After hearing this, Issho let out a slow sigh, the breath leaving him heavier than expected.
“Oh… so that’s what was happening.
And here I thought I was some sort of genius in blood forging.”
A faint, wry smile tugged at his lips.
Issho brought up his now-updated character panel.
Though his sightless eyes remained closed as always, the information unfolded clearly within his awareness.
As he went through it, a quiet sense of satisfaction settled in his chest, steady and grounding.
====
Name: Issho
Blood: 2
Mana: 0.2
Innate Ability: Gravity Control
Abilities: Observation Haki (20 m); Shadow Fighting; Demon Slaying Sword Technique;
Six Powers (Locked, requires Blood = 10)…
Item(s): Sword: Yakuza Kasen
Daily Quest: 1.
Do horse stance meditation.
(60/60 min)✅
2.
Practice swordsmanship with Fujitora in Shadow Fighting (real world).
(0/60 min)
====
Then his focus shifted.
The ability section.
Shadow Fighting.
The moment his attention rested on it, the description surfaced instantly in his mind, crisp and unmistakable.
[Shadow Fighting: You can fight either in a mental space or in real world by forming the image of the opponents you have faced till now.
(System Note: Pre loaded figure of Fujitora is available to fight from the system’s data base.)]
Issho’s fingers twitched slightly at his side.
As he absorbed the description, a spark of excitement flickered through him.
This ability—it was exactly like the ones he remembered from Dragon Ball.
Not just meditation and simulated combat within the mind, but the ability to fight in the real world against an imagined opponent given form… something akin to shadow boxing from the Baki series, but far more tangible.
This… is useful.
He could almost feel it already—the pressure of an opponent, the rhythm of combat, the clash of movements that didn’t truly exist, yet would shape his real strength.
But what truly caught his attention was the system note.
Fujitora.
A preloaded figure.
For a brief moment, Issho went silent, the faint sounds of the surroundings brushing past him—the distant rustle of air, the subtle creak of wood beneath his feet.
Then he gave a small, acknowledging nod.
“Although I have the body memories of the sword training done by Elric…” he murmured, voice low and thoughtful, “all that muscle memory is still present.”
His hand lifted slightly, fingers curling as if around an invisible hilt, testing the familiarity.
“But still… I should get familiar with those memories.
And my body coordination.”
A pause.
His expression steadied, calm yet resolute.
“It will be better… increasing my safety while hunting.”
With that thought, Issho reached out toward the tree at his side and picked up his sword, his fingers closing around the familiar grip with quiet certainty.
Then, without hesitation, he focused.
Fujitora.
In the endless darkness that had always been his world—where his eyes showed him nothing—something shifted.
Within that void, a presence formed.
A shape.
A figure.
Fujitora stood before him.
Not seen, but known.
And more than that—felt.
Issho’s Observation Haki spread outward, brushing against that presence like ripples in still water.
It confirmed what his mind had already constructed.
The weight, the stance, the quiet stillness of a swordsman who needed no unnecessary movement.
So this is how it works…
Without wasting another moment, Issho moved.
His blade slid free from its sheath in one smooth motion, the faint sound of steel cutting through the air whispering into the silence.
He stepped forward and delivered a clean horizontal slash.
Fujitora responded instantly.
A slight shift.
A measured lift.
The similar blade—no, the same Yakuza Kasen—met Issho’s strike.
But not the edge.
Only the sheath.
The clash was muted.
Controlled.
Nothing more.
Issho didn’t pause.
He moved again.
Another strike from the opposite side.
Then from above.
Diagonal cuts followed, flowing into one another as his body adjusted, tested, remembered.
Each swing carried a bit more certainty, his footing grounding itself with every step.
Fujitora remained steady.
Deflect.
Redirect.
Block.
Every movement was minimal, precise.
He did not counterattack—only defended, allowing Issho to move, to feel, to relearn.
And Issho understood.
This wasn’t a battle.
This was refinement.
Steel whispered through the air again and again, cutting arcs that only he could sense.
