Chapter 14 The Edge of Will
The morning mist curled gently over the hills surrounding Shimotsuki Village, the distant clang of wooden swords echoing like a heartbeat through the still air. Ashen stood barefoot on the dew-slicked grass, his lean frame unmoving, blade resting lightly in hand. His silver-grey hair stirred slightly with each passing breeze, yet his eyes were closed, focused inward.
Three weeks had passed since Garp let him go, and Koshiro had finally relented to let him train with the others.
The Dojo Master had said little upon Ashen's return—only that if he was truly serious about the blade, then he would have to prove himself.
No shortcuts.
No talent would carry him far without understanding.
"You swing like a warrior," Koshiro had said once, "but you think like a survivor. A swordsman needs resolve—not desperation."
Those words echoed now as Ashen exhaled slowly, drawing the dull edge of his training blade in a diagonal arc. The cut was crisp—but not enough.
The bamboo dummy didn't move.
He exhaled through his nose, tightening his grip.
From the edge of the courtyard, a pair of teenage students whispered behind folded arms.
"He's been out there all night again. Does he even sleep?"
"Doesn't matter. He doesn't feel like a swordsman. I bet Master Koshiro just took pity on him."
Ashen ignored it. The whispers were nothing new.
He had no name here, no history.
Only effort.
And effort was tireless.
Koshiro had granted him access to a side hut with nothing more than a tatami mat and a rain barrel. Each day was training. Each night was meditation and failure.
Cut the rock. Cut the steel. Cut nothing.
Those had been Koshiro's words when Ashen asked what the true path of the sword was.
Ashen had laughed at the time—thought it cryptic nonsense.
But now, with blisters on his palms and callouses hardening into layers over knuckles and soles, he understood it wasn't about cutting harder.
It was about cutting right.
Ashen lifted his sword again. This time he focused less on the muscles in his arms and more on the breath of the wind around him.
He'd read about this concept in the system's skill trees too—"Perception Blade" pathways that only unlocked after a swordsman merged instinct and focus.
But he had no shortcut to reach it.
Only trial. Only time.
With a step forward, he slashed again, body pivoting like a coiled whip.
The dummy fell.
But not the rock behind it.
Still not enough.
---
Koshiro watched from the shade of the porch, sipping tea with a faint crease in his brow.
"This boy..." he muttered, "He has no anchor, no roots... yet he moves like a storm seeking shape."
Beside him, his daughter Kuina's absence was a weight he did not speak of. The girl had once dreamed of being the greatest swordsman. Her loss was a scar, invisible but never distant.
Perhaps this Ashen sought the same dream.
Or perhaps something far more dangerous.
---
By evening, Ashen had collapsed on the steps outside the dojo, shirt soaked in sweat, chest rising and falling with steady exhaustion.
His sword lay across his lap, and the stats flickered faintly in the corner of his vision.
[Swordsmanship – Shimotsuki Style: 22%]
[Agility: 8.9]
[Endurance: 8.3]
Getting there, he thought.
But not fast enough.
Not before the world caught up to him again.
Not before stronger forces pulled him back into their web.
The next few days blended together as Ashen's training became increasingly focused, almost obsessive. His body ached, and his muscles screamed in protest as he pushed himself further each day. Every swing, every movement, was a step toward something greater—something that had once been a distant dream.
But now it was within his grasp.
Every morning, Ashen would rise before dawn, his body stiff from the previous day's exertions. There were no shortcuts to the mastery he sought. He knew that. The system's level-up prompts might help him grow physically, but they couldn't make him a true swordsman. That was something he had to forge with sweat and steel.
The villagers had become accustomed to seeing the lone figure of Ashen, sword raised, cutting through the air. Some watched from a distance, muttering about the strange foreigner who'd come to train, while others simply ignored him. There were no curious glances now. Just the quiet rhythm of a man working toward something impossible.
At first, his cuts were too wide, too clumsy, his form too stiff. But with each strike, he found more fluidity, more control. By the end of the first week, his swings had become sharper, cleaner, and more powerful. The bamboo dummy in the dojo courtyard bore the brunt of his frustrations—its limbs bending with every impact, until it was little more than a broken shell of what it had been.
Ashen had come to understand that swordsmanship was not simply about force; it was about flow. The body, the sword, the mind—all moving in perfect harmony. The longer he trained, the more he felt the connection between them.
---
The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon on the seventh evening of his solitary training when he finally made progress. Ashen stood in the dojo's courtyard, soaked in sweat, his breath coming in deep, measured gasps. His sword was gripped tightly in his hands, the familiar weight now something he had grown accustomed to. His body swayed slightly, as though finding balance in the center of the earth.
