Demon Slayer : The Silent Journey

[Seiji's POV]

It was disgusting. It was revolting.

It was horrible.

His small frame did not match the wooden sword he was holding; it was made for adults, while he was a young boy, small for his age.

His body moved with the elegance of an elephant. It looked like he was lagging in real life. The burden of injury yet to be healed was evident in each motion of his body.

But the main reason was that he had absolutely no experience. His skills with the sword could be described as non-existent.

And yet....I stared in amazement.

My eyes could see that every action was made of flaws, they looked at perfect imperfection. But my eyes also noticed the incredible improvement that came with every repetition.

*swish*

*swish*

*swish*

*swish*

*swish*

*swish*

It was kind of scary.

My eyes had never beheld such talent. 

Muichiro did not make a single sound, his eyes were a pool of void that sucked in the vibrance of the world, I think that was why it felt more silent than usual.

Everything that anchored him to the world was gone, and now he teetered between the boundaries of death and existence. He had died while living.

I felt a sense of familiarity when looking at him. I had the exact look long ago when my parents were killed. I no longer had the family that once anchored me to this reality where I felt like a foreigner.

Muichiro must also feel the same way. His memories were lost, and he did not know who he was. Yet there was an ache in his heart.

How sad, how fortunate.

What's worse than grieving is to be unable to grieve. He knew he lost something important but couldn't remember it, leaving him hollow inside.

With no memories buzzing in his mind and no face to grieve for, the only thing he had was the wooden sword in his hand and the thirst for power in his heart.

No wonder he was improving so rapidly. There was no distraction; there was nothing in him.

The demons stole it all. 

"Still, your skills are atrocious," I said, making him turn towards me as he stopped swinging his wooden sword.

He tilted his head in wonder while I slowly approached him in the yard. The sun was bright orange, it was late afternoon but it wasn't dark just yet. I expected an hour or two more before sunset.

"Pardon?"

"How long have you been practising?" I asked. He had no memories, it was no use trying to talk to him about other topics except the sword he was holding.

He paused, gazing at me with questioning eyes bordering on bafflement. The only thing absent in his eyes was fear, good.

Or not. The reason for his lack of fear was because he had nothing to lose if he died. That's kind of depressing.

Remember the times when I frequently consider suicide? Good times.

"I woke up yesterday," he said after the initial pause.

"So you've practised for a day," I said thoughtfully. His rate of improvement was seriously incredible if he had only practised for a day.

But he shook his head.

"I was not allowed to do anything yesterday. I've practised for an hour," he replied, emotions never reaching his eyes.

I blinked at his words. Then I made the sigma face to show that I was impressed. You know, the Patrick Bateman sigma face.

"....." he deadpanned.

Okay, maybe that was not funny without context.

I cleared my throat and I think I saved some dignity with that action. "Believe it or not, I'm something of a swordsman myself,"

"....."

"Okay, good for you," he said and finally turned away from me. He straightened his posture and resumed his training by swinging his sword. He had deemed me to be a clown unworthy of his time.

He had no guidance, he had no example to strive for. But instinctively, his body knew how a sword was to be swung and how to improve his skills.

It was probably the Yoriichi blood in him.

In the face of being ignored, I was not discouraged. I've dealt with more stubborn individuals with bigger traumas, like Sanemi and Giyu.

So I went to the tree at the corner of the yard. The tree had a few training dummies and extra wooden swords for practice. I picked up one of the swords and made my way back to Muichiro.

When we stood side by side, the difference in our height was evident. I was six foot tall with peerless lean muscle mass, I was not big like Tengen or Gyomei but I was still more muscular than the likes of Giyu.

On the other hand, Muichiro was a kid of around 10 years old, but he looked smaller due to his injuries and the lack of nutrition.

"..." he only gave me a side glace but otherwise continued his action.

*swish*

*swish*

*swish*

I hid a smirk and took a similar posture to his. They were only similar because while his posture was made of flaws, mine was flawless.

It was perfection manifested in a stance. The way my muscles tightened, the weight distribution on each of my legs and the way my toes curled just right to grip the ground while also allowing instant mobility. Everything was just right.

Muichiro seemed to have noticed such a flawless stance instinctively because his eyes widened and he turned his head towards me.