His breathing gradually synced with his movements, his grip stabilizing, shoulders loosening as the stiffness in his body faded.
The rhythm of combat returned—not forced, but natural.
Yes… this is it.
Time passed.
Ten minutes.
By the end of it, Issho slowed, then stopped entirely.
His blade lowered slightly, the tip hovering just above the ground as his chest rose and fell in controlled breaths.
Issho stood still.
Feeling.
Measuring.
The old memories—Elric’s training—were no longer distant fragments.
They settled into him again, smoother, clearer.
His muscle memory responded more naturally now, his coordination sharper than before.
“I’ve remembered enough,” he murmured softly.
“That’s enough.”
There was still warmth lingering faintly in the air—the subtle touch of the sun filtering through the forest canopy.
Even if he couldn’t see it, he could feel it, diffused and distant.
Time was passing.
And he couldn’t afford to waste it.
Issho tilted his head slightly, listening to the forest around him—the distant rustle of leaves, the faint movements hidden deeper within.
Life was there.
“I can’t stay here any longer.”
His expression steadied.
“I can’t waste my stamina on training.”
A small pause.
“I need to be at my peak.”
Because hunting comes next.
So without hesitation, Issho slid his sword back into its sheath, and once again, it appeared no different from an ordinary wooden stick resting in his hand.
The faint presence before him—Fujitora—lingered for a brief moment… then slowly dissolved into the same endless darkness he had always known.
Silence returned.
Issho adjusted his grip and began to move.
Each step was measured, careful, his body relaxed yet alert.
His Observation Haki spread out, forming a subtle awareness around him as he walked, the world shaping itself not through sight, but through sensation—shifts in air, faint disturbances, the quiet presence of objects around him.
He held the sheathed sword like a walking stick, letting it lightly guide his path as he moved forward through the forest.
Dry leaves crunched faintly beneath his feet, the occasional brush of branches grazing against his clothing.
Technically, with his Observation Haki active, he could move quite easily—almost naturally—through the terrain.
But he didn’t let it expand too far.
Observation Haki consumed his spiritual power, and keeping it fully active at all times would drain him faster than he could afford.
So he limited it.
One metre.
A small, controlled radius.
Within that space, everything was clear.
Beyond it—uncertain.
Issho exhaled softly and shifted his focus, allowing his hearing and sense of smell to take the lead.
The forest came alive in fragments—the rustling of leaves in the distance, the faint scent of damp earth, the subtle movements of unseen creatures hidden among the trees.
Focus… listen…
He continued forward like this.
Step after step.
Time passed, though Issho couldn’t measure it precisely.
By his own rough sense, it had been around thirty minutes.
And still—
Nothing.
No prey.
A faint trace of frustration crept into his chest, subtle but present.
His grip on the “stick” tightened slightly.
…Nothing yet.
For a brief moment, disappointment flickered.
But he didn’t stop.
Issho steadied his breathing, letting that feeling pass as quickly as it came.
Hunting was never easy.
He knew that.
Impatience would only ruin his chances.
So he persisted.
Step by step, deeper into the forest, maintaining his rhythm, his awareness sharp and controlled.
And then—
A sound.
Faint.
Soft.
Almost unnoticeable.
Issho froze.
His head tilted ever so slightly, his entire focus narrowing toward that single disturbance in the quiet forest.
Munch… munch…
Something was eating.
The sound was small, light—barely more than a whisper against the backdrop of nature.
Issho listened carefully, analyzing it.
Too light for anything large…
A small animal.
A squirrel.
Or perhaps a rabbit.
His expression stilled, all traces of earlier frustration gone.
But then—
A different sound reached him.
Heavy and rough breathing.
Issho’s expression sharpened instantly.
That wasn’t from any small animal.
At the same time, a foul smell drifted into his senses—thick, musky, and unpleasant.
Without hesitation, Issho expanded his Observation Haki.
From one metre… to its full range.
Twenty metres.
