Instruction
Just like that, Shirō and his team, along with Miyue and her squad, rotated shifts on the battlefield, successfully completing the day's mission.
By around 7 p.m., Shirō's group returned to camp, handing over defensive duties to the samurai of the Land of Demons.
Inside the main hall, Miyue and her two teammates sat together, receiving their debriefing.
"Let's go one at a time. First, Takeda," Pingyi began, his tone firm but not unkind. "I know you rely heavily on Taijutsu, but your opponents aren't the kind you can handle with standard close combat—at least not at your current level."
Takeda lowered his gaze.
"In future fights, I want you to assess both allies and enemies more carefully and choose your Ninjutsu accordingly. You burned through your chakra too quickly today. Do you really think you have enough reserves to be throwing out high-level techniques one after another?"
Pingyi leaned forward slightly. "I know your raw attack power isn't the strongest, but your teammates can compensate. Those enemies were just autonomous puppets with fixed patterns—you should've recognized that and adapted."
He crossed his arms. "Overall, your performance was weak. Tomorrow, I expect better."
"Yes, Pingyi-sensei," Takeda muttered, retreating to the side in silence.
Pingyi's gaze shifted. "Miyue, your turn."
Since Nakamura wasn't Miyue's direct sensei, he spoke more gently. "No need to be nervous. Your effort wasn't bad, but we're here to discuss weaknesses."
Miyue's shoulders stiffened, her hopeful expression fading.
"First, your choice of Ninjutsu was a mess," Nakamura said plainly. "You relied on Fire Release, but did you really think low- to mid-tier fire techniques could incinerate regenerating puppets? And your Lightning Release lacked piercing force—it couldn't even slow them down."
Miyue bit her lip.
"Second, you had chances to supplement your lack of power by using teamwork and external support, yet you never considered it. Finally—your battlefield awareness. You already knew these were regenerating constructs. One-hit kills were meaningless, yet you still wasted energy on finishing blows. That's a fundamental tactical error."
He let out a slow sigh. "That's your biggest flaw. Learn from it tomorrow."
"Yes, Captain Nakamura."
After Miyue's turn, Nakamura glanced toward Taiyi. "And you? What about Xiao Guang's swordsmanship?"
But Taiyi waved him off. "Her issues are similar. As for swordsmanship, I can't judge. Shirō's better with the blade—ask him. Miyue, come with me. We'll go over some things about the Sharingan."
"Yes, Taiyi-ge."
Xiao Guang blinked. "Eh? You're leaving already?"
"What else? Swordsmanship isn't my field. Didn't you once call this 'system optimization'? Shirō's the one who learns techniques fast. Leave it to him."
She turned to Shirō. "Sorry to trouble you, Shirō-ge."
"Tsk… hiss… I'm not sure where to start," Shirō admitted, scratching his cheek. "Your swordplay today felt… off. Chaotic, but I can't quite define why. I don't fully understand your clan's kenjutsu either."
He paused, then smiled. "How about this, Xiao Guang? I'll recreate your sword forms from today's battle, then show you how to refine them. Sounds fair?"
Xiao Guang's eyes widened. "Recreate… and refine? That's impossible."
Her doubt was natural. Copying sword moves was simple enough—Pingyi himself could do it. But optimizing them meant not only learning her clan's secret kenjutsu on the spot, but also improving it further. That bordered on absurd.
Which was exactly why all eyes turned toward Shirō.
He chuckled, slipping outside to the courtyard. "Come along. You'll see soon enough."
Of course, Shirō alone couldn't accomplish this. But what he couldn't do, a Heroic Spirit could. By Projecting a Heroic Spirit's Noble Phantasm, he temporarily inherited fragments of their experience—and with it, their insight into problem-solving.
And when it came to pure swordsmanship and absurd learning ability, one name immediately surfaced: Sasaki Kojiro.
Legend has it Kojiro created the technique Tsubame Gaeshi—a strike that bordered on magecraft—in less than a day of practice. Whether true or exaggerated, Kojiro's skill was undeniable.
"Projection… start."
A long, slender blade shimmered into being—Monohoshizao. Too long for Shirō's frame, but he maintained his stance, focusing. White light rippled along the weapon, compressing its length until it fit his grip.
Altering even a C-rank Noble Phantasm was taxing, but Monohoshizao had no special abilities to complicate the process.
Closing his eyes, Shirō replayed Xiao Guang's earlier sword exchanges in his mind. Kojiro's borrowed instincts guided him, and within moments, he understood the flow of her technique—the strengths, the wasted movements, the exploitable flaws.
It wasn't mastery. Swordsmanship still required practice, repetition, and muscle memory. But even this glimpse showed how right his choice had been. Kojiro's insight was terrifying.
Finally, Shirō exhaled. "Alright, Xiao Guang. Watch carefully."
"Yes, Shirō-ge."
His blade moved, flowing into the exact forms she had used earlier. Every angle, every strike, every mistake faithfully mirrored.
"That's… my kenjutsu…" she whispered, eyes widening.
A moment later, Shirō stopped, lowering the blade. "That's enough. How many flaws did you spot?"
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