Then I swung the wooden sword down in a perfect arc. My action was smooth like water flowing over a perfect surface, it barely made a disturbance in the air. But at the exact angle I was aiming for, my swing stopped. It was not a centimetre too deep or shallow, just perfect.

The sudden stop caused a burst of air, the only sound produced by the swing and it came only after the attack was over.

His eyes could no longer look at something else as I pulled back the wooden sword in a neutral stance.

Then my body burst into action once more, I swung the sword horizontally and it cleanly sliced through the air. The shrill vibration of a whistle was left at the trail of my attack.

My sword did not fight against gravity and instead used the fundamental force to strengthen my swing. It should be impossible, to utilize gravity that way unless it was a vertical slash but my crisp slash did that.

Muichiro continued gazing at me in silent awe as I performed attack after attack, each honed to perfection. It was deemed perfect by my supernatural eyes so to a pair of ordinary ones, it looked almost unreal.

It was like an illusion. I have attained such mastery over the sword that each swing felt natural like the stars in the sky or the rocks on the ground. It felt natural, made by God instead of looking artificial and made by a man.

Muichiro, a boy who had an incredible affinity for swords could comprehend everything so it was even more impactful.

"How are you doing that?" Muichiro blurted out after a long stretch of silent gazing.

I quirked my lips into a small smirk and ignored him, just like he did to me. My limbs and my sword moved as if one, and I continued performing my attacks against the shadow opponent.

After a while of futile waiting, Muichiro decided to take a page out of my book and picked up his wooden sword again. He did his best trying to imitate my posture.

He failed horribly of course. My forms were created just right taking into account my measurement - the length of my arm, fingers, ligaments etc. A perfect posture for him would be different from mine.

Not only that, his body was too untrained, it was too injured and unskilled to even come close to imitating me. But carried by sheer talent and determination, he took a stance that was acceptable.

After he got that down, his eyebrows relaxed and he started copying my movement down to the last detail. He now had an example in front of him, so his improvement soared exponentially.

I allowed him to copy me, slowing down more than once and repeating the patterns that he found difficult. We did not exchange words and let the action do the talking, just the way I liked it.

We did not notice the passing time as we continued our training. I performed the five fundamental swings of a sword, horizontal, vertical, and diagonal. Upward and a stab. I did it again and again.

Muichiro was a mirror as he copied my movement down to the last detail. But as time went on, he slowly realized that blindly copying me was not the answer, we had drastically different bodies. So instead of trying to replicate what I was doing, he started learning the fundamentals hidden behind my attacks.

Anyone else would be left stumped but with his natural instincts and talent, Muichiro was able to benefit from what I was doing.

...

The sun was setting on the horizon, the deep orange rays of the last sunlight wrapped the world in an intense hue of red and yellow.

It was at this moment, minutes from complete sunset that Muichiro was finally able to execute a somewhat decent vertical slash.

*swing*

I stopped abruptly after I saw that decent swing.

The line of my lips curved into a smile as I finally turned to him, acknowledging his presence to the fullest. I placed my hand on top of his head and ruffled his long wavy black hair.

"That one was pretty good," I said.

He looked at me with wide eyes that glazed over with the final ray of the sun. He seemed to be caught in a trace at that moment.

The perfection he was imitating for hours finally acknowledged him. That approval brought the first hints of real emotion in his mind blank of substantial memories.

"What's your name?" I finally asked, although I already knew.

He opened his mouth as if to answer instinctively but then he paused, unsure. He had no memories of the past but he thought he knew his name.

But he was not sure.

"So?" I nudged at him again.

Finally, he released the breath he was holding and said.

"Muichiro," it seemed like the first time he heard his lown name as well. His sentence started unsure but by the end, it was certain.

"I am....my name is Muichiro Tokito,"

I smiled, "My name is Seiji Shigan, nice to meet you Muichiro,"

"Would you like to learn more of swordsmanship from me?" I asked and the nod came in a heartbeat.

"Yes,"

"Well.." I said, "That's good to hear because I would love to teach you more too,"

After hearing my reply, my eyes saw the briefest smile on his face.

..

..

..

[IMAGE]

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Author : Stone for next chapter 🗿