Chapter 23 — 3 Years of Training

He stepped further into the basement, his hand tracing over an old chair, the fabric rough under his touch. The crystal's light glinted off the edge of a dusty sword, its blade still sharp despite years of disuse.
Yasu moved further into the basement, his fingers tracing over old paintings tacked to the wall. A few documents, yellowed with age, caught his eye, their writing faded but still legible.
As Yasu flicked through the pages of the old books and documents, he came to the realization that they contained a collection of spell books, filled with magic incantations and rituals. One book, in particular, caught his attention, its pages tattered and worn.
"Of course... a prodigy in magic," he whispered to himself, his hand tracing the old pages. "No wonder they had a hidden basement."
His mind tried to make sense of the situation, his thoughts filled with questions. "These spells... they look like they could be powerful. How did Mom learn something like this?"
Setting the spell book back in its place, Yasu's eyes fell upon an old chest, its lid closed tightly, the wood worn from years of use. The sight of the chest piqued his curiosity, a hint of mystery beckoning to him.
He moved closer, his footsteps soft against the dusty floorboards. Crouching beside the chest, he ran his fingers over the weathered surface, the rough texture under his touch.
As the chest's secret contents were revealed to be only monetary wealth, Yasu quickly shut the lid, disappointment flashing across his face. "Just... gold?" he muttered, his frustration growing. "I need answers, not riches."
His brow twitched, his thoughts spiraling, his emotions a tangled mess. The search had yielded nothing of use, the hidden basement providing no answers to the questions that consumed his mind.
Yasu stepped out of the basement, his eyes fixed on the wall far away. He clenched his fists tightly, the frustration from his fruitless search still fresh in his mind, and the curiosity of what lies outside the wall. He shook his head, a resolve growing within him.
"I'm not ready yet," he murmured to himself, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil. "I need to train harder, become stronger. I can't afford to be unprepared for whatever is ahead."
The years have passed like the turn of the seasons, and I've grown taller and more capable. As I tend to the garden every day, the soft earth under my hands feels comforting and familiar. The lessons my mother taught me have served me well, and I can now confidently say that my skills in gardening are on par with hers.
Looking down at the garden, I feel a sense of pride and accomplishment. The flowers and vegetables grow strong and healthy under my care, each day bringing new blooms to fill the air with their sweet scent.
Alongside tending to the garden, I've never neglected my training. Every day, I devote at least nine hours or more to sharpening skills under the shade of the tree. To prepare myself for any situation, I've trained without a sword as well as with it, becoming accustomed to different training methods.
Shadowboxing and other forms of hand-to-hand combat have become a daily routine, my form and technique improving with every passing day. The garden serves as a peaceful backdrop to my training sessions, the scent of fresh flowers permeating the area.
In my moments of respite, I seek comfort in the presence of my parents. Beside their gravestone, I often find myself eating a light meal, the peace of the setting helping to ease the pain of their absence.
I share stories of my training sessions, tales of laughter, and simple joys with them, hoping that they can somehow hear me. It's a way for me to feel closer to them, to hold on to the bond we once shared. In the quiet of the evening, the conversation with their spirit becomes a comfort, a link to the family I once had.
On some nights, when the loneliness becomes too heavy, I seek refuge in my parents' bedroom. There, I lay down on their bed, the familiar scent of their room calming my weary soul. The soft sheets and the faint scent of their perfume provide a small comfort, as though I am being embraced by their presence.
In those moments, the memories of their laughter and the sound of their voices echo in my mind.
With a focused determination, Yasu stands outside with a sword in hand, the air filled with a charged energy. In a swift and fluid motion, he shifts his gaze onto the tree, his eyes narrowing as he prepares for the challenge ahead.
Closing his eyes, he chants the words, "Harmony of the Ascendant." In an awe-inspiring display of precision and strength, he executes a single powerful blow, cleanly cutting down the tree in a single, impressive strike.
The sound of the tree falling rings out, the once-tall trunk now a broken remnant on the ground.
Yasu takes a moment to assess the carnage caused by his powerful strike, the fallen tree lying in fragmented pieces. He runs his fingers over the smooth edge of his sword, his mind focused and calm.
"I think I'm ready," he murmurs, his voice filled with a mixture of confidence and nostalgia. "Mother and Father," he adds, his words directed to the air like a prayer, "I've come a long way. I hope you're watching from above, proud of the person I've become."