Miyukii

Miyukii: Word Count: 6627 Word EXP: 6627/5*1 = 1325 (Word Count) = 1325 EXP Col: 400 (Page) <<Katana>> Weapon Skill SP Invested into <<Curved Sword>> is refunded to the player for free.

The sun had begun its slow descent behind the evergreens, turning the snowy clearing into a field of soft amber light. Each flake that drifted through the air glimmered like dust in a dream fleeting, weightless, eternal. Miyuki stood at the center, her sword resting loosely in her hand. The blade no longer gleamed with the sharp defiance it once had; instead, it caught the fading light gently, humbly, as if aware of the quiet purpose it now carried. Her mentor approached without a word, his steps barely leaving prints in the snow. For a while, they simply stood together, watching the

The forest was different today. The wind had softened, carrying a gentler tone as though the very air knew that something within it had changed. The faintest hint of sunlight slipped through the clouds, painting the snow in delicate gold. Miyuki stood where she always did, blade unsheathed, posture still as the trees that surrounded her. But there was no tension now. The sword no longer looked like a weapon in her hands it looked like an extension of her breath. She began to move. Each motion flowed seamlessly into the next: strike, pivot, guard, release. Her blade traced arcs o

The next morning came quietly, dressed in silver mist and frost. The world was still asleep when Miyuki returned to the clearing. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath, as though waiting for something sacred to begin. She placed her katana gently on the snow, then knelt beside it. For a while, she didn’t move. Her eyes traced the faint line of her previous training the pattern of her footprints now buried under the night’s snowfall. It was as though the world had erased her yesterday, inviting her to start again. She closed her eyes. And breathed. The sound of the air fill

Snow still clung to the folds of Miyuki’s cloak as she stepped back into the clearing. The world was untouched only her earlier footprints marked the ground, fading slowly beneath fresh flakes. The silence left behind by her mentor lingered like incense in the air, soft and grounding. She unsheathed her sword without a sound. The curve of the blade caught a single glint of light, like the horizon itself had bent to meet her steel. There was no command, no audience, no expectation. Only the faint rhythm of her heartbeat. She inhaled. Her sword moved not fast, but fluid, trac

The world had grown quieter since her last breath. Miyuki stood in the clearing, her sword now sheathed at her side. The snowfall eased to a slow drift, flakes catching faint glimmers of morning light that broke through the overcast sky. The forest exhaled a soft, wintry sigh as if it, too, had been meditating alongside her. Footsteps approached, muffled by the snow. Her mentor’s presence did not startle her. She’d sensed him long before he arrived not through instinct or skill, but through stillness. “You’ve been silent for a long time,” the old man said. His voice carried the cal

After her mentor’s words faded, silence reclaimed the clearing. The snowfall had thickened, but each flake landed soundlessly small, fragile reminders of the world’s constant motion. Miyuki knelt where she had stood moments ago, the tip of her blade resting in the snow beside her. Her breath slowed until it matched the rhythm of the drifting flakes. In and out. Stillness. The cold bit at her fingertips, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she welcomed it. It kept her awake kept her here. The ache in her arms, the faint sting of exertion, the memory of her mentor’s strikes… they all exist

When the clash faded, only the wind spoke. The snow that had been shaken loose from the trees drifted lazily between them slow, soft, and unbothered by the violence that had briefly filled the air. Her mentor’s stance eased. He slid his blade into its sheath with a quiet finality. The sound was delicate, almost reverent. “Do you know why I strike without warning?” he asked at last. Miyuki straightened, her breath still heavy from the exchange. “Because the world doesn’t wait for us to be ready.” A small nod. “That is the surface of it.” His eyes softened, yet carried the sh

The mentor’s footsteps were nearly soundless as he stepped away, sheathing his blade with a soft click that seemed to echo longer than it should have. “The world rarely warns you before it moves,” he said, turning his gaze toward the tree line. “Your blade must not answer thought it must answer truth.” Miyuki blinked, lowering her sword slightly. “Truth?” He smiled faintly. “You’ll see.” Without another word, he vanished into the forest path not teleporting, but slipping between the branches like smoke. Silence fell heavy, save for the rustle of leaves and the distant chirp

For a long while, neither spoke. The wind whispered through the trees, scattering faint motes of frost that shimmered in the pale morning light. Miyuki held her stance blade low, breath even waiting for the next strike that never came. Instead, her mentor’s voice reached her, low and steady. “Awareness is not the end of the path,” he said. “To sense the strike is one thing. To move with it that is mastery.” He raised his katana once more, but this time there was no warning. His movements were fluid, deliberate, yet unpredictable each cut flowed like water, impossible to anticipa

The mentor stepped forward again, the snow crunching softly beneath his sandals. Without a word, he drew a thin strip of dark cloth from his sleeve and held it toward Miyuki. “Vision clouds instinct,” he said simply. “Let us see what remains when you take it away.” Miyuki hesitated, but then took the blindfold and tied it around her eyes. The world vanished. All that remained was the bite of the cold, the scent of pine, and the soft whisper of the wind weaving between branches. Her heartbeat filled the silence at first. Slow. Uneven. Searching. Then she heard it the faint s

By the time the mentor finally stepped back, Miyuki’s breath had formed a halo of mist in the cold air. Her shoulders ached, her wrists burned, and her fingers trembled from repetition yet her focus remained sharp. He studied her silently, then gave a small nod. “You’ve learned to move deliberately,” he said. “Now, we see if you can move without thought.” Before she could ask what he meant, he moved. A flurry of snow erupted as the mentor’s blade flashed toward her not fast enough to harm, but quick enough to demand instinct. Her eyes widened, and without thinking, she drew. Ste

The snow had stopped falling. The air hung motionless, heavy with the promise of something about to begin. Miyuki rose from her meditation, the faint sound of her breath the only thing breaking the quiet. Her mentor watched her from across the clearing, his expression unreadable. “Your spirit is settling,” he said at last. “Now it is time to teach your body to follow.” He stepped closer and rested a hand on the hilt of his katana. “The blade’s first movement is its most honest one. Drawing is both the birth of attack and the end of hesitation. You must learn to exist in that space be

When the sparring ended, silence returned to the clearing but it was no longer the same silence as before. It was thicker now, like the air itself was holding its breath. Miyuki stood motionless for a moment before lowering herself to her knees, the katana resting across her lap. Her gloves brushed the snow, and she let the chill seep through, anchoring her in the present. The world around her was still. A single breeze stirred the branches above, carrying the soft whisper of steel clashing from moments ago. Each echo felt distant, almost dreamlike, yet they resonated inside her chest.

The clearing had quieted to a soft drift, snowflakes spiraling lazily between the towering pines. Miyuki’s breath came slow and measured, the katana resting in her grip felt foreign yet alive as if it, too, was waiting for her to understand it. The mentor stood opposite her, his expression unreadable beneath the hood of his cloak. “Steel learns through conflict,” he said simply, drawing his blade in one fluid motion. “As do we.” Miyuki mirrored him, her stance lower, knees bent, the way she’d been taught in kendo years ago but this was different. There was no scoreboard here, no poli