Chapter-12 : WOOD IN HAND

The next morning, the sky was still painted in the dark hues of night when Ichigo opened his eyes. A cold breeze brushed against his skin, and without hesitation, he walked barefoot to the river near the old hut. The icy water welcomed him like a thousand needles, but he stepped in with resolve. At exactly 5 a.m., he submerged himself, crossed his legs, and sat still—letting the freezing water teach him calm. His breathing slowed, and with every breath, he tried to control the rush of thoughts in his mind. Mr. Kael had told him—true strength begins within.

After finishing his meditation, Ichigo stepped out, steam rising from his body, shivering yet focused. He dried off and approached the cart Mr. Kael had left by the hut. This time, instead of ten, Ichigo loaded fifteen heavy buckets of river water onto it, muscles straining but heart steady. With determination burning in his chest, he began his uphill journey toward the temple nestled atop a steep hill near the training grounds.

As he ran, he passed a group of both young ninjas and samurai, each struggling with a single bucket. Their faces were red, their hands trembling. Ichigo, drenched in sweat but filled with fire, didn't slow down. Instead, he smiled and picked up speed. His odd cart and unmatched energy drew confused stares.

At the temple gates, a tall figure stood with five young warriors behind him—clearly a high-ranking samurai master. He looked Ichigo up and down, raising an eyebrow.

"What is your rank, boy?" the master asked in a deep voice, clearly unimpressed.

Remembering Mr. Kael's strict order, Ichigo stood straight and replied confidently, "Captain, sir."

The master narrowed his eyes, then gave a small nod. "Hmm… that explains it."

Ichigo gave a respectful bow and continued up the final steps, delivered the buckets, then returned to the hut with tired but light feet. Mr. Kael stood there, arms crossed, waiting.

Without a word, he handed Ichigo a wooden sword.

"This is your next task," Kael said. "Make this sword a part of your body. Feel its weight, its rhythm. Before you wield steel, you must master wood. Swing it a thousand times until it becomes your breath."

Ichigo nodded, gripping the sword tightly.

"And remember," Kael added, "no matter how far you go, if you can't command your mind and your weapon as one… you'll be defeated before the battle begins."

The training had truly begun.

The morning mist still danced across the river when Ichigo stood barefoot in the clearing, his hands wrapped tightly around the wooden sword Mr. Kael had given him. The air was cold, his breath visible, but his body was slowly adjusting to the brutal training schedule. Mr. Kael stood silently, arms behind his back, observing his student with sharp eyes that missed nothing.

"Begin," Kael said simply.

Ichigo took a deep breath, placed his feet shoulder-width apart, and brought the sword above his head in the traditional stance. With a sharp exhale, he brought the sword down.

"One!" he shouted, as wood cut through air.

"Wrong grip," Kael corrected instantly. "Too tight. Your blade must be an extension of you, not a burden."

Ichigo adjusted and struck again. "Two!"

Hours passed. Every strike echoed through the silent forest. Sweat dripped down his face, soaking his shirt. The muscles in his arms began to burn, but he didn't stop. Kael circled him like a hawk, correcting footwork, adjusting posture, pointing out flaws with calm yet relentless discipline.

After every hundred strikes, Kael ordered a short break—only enough for a breath or a sip of water. Then back to it.

Midday sun filtered through the trees when Kael suddenly tossed a pebble toward Ichigo without warning. Ichigo flinched.

"Unacceptable," Kael barked. "Your eyes must see more than what's ahead. A warrior survives by instinct and presence."

Kael picked up a bamboo stick and stood opposite him. "Now, defend."

Ichigo barely brought his wooden sword up in time to block the strike. The impact sent a jolt down his arms. Kael didn't stop—he attacked again, swift and unpredictable. Ichigo stumbled, blocked, missed, regained footing. His breathing became ragged, but he refused to back down.

Again and again, wood clashed with wood.

"Use your legs!" Kael shouted. "Move with your strikes. Don't be a statue!"

Ichigo began to flow, using footwork he had learned from observation. His strikes became smoother, his defense tighter. Still, Kael was faster, stronger, sharper.

After what felt like an eternity, Ichigo dropped to his knees, panting, arms trembling. His palms were red and sore, blistered from the repeated grip.

Kael stood over him. "Not bad for a first day. But you're far from where you need to be."

Ichigo looked up, exhausted but smiling faintly. "I'll get there."

"You better," Kael replied. "You don't have the luxury of being ordinary. You're being forged for something far greater."

He handed Ichigo a small cloth for his hands and helped him up.

"You trained well," Kael admitted. "Tomorrow, double the strikes—and we begin blindfold training."

Ichigo groaned and laughed at once, shoulders sore but heart proud.

The training had been merciless—but so was the world he was preparing to face.

Ichigo dropped to the ground, sweat dripping from his forehead, chest rising and falling like waves. The sun had begun to set, casting golden rays across the ruined training field. For hours, he had practiced with the wooden sword, mastering footwork, strikes, and defensive forms under Mr. Kael's stern watch.

"Finally," Ichigo exhaled, laying flat on his back. "I guess training's over for the day…"

Mr. Kael, standing with arms crossed near the hut, raised an eyebrow. "Over? You think warriors rest just because the sun sets?"

Ichigo groaned. "Come on, I'm starving!"

Kael smirked. "Good. Then let's eat."

Ichigo's eyes lit up. "Wait, you made something?"

"No," Kael said casually. "There's nothing to eat. Catch a fish from the river."

Ichigo blinked. "With what? My hands?"

"With that," Kael said, pointing to the wooden sword.

Ichigo's face twisted in disbelief. "You want me to fish… with a sword?"

Kael shrugged. "Part of your training. Accuracy. Timing. Patience."

Grumbling, Ichigo marched to the river, eyes scanning the crystal-clear water. A few fish glided beneath the surface, taunting him. He raised the wooden blade, focused… and struck. A splash. Empty water.

Again and again, Ichigo tried—each attempt more desperate than the last. He slipped once, nearly falling in, soaked up to the knees.

"Argh! This is impossible!"

Kael, calm as ever, stepped forward. "Watch."

He stood at the edge, grip firm, posture perfect. A fish swam by—whack. A precise strike. The fish flew from the water, landing neatly on the shore.

Ichigo's jaw dropped.

Kael looked over his shoulder, placing the wooden sword back into Ichigo's hand. "Your sword is an extension of you. If your mind is scattered, your blade will be too. Control your breath. Feel the water. Then strike."

Ichigo nodded slowly, staring at the glimmering river. "Part of the training, huh?"

Kael smiled. "Every moment, child. Every moment is training."

To be continued........

"If this chapter struck your heart, honor it with a collection — your support is my sword"