Kaecilius seethed, his sharp features twisted in a scowl. He had underestimated Kakashi and thus was defeated in the spar.
'I could have done better. I could have used my spells. He just had more tricks than I anticipated. If we fight against, I would defeat him. I have trained for decades here. No way, he is more skilled than me.' Kaecilius thought
"Let's go for another round." Kaecilius said with gritted teeth. Kakashi gave him raised eyebrow before nodding.
'And here I thought these Sorcerers were told to let go off worldly emotions. They have not done a good job at that with this one.' Kakashi thought as the other masters watching the spar agreed with his internal thoughts.
They threw Kaecillius a disappointed expression.
Kakashi's mind was calm, but a spark of excitement flickered within him.
The Ancient One's words had stirred something dormant, a passion he'd buried under years of duty and loss. 'Do what you love.'
Before his father's death, Kakashi had been enthralled by the Hatake clan's secret ninja art: a swordsmanship style that earned Sakumo the moniker "White Fang."
As a child, Kakashi had trained relentlessly in its basics, his small hands gripping a tanto under his father's watchful eye. But after Sakumo's suicide and the Sharingan implant, the technique's chakra demands had been too steep, his reserves drained by Obito's eye. 'I had to let it go.'
Now, in this new world, his chakra reserves were growing, bolstered by the mysterious integration of the Sharingan, its passive drain gone and its active use less taxing.
'I can train to wield it again.' The thought sent a thrill through him, a reconnection to the boy who'd dreamed of mastering his father's legacy. He reached into his pouch and unsealed a scroll, chakra flaring as he summoned his father's final gift: a chakra-metal tanto, its blade gleaming with a faint, otherworldly sheen.
Unlike Sakumo's shorter tanto, Kakashi preferred the standard length, a choice that felt right in his hands. 'You gave this to me when I became a genin, Dad. Let's see if I can make you proud.'
The sorcerers murmured, their eyes widening as the blade materialized from the scroll. 'Storage seals?'
The younger apprentices whispered in awe, unfamiliar with such techniques, but the masters nodded knowingly. 'Fuinjutsu,: one muttered, recognizing the art.
Kaecilius, however, scoffed, his hands conjuring a sword of glowing eldritch energy, its edges sharp and pulsating with mystic power. 'He thinks a blade will best me? Arrogant fool.'
The master sorcerer, acting as referee, raised a hand. "Begin!" he called.
Kakashi moved like a phantom. His swordsmanship was a dance of precision and power.
His tanto slashed toward Kaecilius's chest, the blade humming with infused chakra. Kaecilius raised his mystic sword to block, the clash sparking, but Kakashi's follow-up was ruthless—a swift kick to the chest that sent Kaecilius staggering back, his breath escaping in a grunt.
Kaecilius's pride burned, as he regained his footing. 'You'll pay for that.' He parried Kakashi's next strike, but the shinobi's onslaught was relentless. K
aecilius blocked half the attacks, his mystic sword flashing, but the rest found their mark—shallow cuts tore his robe, one grazing his forearm, drawing blood. 'How is he this precise?'
Kaecilius snarled, channeling eldritch magic to augment his strength, his muscles rippling with unnatural power. He swung his sword with newfound force, aiming to overpower Kakashi.
But Kakashi matched him, chakra surging through his body in a perfect augmentation, his strikes carrying the same ferocity.
Growing desperate, Kaecilius leaped back, his hands weaving a spell. "By the flames of the Crimson Bands, I summon the pyre of Vishanti!" he chanted, conjuring a torrent of fire that roared toward Kakashi.
The sorcerers leaned forward, expecting the shinobi to falter, but Kakashi's hands moved with blinding speed, weaving signs—Boar, Ram, Dog, Dragon. "Earth Style: Mud Wall!" A thick barrier of earth erupted, its surface carved with snarling hounds, absorbing the flames with a hiss.
Kaecilius's eyes widened, but Kakashi was already gone, his body flickering out of sight using Body Flicker Technique.
He reappeared behind Kaecilius, his tanto poised at the sorcerer's neck, the blade's edge a whisper from his skin. "Yield," Kakashi said, his voice calm but unyielding.
Kaecilius froze, his pride warring with the pain screaming through his body.
'Monster.' The thought burned in his mind, a mix of awe and hatred. He dropped his mystic sword, its energy dissipating, and raised his hands in surrender. The referee called the match.
Kakashi stepped back, sheathing his tanto, his eye crinkling. "Good fight," he said, his nonchalance infuriating Kaecilius further.
The sorcerer stormed off, his robe tattered, his ego bruised.
The spars continued, with sorcerers stepping forward to challenge Kakashi, their curiosity outweighing their caution.
A young apprentice summoned eldritch whips, lashing at Kakashi from all angles. Kakashi countered with Water Style: Water Dragon Jutsu, the liquid serpent dispersing the whips and knocking the apprentice back.
What stunned the sorcerers most was Kakashi's adaptability.
Within minutes, he seemed to mimic their martial arts—Kamar-Taj's flowing taijutsu, their precise strikes, even their stances. 'He's copying us?' one whispered. 'Impossible.'
What they did not know was that the Sharingan was meant to do what was considered impossible.
By the end of the spars, the sorcerers were exhausted, their robes damp with sweat, their eyes wide with a mix of respect and fear. :What did the Ancient One bring?' they thought, echoing Kaecilius's sentiment. 'He's a monster.'
Kakashi's versatility—swordsmanship, ninjutsu, taijutsu, and an uncanny ability to adapt—made him a force unlike any they'd faced.
Kakashi stood in the courtyard's center, his breathing steady, his tanto resealed in its scroll. The sorcerers' stares followed him, a mix of awe and wariness. He scratched the back of his head, his eye crinkling. "Nice workout," he said, his tone light. "Same time tomorrow?"
The crowd groaned, one apprentice muttering, "No way, I'm not fighting that guy again." Another whispered, "Did you see him copy Master Tina's stance? In one fight?" The masters exchanged glances, their respect for the Ancient One's judgment deepening.
Kakashi walked away, his mind buzzing with satisfaction. 'The Hatake swordsmanship… it felt right. I have barely scratched its surface though.'
Wielding his father's tanto had been like reclaiming a piece of himself, a connection to the boy who'd trained under Sakumo's proud gaze.