as we rested after training, I asked Father about ninjutsu.

"Father," I began, "what exactly is ninjutsu?"

He looked at me, his eyes serious. "Ninjutsu are tricks. Stupid tricks."

I blinked, confused.

"They're what the ninjas do," Father explained. "They use their chakra for useless techniques—things like fireballs, clones, and smoke bombs. They waste their chakra on frivolous things, just to look impressive. It's a waste of time, and a disrespect to the real purpose of chakra."

I thought about this for a moment.

"So… you don't want me to learn ninjutsu?"

Father shook his head firmly. "Absolutely not. Focus on your training. On the real arts of the sword and chakra. Ninjutsu is not something for you."

I simply nodded.

"Okay," I said.

We sat in silence for a moment before he stood, brushing off his pants.

"Let's get back to training."

I followed him, eager to keep going, my thoughts buzzing.

As we walked back to the house that evening, I reflected on everything I had learned.

In two years, I had grown so much—not just in strength, but in skill, control, and focus.

Father had taught me so much, but I knew that my training was far from over.

And as I looked at him—older, but still the same strong man who had taken me under his wing—I knew that I had to be ready for whatever came next.

"Thank you for everything, Father," I said quietly.

He glanced at me with a rare smile.

"Keep learning, Kyojin. There's always more to be done."

We walked home in silence after that.

And for the first time, I realized just how much I had left to learn.