Chapter 16: Backfire x Fireback

**Backfire x Fireback**

[The Seed of Doubt]

The forest I arrive at is far from Magnolia, an isolated expanse where the river runs crystal clear and wild fruits abound. The animals roam freely, unfazed, while the thick foliage ensures that no one will bother me here. It is the perfect sanctuary. 

*This will be my training ground for the time being,* I murmur to myself, brushing the dust from my hands with a sense of finality. "Well, that's that."

A satisfied breath escapes me as I take in the tranquility of the surroundings. As for my training plan, it will be rigorous, unforgiving. I'll be emulating Might Guy from *Naruto*, running while weighted, pushing myself past the limits. This won't just be running; this will be shadow boxing, acrobatics for swordsmanship, and hand-to-hand combat. I'll perfect my breathing techniques, refine my muscle control. The physical comes first, magical training can wait. I've already chosen my path as a magic swordsman. Combining magic and swordsmanship will be easy once I solidify my foundations. Strength is paramount, but it must have style. Without style, what's the point?

Magic and swordsmanship—each technique depends on how you execute it. In theory, it's possible to merge different fighting styles in actual combat, but only those with enough skill and individuality can make it effective. The move I used against Alexander, for example, could be seen as a fusion of magic and swordsmanship, but it was inefficient. It lacked practicality. Instead of using a magical string, it's better to use actual string. It's far more efficient and saves magical energy, while still yielding the same result. 

But more importantly, the right combination is essential. Take space magic and swordsmanship—while you can't physically cut your opponent, you could send them to another dimension. That would be a more useful fusion, but it's still impractical for me. 

A spirit sword like Kuwabara's would be a better option. On the other hand, Erza Scarlet is a magic swordswoman, but her style is not what I desire. 

"So, I guess I'll settle for string magic and swordsmanship," I muse aloud. "Illusion magic will remain a trump card. I'll focus on the sword."

But what comes after? How do I push myself further? Doflamingo may have been able to fly through the sky, or so people speculate, only because the clouds were solid beneath him. I highly doubt that's the case here. And those strings can be cut. What if a dragon becomes tangled in them? They could easily hunt me down. Not to mention, maintaining such an intricate magical technique is draining. 

For now, though, I don't need any additional magic. I already possess formidable abilities and a solid fighting style. What I lack is another technique. My current skill set includes sword throwing and retrieval, parrying, and a sword draw that can slice through mountains. What I truly need is more raw power. 

Fencing? No. My sword was never meant for finesse—it's built for hacking, not piercing. A katana, not a rapier. Kenjutsu. The biggest obstacle, however, is the absence of a teacher. In this magical world, people often rely on magic. 

A sigh escapes my lips. *Guess I'll have to teach myself.* 

At best, I'll try to imitate the techniques I observed in my previous life, but everything will be based on my own understanding. I'm left with no other choice. 

"This is hopeless?" I mutter aloud, my voice carrying a hint of frustration as I shake my head in disbelief. 

Something feels strange. *Hopeless?* Since when did I become so weak-minded? In those dark moments of space, I never once thought of giving up. All I wanted was to forge my own legend, to swing my sword and keep going, regardless of how many times I failed.

"This... this is definitely wrong," I mutter, a cold knot forming in my throat, like a thorn lodged in my esophagus. 

I am a prideful person—though not to an extreme—I take pride in my accomplishments, in my way of doing things. If the Japanese value honor to the point of suicide over disgrace, then I value perseverance in the face of shame. I've done plenty of embarrassing things, but I've never once considered ending my life. Have I? 

*No, I haven't. But am I lying to myself?*

The confusion festers inside me, gnawing away at my resolve. I feel a maddening urge to lash out, to vent my frustration. I pull out my katana and drive it into my own flesh. Not for ritual, not for hara-kiri, but simply because it feels right in this moment. 

The blade slides through with ease, but I feel no pain—only an odd sense of relief, as though the sharpness of the steel cuts away at the gnawing doubt inside me. Slowly, I withdraw the blade and let my body slump to the ground. 

"Hoo..." A long, weary sigh escapes me as I rest on the earth, my hand still gripping the katana. 

I don't understand what's happening to me, but I'm thankful I dealt with it immediately. If I let that doubt fester, it would have surely interfered with my training. 

"Leader, I successfully implanted the seed of doubt inside him," the subordinate reports with an air of pride, awaiting the praise he believes he deserves. 

But the response is cold, indifferent. "Is that so?" 

The subordinate trembles in the presence of his leader, but he can't help the flicker of hope that rises within him. "Then answer me this," the leader murmurs, standing slowly, his figure casting a long shadow. He leans in close to the subordinate's ear and whispers, "Do you truly think your ability will work on him?"

"D-do I...?" The question shakes the very foundation of the subordinate's confidence. He wants to respond, but doubt clouds his thoughts.

"Looks like you failed," the leader says, a dark smile curling across his lips as he turns his back, walking away. "Besides, I already told you to keep watching. When did I ever say you could act?"

The subordinate stumbles, his hands shaking violently. The self-assurance he once held is gone, replaced by the cold sting of failure. The weight of risk hangs heavily over him. 

"You're not fit to live to witness the end," the leader mutters, a wave of his hand conjuring a massive iceberg that traps the subordinate inside. The ice is black, unlike any he's seen before, cold and suffocating. 

"So much trash in here," the leader remarks, settling into his seat, his voice devoid of any warmth. With another casual gesture, a new figure appears before him. "You. Continue with the surveillance. You know what to do. Don't make me repeat myself." 

The subordinate, now trembling with fear, nods. "Yes, sir."

"Then go," the leader orders, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

I'm not sure when they arrived, but the presence of Gray and Cana kneeling in front of me is an annoyance. My tone remains detached, though irritation flickers beneath the surface. "Why are you two here?"

Gray stands first, a smug grin spreading across his face as he gestures toward himself. "I'm here to train with you. You should be honored to spar with Master Gray." 

*Ugh...*

Before he can say another word, I strike swiftly, knocking him unconscious with a chop to the neck. I turn my gaze to Cana, who is pointedly avoiding my eyes. "What about you?" I ask, my voice edged with growing impatience.

With a pouted lip, Cana finally looks at me through her peripheral vision and flicks her fingers nervously. "I wanted to go on another mission with you." 

My patience is stretched thin. "Gah!" 

Another chop to her neck sends her into unconsciousness. Her eyes roll as her body slumps. 

"Just because you're my sister doesn't mean I'll go easy on you," I mutter with a sigh. 

"Well, at least they arrived a few hours after I finished dealing with myself. Otherwise, things would've been much more troublesome." 

With ease, I sling Cana over my shoulder and drag Gray behind me, like a bag of meat on wheels. *Though I'm the youngest, and the only boy in the house, taking care of these two doesn't seem so bad.*