Wandering Swordsman

“Huff.”

A young-looking woman walked alone beneath the thick canopy of trees, birdsong muted by moss and shadow. She carried no food, no map—only a small coin pouch and a sword.

“Child, do not let your power blind you. You have much to learn.”

Her master’s final lesson echoed in her mind, more burden than memory.

Her name was Miri, disciple of one of the Seven Saints. A Sword Saint.

The Saints were not rulers, nor gods, but warriors of such terrifying mastery that history itself named them. They once waged war on all five Demon Lords, not for glory—but to stop a war. They failed. But their bravery earned them the title: Saints.

Miri had trained for seventy years under her master, though her youthful face told none of it. Her appearance—no older than thirty—was thanks to ancient breathing techniques passed down through the Saint's line. Her strength now rivaled even her master's, or so she believed.

When she declared herself ready to slay a Demon Lord, her master simply smiled and said:

"You still have much to learn. Go. Seek the strongest swordsman. Only then will you understand."

And so her pilgrimage began.

From icy wastes to desert strongholds, Miri wandered. She battled monsters, bandits, and famed duelists. She bested them all.

And found them all wanting.

Only one kingdom and a sea crossing remained. Her journey neared its end. No worthy swordsman found.

A sigh left her lips. “This trip was a waste,” she muttered. “But... not a bad one.”
...

..

.

“YOUNG MASTER!”

The scream snapped her out of thought. A cry from deep in the woods.

Feminine. Fearful.

She dashed through the forest, a blur of steel and speed.

Bursting into a clearing, she found them: two figures, a tall dragonkin and a boy, looming over a young woman who knelt near the river, crying.

"No hesitation."

Miri’s sword slid into her hand like breath into lungs. These men would and should die.

{Several minutes earlier...}

"WHY did it have to be leeches!?" Toma screamed.

Kaien, calm as ever, stood waist-deep in the river, flicking the gray, worm-like liches off Shizuka’s back with his claws.

Shizuka sat frozen in the shallows, face redder than the sun. "Don’t look at me! Just—just get them off!!"

Toma panicked. "I’m trying!"

For whatever reason, the liches avoided Toma entirely.

That’s when it hit him—a pressure like a blade to the throat.

Killing intent.

His instincts screamed. He spun.

CLANG.

A real sword met his wooden one. Sparks flew. The sheer force of the blow cracked the earth beneath their feet.

A woman now stood before him—expression cold, eyes calculating.

“...Huh?”

Toma stumbled back. “Whoa whoa whoa! Lady, what the hell?!”

“You defended against my killing blow,” she said calmly, “with a stick. Are you... The strongest swordsman?”

“What? No! We’re just—wait, are you serious?”

Shizuka was still shrieking. Kaien had moved in front of her, unsure whether to laugh or draw steel.

“Okay, first off,” Toma said, pointing at the leeches, “we were bathing. Not harassing her. That’s my party member. Second—why the hell do you care that I’m holding a stick?”

"I've been searching for the strongest swordsman. To think you might be them, taking advantage of this woman!" The unknown assailant to Toma shouted.

*Sigh, classic side twist in the hero's journey to defeat Immortal Dragon. Of course, I should expected this. I can bet PC, she is some kind of wandering swordsman, looking for 'the strongest swordsman ' in order to prove her skills. That is when she stumbled upon two armed men with a screaming girl at the river, trying to 'save' her, the swordsman unleashes a super cool move to take down the men but is blocked by a wooden sword by my protagonist self, so now she mistakes me ,for the strongest swordsman. Whatever, this is a dream anyway. Where else do you get to be the long awaited strongest swordsman and get challenged by a beautiful waifu?*
"Yes." Toma struck a pose, puting the wooden sword casually over his shoulder, "I am the strongest swordsman."

The way Toma said it, made it so convincing even I believed it.

"Then, please, teach me what my master could not." She began, taking a stance, "The limits of my power!" In a gust she appeared in front of Toma catching him of guard, but his reflexes immediately became sharper and he successfully dodged the strike.

CLANG!

Steel screamed against wood as the forest erupted with kinetic force. Birds fled. Branches snapped. A nearby squirrel ran.

Toma staggered back, wooden sword held in both hands, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?!”

The woman didn’t answer. She landed silently on the grass, expression sharp as a drawn blade.

She charged again.

He barely blocked again. Another explosive impact.

CLANG!

BAM!

ZING!

“Who are you?” Toma barked, ducking a diagonal slash.

“I’m Miri Mimo, disciple of the Sword Saint!” she snapped, twisting into a roundhouse slash. “And YOU—! You blocked me with a STICK!”