He exhaled slowly, his focus narrowing.
Cut the rock. Cut the steel. Cut nothing.
He shifted his stance.
Then, with a sharp, fluid motion, he swung the blade.
The air around him seemed to part.
A slight ringing sound vibrated in the air as the tip of his sword brushed against the bamboo. The entire training dummy—built from dense wood—tumbled, cleaving in two with a precise and perfect strike.
It wasn't just the dummy.
The earth beneath it seemed to ripple for a split second as Ashen's blade cut through the stillness.
For a long moment, Ashen stood still, his sword now resting at his side, his chest heaving. His mind buzzed with the sensation—the adrenaline, the thrill of real power finally under his control. It had been a long road, but this was a sign. A step forward.
He had made progress. Real progress.
His status window flickered:
---
[Swordsmanship – Shimotsuki Style: 36%]
[Agility: 9.2]
[Endurance: 8.6]
---
The improvement was real. His movements were quicker, more precise, the fluidity he had lacked starting to take shape. This wasn't just about physical strength anymore; it was about control. Ashen's body and the blade were becoming one.
---
A voice broke his concentration, pulling him from his thoughts. It was Koshiro, standing in the doorway of the dojo, his arms crossed as he observed the destruction in the courtyard. He hadn't spoken since the day Ashen had started training under his roof, and Ashen had assumed he'd given up on offering advice.
But now, there was a glint in the older swordsman's eyes.
"You're getting better," Koshiro said, his tone flat but with a hint of approval.
Ashen nodded, not quite sure what to say. Words had never been his strength, especially with a man like Koshiro, who carried so much weight in his silence.
Koshiro's gaze flickered to the two halves of the bamboo dummy before meeting Ashen's eyes.
"You've been here for weeks now," Koshiro said, his tone shifting slightly. "And you've grown stronger. I can see that. But you still have far to go before you can call yourself a true swordsman."
Ashen lowered his sword, wiping sweat from his brow. "I know. But I'm getting closer."
Koshiro tilted his head. "You are. But there's something missing. You're focused on speed, strength, precision—but not purpose."
Ashen paused, furrowing his brow. "Purpose?"
Koshiro's gaze softened for a moment. "A sword without purpose is just a tool. It's the heart behind it that gives it meaning. It's the resolve you carry with it. That's the difference between a warrior and a swordsman."
Ashen stared down at his blade, the weight of the words settling in. His hand tightened around the hilt, feeling its weight, but not yet fully understanding the truth behind what Koshiro had said. It was clear that there was more to swordsmanship than simply cutting through flesh and bone. It was about something deeper, something that he had yet to grasp.
---
That night, Ashen meditated under the moon, reflecting on what Koshiro had said. His body was sore, but his mind was sharper than ever.
He had to push further.
The road ahead would not be easy, but he could feel it—the fire that burned within him, urging him onward.
Tomorrow would be another day to cut the earth, to slice through air, and to finally understand the blade in his hand.
The days that followed blurred into a haze of repetition, each one flowing into the next with an almost hypnotic quality. Ashen's routine had become predictable: train from dawn until dusk, pushing his limits until his body was drenched in sweat, and his muscles screamed in protest. Every strike of the sword, every movement, felt like an extension of his will, a step closer to his goal.
By the time the third week of his training came to an end, Ashen could feel a change inside him. His body was stronger, more resilient. His movements had become faster, more fluid, and far more precise than they had been when he first arrived in Shimotsuki Village.
---
It was a quiet afternoon when Ashen found himself once again standing in the dojo's courtyard, facing a new challenge.
Koshiro had decided it was time to test him, though not in the way Ashen expected. The older swordsman had brought a large boulder into the courtyard—unmoving, imposing, and seemingly immovable.
"Try to split it," Koshiro said, his voice calm but firm.
Ashen raised an eyebrow. "Split it? How?"
Koshiro motioned to the boulder. "With your sword. The power you've gained over the past few weeks should be enough to do it. But if you can't, it'll show you how far you still need to go."
Ashen stared at the boulder. Its sheer size made it seem impossible. But that was precisely why Koshiro had chosen it. This was the test of not just strength, but the purpose behind every strike.
He gripped his sword tighter, feeling the weight of it in his hand, the same way he had when he first picked it up, but now with far more confidence.
Purpose.
He had to remember Koshiro's words. It wasn't just about brute strength. It was about control. The sword was an extension of his will, a manifestation of his heart and resolve. It had to cut not just with force, but with intent.
