Despite seeming motivated, Yamikuro collapsed after taking a step forward. His body hit the ground, and not too long after, his eyes shut together.
"You really do remind me of him," Urashin noted to himself as he picked up Yamikuro's collapsed body.
When Yamikuro woke up, in what felt like a blink, his head almost burst from the pain. He had to lie in bed, waiting for the headache to pass.
'Where am I?' He thought, unsure if he was even in the cabin anymore.
But once he was able to turn his head without much pain, his suspicions were suppressed. He was still in Urashin's cabin.
"Urashin must've brought me here."
Before he could really think about training, a scent of herb tea wafted through his nose; the aroma felt soothing, the pillow under his head felt softer, and he wanted to fall asleep again.
As he got comfortable on the bed, he suddenly remembered the deadline of twenty-eight days and jolted awake. How long had he been out?
Yamikuro used the support of the wooden wall next to him to sit up. He noticed the steaming tea before the pile of clothes that lay next to it on the small table.
Thinking back to when he climbed the steep mud wall, Yamikuro's clothes got completely ruined. If he had to wear those for the next twenty days, he would've lost it.
With that, Yamikuro finished the tea and put on the new clothes in front of the mirror in the bathroom.
What he wore were black sweatpants, black socks, and a dark-toned shirt. When thinking about Urashin, these clothing choices made sense, considering all he wore was black.
Nonetheless, they felt comfortable, and he stepped out, his steps more hurried than usual as he tried to ask Urashin how long he had been out. If he wasted too much time sleeping, the time to train would be cut shorter.
Urashin stood in the wide pit, almost as if he had been expecting Yamikuro to walk out of the cabin at that time. This time, he had his cloak on that swayed in the gust of wind.
Considering he could get out of the pit easily now, Yamikuro jumped down without hesitation. The dirt had dried out, and the dust covered him on impact.
"To think you'd recover that easily," Urashin said as Yamikuro got closer to him.
"Forget that. How long was I out?"
"Just half a day."
Hearing those words took one of many burdens off Yamikuro; at the very least, he thought he had been out for almost a day. But it made sense now, looking at the sun above them.
"Yamikuro." Urashin got his attention.
"For phase two, I want you to use your Naiko, the internalization of your Kishin."
Yamikuro hesitated; he had never used Naiko, nor did he ever think of using it.
"How do I-"
Yamikuro's throat suddenly closed, and no words came out. His lungs began grasping for air as a sharp pain shot through his body.
'What's going on?' He managed to ask in his mind, before seeing the cause.
Yamikuro's hands were sliding off his arms in a clean, sharp cut.
"Yamikuro, do you remember what I told you about Seikodo?"
Yamikuro nodded lightly, unsure why Urashin would ask him that now.
"Watch closely."
Without any noise or a visible attack, the hands of all eight men in the saloon slowly glided down their arms, cut perfectly straight.
Had Urashin just cut him just like he did back then? Yamikuro's mind raced until realization had fully hit him.
Yamikuro dropped to his knees, trying to hold his arms, but he couldn't. His scream echoed in the pit, up to the surrounding area.
Birds that had taken a liking to the trees around the pit flew upwards, escaping the screams.
"Why?!"
Urashin, however, remained calm. This went according to his plan of trying to train and toughen Yamikuro as quickly as possible.
"Your body can self-heal," Urashin revealed, unsure if Yamikuro could hear him.
"Resonants can't heal their bodies like you just did, so it leads to only one possible source. The Darkness."
Yamikuro's screams slowly faded as his flesh and bones started to regrow.
"What...?" He said under his breath.
Before he knew it, his hands had grown back. Yamikuro was in disbelief, moving his fingers and twisting his hand.
Sure enough, they were back like they had never been cut off. That excited Yamikuro; he was able to heal any injuries like nothing.
"I wouldn't recommend relying on the Darkness to heal you whenever you're in danger." Urashin said, "Especially when it also consumes your own Kishin."
At that moment, Yamikuro's hopeful energy was shattered. But he understood that, due to the Darkness, he killed Sphairos, so relying on it meant nothing good.
"However, if things get rough, you have a chance to come back, utilizing the Darkness properly."
Yamikuro nodded, clenching his hands. He felt almost disappointed that he wanted to rely on the Darkness, which is why he looked at Urashin with his determined eyes.
"How do I learn Naiko?"
"Focus," Urashin said, his cloak fluttering around him as the wind picked up. "Internalize your Kishin. Let it sit inside you, not outside."
Instead of focusing on pushing his Kishin outward, Yamikuro realized what Urashin meant. He had to pull it inward, settle it inside himself, and learn how to contain it.
The thought alone was strange, almost unnatural. Every lesson so far had taught him to project his Kishin outward, to shape it, to strike with it. But now, he was told to do the opposite.
Yamikuro shut his eyes and breathed, trying to pull back the energy that naturally flared around him. His Kishin wanted to escape. Sweat rolled down his face as he forced it to settle deeper, forcing the storm inside his body to stay still.
Urashin watched without a word, the hem of his cloak whipping around in the wind. He wanted to see if Yamikuro could grasp it, or if the boy would collapse again.
The silence was broken when Urashin lifted his hand. Yamikuro felt his heart sink. He knew what was coming.
Memories of the slicing pain returned at once. The image of his own hands severed cleanly from his body replayed over and over in his mind.
He remembered his scream, the helplessness, the terror of being split apart. His chest tightened, but instead of backing away, Yamikuro rooted his feet into the ground.
This time, he thought, he wouldn't let himself break.
Urashin's hand cut through the air without sound, just that eerie stillness before the pain. Yamikuro braced himself when the sharp force slammed into him, his body seizing as if his arms were about to be severed again.
But they weren't.
His arms trembled, the skin burning, the bones aching as if they were splitting. Yet they held together. The pain was there, but no blood fell, no hands slid off. His Kishin had stayed inside, reinforcing his body from within.
Yamikuro gasped for air, his knees threatening to buckle, but he forced himself to stay standing.
Urashin lowered his hand. A rare glimmer of approval flickered in his eyes.
"You withstood it," he said. "Phase two is complete."
Yamikuro opened his hands, shaking from both relief and exhaustion. He couldn't believe it; his arms were still there. He had faced the same attack that once tore him apart, and this time, he endured it.
A weak smile tugged at his lips. The pain still lingered, but so did the proof. He was stronger than he had been yesterday.
"I did it," Yamikuro whispered to himself, almost disbelieving.
"Are you prepared for phase three?" Urashin asked, without giving Yamikuro a chance to breathe.