He glanced at the wood. No splinters. Not even a dent. It looked like something you'd buy at a dollar store in truth.

Miri screamed in frustration and came down with a falling crescent slash.

BOOM.

Dust clouded the clearing. When it cleared—

Toma was standing. The sword? Still fine.

“…HOW?” Miri hissed, her arms trembling. “You shouldn’t be able to breathe after blocking that!”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t -"

They clashed again.

Steel met wood.

Again.

And again.

Toma's movements were half instinct, half panic. His stance made no sense. His grip was awkward. Yet every time her blade met his, it was like the sword refused to lose. Like it was insulted by the idea.

Miri launched a flurry, slashes so fast they blurred. Wind howled with each arc.

Toma screamed and spun in a wild, goofy circle, slapping away every strike by accident.

“WHY IS THAT WORKING?!” she shouted.

“I HAVE NO IDEA!!” Toma screamed back, tears in his eyes.

Finally, they both jumped back. Breathing hard. Sweat dripping. Grass scorched in a perfect circle around them.

A pause.

Then Miri spoke.

“…Is that sword some kind of holy relic?”

" Hmph, of course a sword I wield naturally becomes a weapon of force," Toma wheezed.

“…What.”

Miri launched again.

Toma screamed.
...

..

.

After several rounds, the fight drew to a strange, unspoken halt.

Miri was kneeling, breathing heavy, blade plunged into the dirt beside her for balance. Sweat clung to her skin. Her chest rose and fell like a drumbeat of frustration. She wasn’t wounded—but her pride? Brutalized.

Across from her stood Toma, the so-called "Strongest Swordsman."

Not a scratch. Not a bead of sweat.

Still holding that ridiculous wooden sword like it was Excalibur itself.

Kaien and Shizuka, now finally free of their leech-related nightmare, stood nearby. They had become glorified background props during the high-speed sword exchange, blinking like NPCs waking from a freeze-frame.

Shizuka stepped forward, arms folded, still visibly irritated. “Young Master,” she said firmly, then turned to Miri. “He’s my master. And I’m disappointed in you.”

Miri blinked. “...Your master?”

“Were you really about to kill him because you assumed we were attacking a girl by a river? That’s the level of perception I should expect from a disciple of the Sword Saint?”

Miri bowed her head instantly, eyes wide with guilt. “Forgive me. I—I misjudged the scene. Badly. But I swear, my intent was only to protect an innocent.”

She looked up at Toma with awe, frustration, and deep, burning confusion. “When I set out to find the strongest swordsman… I never expected it to be someone like you. You didn’t even break a sweat. Every strike, you parried like it was nothing. It felt like, like trying to cut through a storm cloud.”

Toma slowly stepped forward, the wooden sword slung over his shoulder again, a breeze catching his hair.

His face was calm.

Wise.

...Completely faking it.

But damn, did it work.

"You mustn't seek strength to validate yourself," he said, voice low and cryptic. "The blade isn’t truth. It's a mirror. And sometimes, the reflection is... disappointing."

Miri’s heart skipped. *That’s something my master would’ve said. No... it’s better. It’s purer. What depth. What mystery!*

Toma nodded sagely, totally winging it. “Only when your blade no longer desires to win... will you understand how to.”

*Damn, am I glad I watched all those samurai anime.*

Miri’s mouth parted slightly. *...He’s brilliant.* She bowed her head again—but this time with sincere respect. “Then I still have far to go. I see that now.”

She stood, sheathed her blade, and looked at him, no longer as an opponent, but as a rival. A mentor. Possibly even... a man.

“I apologize for the assault. Next time we meet, I’ll be stronger. Strong enough to defeat you... and earn your recognition.”

Toma nodded, arms crossed, sun behind him. “I look forward to that day.”

Miri turned on her heel, graceful, dramatic.

But just before vanishing into the trees, she paused.

And glanced back.

“One more thing. What’s the name of your sword?”
Of course, unbeknownst to our ever so delusional protagonist, swordsmen give their swords names.

Toma stared at the wooden blade, brain buffering hard.

He had nothing.
Absolutely nothing.

“…Maruse." he said.

“Maruse?” Miri echoed, blinking.

Toma nodded, expression grave. “Yes. He and I have been through a lot.”

Miri nodded slowly. “...I see. I won’t forget it.”

And then she was gone, leaping into the forest like a gust of wind—her cloak fluttering, her journey renewed.

"Let us continue. The next stop?" Toma said, with renewed vigor.

"Hmm, the land bridge to the next kingdom was destroyed. The shortest route to the next kingdom is through Mikana, the Sky City."

“Then we go,” Toma declared, pointing dramatically toward the sky. “To the clouds! To destiny! To... Adventure!"