He stood in front of the boulder, gathering his focus. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of the earth and the promise of challenge.
Ashen's breath slowed, his mind sharpening to a single point of focus. His muscles tensed, coiled like a spring, ready to release. His eyes narrowed as he visualized the strike.
With a swift movement, he took a step forward and swung his sword.
The sound of steel slicing through air was almost deafening, but the impact was nothing like he expected. His sword hit the boulder, but it barely left a mark. The stone remained untouched, solid, unmoved.
Ashen staggered back, his sword ringing with the force of the impact. He breathed heavily, frustration flaring in his chest. He had given it his all, and yet it hadn't been enough.
Koshiro's voice broke through the silence. "It's not just about power, Ashen. You've improved, but now you need to understand the flow of the sword. Every strike has its own rhythm. It's not just about cutting— it's about precision. You need to feel the sword, let it become part of you."
Ashen stood still for a moment, contemplating the older swordsman's words. He nodded slowly. The task was more than just physical strength; it was about mastering the heart and mind that guided the sword. He had focused too much on the physical, on the results, and not enough on the essence of the blade.
---
The next few days passed in a haze of repetition as Ashen retrained his mind and body. He still felt the sting of failure, but it drove him forward. Koshiro's words echoed in his mind as he worked through his strikes, his movements becoming smoother, more deliberate. The sword was no longer an object of power—it was an extension of his spirit, his will, his heart.
Each day, his strikes became more accurate, more precise, and he could feel the change inside him. By the end of the week, he was ready for another attempt.
---
On the seventh day, as the sun began to set, Ashen stood once more in front of the boulder, his sword in hand. He had learned from his past mistake. He had focused on his technique, his precision, and his connection to the sword.
This time, there would be no hesitation. No brute force.
He took a step forward and swung.
The sound of steel against stone was different this time—more solid, more true.
The boulder split down the middle, cracking in two with a sound that echoed across the courtyard. Ashen stood frozen for a moment, breathless, as the two halves of the boulder crumbled to the ground. The sword trembled in his hand, but it felt...right.
For the first time, Ashen truly felt like a swordsman.
---
Koshiro stood in the doorway, watching silently as Ashen took in the result of his hard work. There was no visible expression on his face, but the small nod he gave Ashen told him all he needed to know.
"You've passed," Koshiro said simply.
Ashen let out a long breath, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over him. But there was something else, too—something that felt far more satisfying than any physical fatigue.
He had grown. He had learned. The sword now flowed through him like a river, its power no longer something to be controlled, but something that he controlled.
---
The dojo grounds were scarred from repeated use—cut stumps, cracked stones, and broken training dummies scattered about like remnants of a storm. And in the center of it all stood Ashen Veyr.
His blade hummed faintly in his hand, the steel polished but nicked from relentless training. He didn't flinch as the morning wind swept through the courtyard.
In a single motion, he drew.
A sharp ring echoed—and a wave of force followed.
The distant training post shattered before the blade even touched it, a compressed wind blade lashing out with the same deadly precision as if he had swung directly. The cut was clean—through hardwood and into the thick stone wall behind it, leaving a faint scar on the dojo's perimeter.
Ashen exhaled slowly, lowering his katana. His swordsmanship had shifted. No longer raw instinct or brute force—it was something sharper. Something precise.
He hadn't just grown stronger—he had begun to understand control.
Another training dummy made of iron plating was dragged in from the side. Without a word, Ashen stepped forward. No flourish, no wasted motion.
A blur—Soru activated, crackling the earth beneath his foot as he moved.
He reappeared behind the dummy.
A heartbeat later, the iron shell slid apart, severed cleanly along an angled line. No sparks. Just precision.
Koshiro stood quietly near the edge of the grounds. He gave a faint nod.
"You've surpassed what most swordsmen can do in years," he said, arms folded.
Ashen turned toward him, expression unreadable. "It's not enough."
Koshiro raised an eyebrow. "It's far more than what most could dream of."
Ashen didn't reply immediately. His fingers flexed slightly around the hilt of his blade. "I need more than 'most.' What's ahead won't wait for me to play catch-up."
A pause. Then Koshiro asked, "You're leaving soon?"
Ashen nodded. "Today. I've stayed long enough. I'm grateful for your guidance. But my path doesn't end in this village."
Koshiro regarded him for a moment before giving a soft chuckle. "I suppose I shouldn't expect any less from someone like you."
Ashen turned, his back to the dojo, facing the road that led beyond the hills of Shimotsuki Village.