The world around him unfolded in a far wider radius, every presence within that space imprinting itself clearly in his awareness.
And there—
A second creature.
Large.
Heavy.
From the rough outline forming in his mind, Issho could make out its shape.
A boar.
(A/N: Image in Comment.)
The realization had barely settled when the creature moved.
Fast.
It charged straight toward him, its hooves pounding against the ground, each impact sending vibrations through the earth.
Issho reacted instantly.
His hand moved, unsheathing the sword in a single smooth motion.
The faint ring of steel cut through the forest air as he shifted his stance, bracing himself.
The boar came closer.
Closer—
Issho swung.
A clean strike aimed at its head.
With Observation Haki guiding him, he could predict exactly where it would be.
And the beast—driven by its charge—didn’t deviate from its straight path.
The blade connected.
A cut opened across the boar’s head.
But—
It wasn’t deep.
The wound existed more because of the sharpness of his supreme blade than Issho’s own strength.
Right now, his physical power was still lacking—no more than that of a hardworking farmer.
And that wasn’t enough.
The boar didn’t stop.
Before Issho could shift out of its path, the full force of the charge slammed into him.
Impact.
The air was knocked out of his lungs as his body was sent flying backward.
A split second later, he crashed hard into a tree, the rough bark digging into his back as the force reverberated through him.
“—khh!”
A sharp cough tore from his throat, and a bitter taste filled his mouth as stomach juice came up.
Pain surged through his body—heavy, jarring, and immediate.
For a brief moment, everything blurred.
Then—
Issho forced himself to move.
His fingers pressed against the ground as he pushed himself up, unsteady but determined.
His muscles protested, yet he still stood.
Barely.
But standing.
He took a slow breath, steadying himself.
Nothing felt broken.
“Thankfully… it doesn’t seem like my bones are broken.”
The angry boar didn’t hesitate.
It charged again.
The ground trembled faintly beneath its hooves, its heavy breathing growing louder.
This time, Issho didn’t rush.
He took a slow, steady breath.
Calm.
Sheathed his sword.
His grip tightened as he stepped forward instead of back, unsheathing his blade in one smooth motion.
In his mind, clear and focused—
“Gravity Press.”
The effect was immediate.
The space around the boar distorted under an invisible force.
Gravity surged, pressing down five times heavier.
The boar’s charge broke.
Its legs buckled.
With a heavy thud, it was forced onto its knees, dragged into the earth beneath the pressure.
It struggled, muscles straining—yet it couldn’t move properly.
Issho stepped in.
His sword held in a reverse grip, guided by Observation Haki.
One clean motion.
The blade cut across the boar’s neck.
Blood burst out instantly—hot, heavy, and unrestrained.
An artery.
He had hit it.
The boar’s resistance faltered, then faded.
Issho stepped back and sheathed his sword.
Through his Observation Haki, he felt it clearly—its life force draining, fading, until nothing remained.
Only then did he release the technique.
The crushing weight vanished.
And in its place—
Exhaustion.
Issho’s breathing broke into heavy pants, his chest rising unevenly.
Sweat clung faintly to his skin.
That… took more than I expected.
This was his first real battle.
And Gravity Press drained both mana and stamina.
With his current strength, he could only maintain it for twelve seconds.
He had used it for six seconds to deal with the boar.
Issho forced himself to steady his breathing.
In.
Out.
Again.
Once stable, he bent down, found the boar’s leg, and gripped it firmly.
Then he began to drag it.
The weight was significant.
Each step required effort.
Dry leaves scraped beneath the carcass as he pulled it forward.
But he didn’t stop.
The scent of blood would attract other predators.
He had to move.
Step by step.
Guided by memory.
Time passed.
Soon, he recognized the area—the place where he had been nearly an hour ago.
The spot where he had completed his system quest.
He stopped.
Let go.
And slowly sat down.
For a moment, he listened.
The forest.
The wind.
Distant movement.
Then he settled.
Waiting.
Hoping that a caravan… or a group of travelers would pass by.
So he could sell the boar.