章 23: Techniques
In the courtyard, a tree as thick as a man's embrace stood alone, its surroundings scattered with withered flowers and grass. The branches of the tree swayed under the occasional strong wind.
Minamoto Sōjun and Mishima Shiko were sparring.
Or rather, Mishima Shiko was attacking, while Minamoto Sōjun dodged.
Her sword strikes were fierce, engulfing him in the heart of their whirlwind. Minamoto Sōjun tilted his head, closed his eyes, and raised his hands, forming a posture as if embracing the sky. His body swayed, pivoting on his heels or toes. The sharp force of the blade swirled around him, failing to even lift the hem of his robes.
He remained at his original position, each swing of the sword narrowly grazing him by mere fractions.
A while later, Minamoto Sōjun still looked composed and at ease, while Mishima Shiko was already gasping for breath.
"I'm done. No more," she said, waving her hand to call for a stop.
Whenever she made progress in her skills, she would seek out Minamoto Sōjun for practice. Despite repeated defeats, she always gained something small, savoring the pain and joy of growth.
Minamoto Sōjun stopped, the slightly wild look on his face gradually subsiding into his usual calm and gentle demeanor.
Too bad, he thought to himself, my growth still outpaces yours.
Looking at her, he nodded. "You must learn to control your strength. Every swing of your blade must use just the right amount of force. Too much is excessive, too little is insufficient. And against different enemies, adjustments will be necessary… You need to find the balance."
The two of them returned to the living room.
Mishima Shiko listened attentively, occasionally discussing the nature of the techniques. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something familiar—a cursed spirit. It was the locust-headed creature sitting in the corner. She paused and asked, "This… is that the cursed womb from last time?!"
Walking closer to the corner, she hesitated. Why does this figure feel so familiar? It… looks like Minamoto Sōjun?
After observing it for a few moments, she reached out and pinched the locust-headed figure.
"Don't touch me," it spoke, startling her.
It was Minamoto Sōjun's voice.
After a brief moment of realization, she smirked, then suddenly spun around and punched the locust-headed creature in the chest.
Her fist passed through it, as though hitting air. Confused, she stared at her arm before realizing—this cursed womb's technique seemed to be space-related.
In that fleeting moment, the creature had merged into the void, relocated, and then returned to its original position after she withdrew her hand.
Its speed was so fast that, visually, it appeared as though she had swung at nothing.
A bit deflated, she silently returned to the sofa, hugging her knees.
Minamoto Sōjun raised an eyebrow at her. She seemed lost in thought, her expression shifting between determination and frustration.
Every time she fought with Minamoto Sōjun, Mishima Shiko couldn't help but feel a sense of powerlessness.
If my strength doesn't keep up, she thought, and I can't even serve as proper support, he'll surely leave me behind.
I won't allow myself to become a burden, dragging others down.
If that happened, there would be no choice but to leave.
Returning to her role as an auxiliary supervisor wouldn't satisfy her anymore. This period of battling cursed spirits had taught her one thing: she was a sorcerer.
Her face twisted with conflicting emotions.
It's precisely because I'm happy that I don't want to give this up.
After a long silence, she softly asked, "What is a technique, really?"
Minamoto Sōjun, seemingly sensing her thoughts, pointed at the large tree in the courtyard.
"A born technique is like a seed. When awakened, it breaks through the soil. With use, it gradually grows roots and sprouts into a sapling. As a sorcerer gains experience, they provide the nourishment for it to grow. Once it matures into a tree, its trunk represents the innate technique, while its branches symbolize extensions of the technique.
"If someone is talented enough to master a reverse technique, another root may break through the soil, growing into a second tree. A single tree can become a forest. This 'forest' represents the reversed technique. At this stage, the power of a sorcerer's abilities multiplies."
Minamoto Sōjun walked over to her, gently holding her face. A faint crimson glow flickered at his fingertips as a star-like eye manifested.
He pressed the star-like eye to her forehead. It blinked twice, shedding a single tear.
Minamoto Sōjun wiped it away, slightly clumsy in his unfamiliarity with the process.
He placed his hand over her temple, keeping the star-eye active. "Close your eyes," he said softly.
Mishima Shiko obeyed, and a strange vision filled her mind.
First was a sense of clarity. The world became vividly sharp, brimming with new colors and details. She could see the wind, the clouds in the sky, and the intricate fluttering of a butterfly's wings.
Next came a sense of vastness. The sky stretched infinitely high, the ground seemed endlessly wide. From where she stood, her gaze extended without obstruction, capturing the entirety of the surrounding landscapes.
Finally came a sensation of delay. It felt as though time for everything but herself had slowed down.
Her mind struggled to process this overwhelming influx of information, leaving her slightly dizzy. She glanced at Minamoto Sōjun, and even under such scrutiny, he appeared flawless. His skin was so smooth, it lacked visible pores.
She felt a pang of envy.
Then her head tilted forward, almost crashing into the coffee table.
Minamoto Sōjun caught her, gently brushing his hand over her forehead. The crimson glow faded as the star-eye closed and disappeared. A faint red mark lingered for a moment before vanishing.
"I see now," she murmured. "So, that's what a technique is…"
Mishima Shiko stood up with newfound energy. "Let's go again!" she shouted, heading toward the courtyard.
Turning back at the doorway, she smiled brightly. "You didn't think I'd actually be discouraged, did you?"
"If so, you've underestimated me."
Standing under the tree, she placed her palm on its trunk. "As for your strange eyes, you should find a way to cover them up. They're giving me trypophobia."
Minamoto Sōjun chuckled, following her. Her unwavering spirit was something he admired, despite her occasional moments of frustration.
For him, techniques weren't absolute. There were ways to replicate their effects through ingenuity and adaptation.
As they resumed their sparring, he reminded himself of this truth: talent mattered, but determination could often surpass it.
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