He brought up his system window one last time.
---
Status Window
Name: Ashen Veyr
Level: Master
Strength: 7.9
Endurance: 8.6
Durability: 8.5
Agility: 9.2
---
Skills:
Soru – 75% Efficiency
Tekkai – 47% Efficiency
Busoshoku Haki – 30% Efficiency
Swordsmanship – Shimotsuki Style (Base Form) – 3% Unlocked
(Note: Can now cut through stone and steel. Wind blade projection at close to mid-range achieved.)
---
The wind picked up again, as if beckoning him forward.
Ashen sheathed his sword. "Time to go."
The next morning, Ashen found himself once again standing at the edge of Shimotsuki Village. His body had grown stronger, his skills sharpened, but there was still a nagging feeling at the back of his mind.
He had completed his training, but it wasn't over. The world outside was still waiting for him. There were still battles to fight, still goals to achieve, and he knew that this village, this dojo, had given him just the beginning of what he needed.
And now, he was ready for the next step.
The winding dirt path leading away from Shimotsuki Village was quiet, lined with short stone walls and early spring wildflowers swaying gently under a pale sun. Ashen walked at a calm pace, the weight of his sword resting lightly against his hip. The wind, as it often did, followed him—brushing past leaves and pulling at his coat like a silent companion.
He didn't look back.
He'd stayed longer than he'd expected, and though Koshiro never once pressed him for details, the man had no doubt sensed something different in Ashen. Not just the pace of his growth—but the intensity behind it. The discipline that had carried him through daily grueling hours of sparring, kata, and silent meditation.
Ashen wasn't chasing strength for pride.
He was chasing survival. Dominance. Control over a future he refused to leave to chance.
As he reached the hilltop overlooking the sea, he paused. The water sparkled below, a distant line of ships dotting the horizon beyond the curve of the coast. He adjusted the strap of the travel bag slung over his shoulder and checked the weathered map he'd marked by hand. His next stop: Shells Town—a brief stopover, then east along the coast by boat, toward Tequila Wolf and then possibly toward Goa—if he deemed it worth the risk.
He'd be skirting through areas under Marine control. With Vice Admiral Garp's ship docked recently in Loguetown and marines on edge after the Straw Hats' escape, caution was necessary. Still, Ashen's name wasn't in any bounty posting. And to the world, he was just a traveler. A nameless swordsman passing through.
He liked it that way.
A few meters ahead, he saw movement on the trail.
A trader's cart rumbled by, drawn by a tired horse. The driver, an old man with squinted eyes, gave him a wave.
"Travelin' east, lad? Roads are safe enough 'til the next port. Keep your blade sheathed and your head low."
Ashen offered a faint nod. "Thanks."
The cart rattled past, and Ashen continued on foot.
His steps were light—too light for someone walking on gravel. The subtle change in his agility had begun to manifest in all things. He could shift his weight with barely a sound, control his presence, feel the wind brushing his skin at full speed. His awareness had sharpened, his body now adapting faster to the demands of movement, survival, and swordplay.
A bird suddenly took flight nearby—and without thought, Ashen's eyes tracked its path, measuring its speed, its angle, its vulnerability.
"I could cut it from here," he thought, fingers brushing the hilt of his katana. A test of reflex, of technique.
He didn't.
Instead, he let it fly, choosing restraint over waste.
That was another change. Strength wasn't just in using the blade—it was knowing when not to.
Ashen eventually reached the coast road as the sun tilted west. A small dock lay nestled between the rocks—modest, but not abandoned. A couple of fishing boats swayed gently, tied to weathered posts.
A fisherman looked up as Ashen approached. "Need a ride, stranger?"
"Heading east," Ashen said. "You passing by Shells Town or farther?"
The old man scratched his chin. "I can drop you near the port road east of there. But it'll cost you."
Ashen handed over a small pouch of Berry without a word. The fisherman peered inside, eyes widening slightly, then nodded and waved toward the boat. "Right this way."
As Ashen boarded, he looked once more at the shoreline—at the distant speck that was Shimotsuki Village, now behind him.
The world ahead was vast.
And he still had so far to climb.
---
Status Update:
Strength: 8.0
Endurance: 8.7
Durability: 8.6
Agility: 9.4
Skill Progression:
Soru: 78%
Tekkai: 49%
Busoshoku Haki: 33%
Swordsmanship – Shimotsuki Style (Base Form): 6% Unlocked
(Can now cut through large stone, mid-level steel, and project wind blades with precision at short to medium range.)
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