The boy stood in silence, eagerly awaiting his master's words. The atmosphere in the minka was thick with anticipation as he took in the moment. Suddenly, his master appeared, holding an object that appeared to be just a stick at first glance. As the boy focused, his eyes widened in realization—it was a wooden sword.
His master began to speak, the timber of his voice resonating with wisdom. "What I'm teaching you now will create a rhythm that unites your mind and body," he said, each word deliberate and powerful. The boy furrowed his brow, struggling to grasp what his master meant.
"You see, martial arts and dance might appear similar," his master continued, "but they are fundamentally different. While both involve movement, there's a depth to dance that transcends mere logic." He paused, a knowing smile crossing his face. "Let me show you."
Without hesitation, he launched into a mesmerizing display, the wooden sword glinting in the moonlight. The boy stood transfixed, unable to fully articulate the spectacle before him. It was as if he was witnessing something ethereal, a dance that blurred the lines between combat and artistry. Each movement flowed with an elegance and profundity he had never imagined, surpassing even the most thrilling fight scenes from the movies he adored. It was beautiful, almost hypnotic; the rhythmic orchestration of motion left him in a state of euphoric awe.
After an enthralling performance, his master paused, looking directly at him. "There are three stages of dance in martial arts," he explained. "The first stage is the Basic. Here, you'll learn the catchy and impressive moves. But the second stage? That's where most people falter, and only a select few achieve it. You can probably guess two of those who have: one is me, and the other is your future opponent. The third?" He smiled, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "That would be Rudolf."
The boy stood, momentarily stunned, as his master continued to speak. "You see," he began, "only two individuals have ever truly achieved the final stage. One is me, and the other... well, it is him.
The third stage signifies a form of enlightenment where you dance not just with your body and mind, but with your spirit as well. "
The boy's brow furrowed with confusion. "What does that even mean?" he asked. A broad smile spread across his master's face, as if they were sharing a secret.
"Isn't it obvious? It means that even after death, you can still dance. Your spirit can perform, unshackled from your physical body. You can dance anywhere, even in a place that doesn't exist!"
The boy paused, processing this revelation. "Wait, what are you implying?"
The master's smile widened, a childlike brightness dancing in his eyes. "Me and the opponent you face... are dead men."
The boy's shock was palpable, his mind racing. How could that be? He felt as though he'd been hit by a freight train. "But... how?"
Before he could find clarity, the master continued, "I believe you can unlock both stages with ease. You're already on your way to mastering the true dance. These days, most are merely imitating, fooling themselves with the motions."
"Imitating?" the boy echoed, curiosity piqued.
"Yes! Just look at the guards in the castle. They're fakers, incapable of true movement. It's like they're forcing their bodies into a set of steps. An average person with a keen sense could easily take them down. Remember, you've already managed to kill three of them and even injured one!"
The boy was momentarily taken aback. "But how do you know?"
The master chuckled, "Well, the old man told me, and he deemed you too weak to train. He wanted someone more muscular and stronger, but don't fret. My style is far superior, and it's tougher, but you, you're a genius!"
The boy blinked, processing the compliment. He'd always been called smart, but never a genius. As he left the room, his mind swirled with thoughts of his master's words. A battle of the mind and body awaited him.
The next morning, brimming with newfound confidence, he approached his master. "Can I have my spar now?"
The master raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the boy's boldness. "Oh, feeling confident today, are we?"
In the training arena, the atmosphere was charged with intensity as the boy and his master faced each other, poised for combat. The boy, brimming with determination, leapt forward, aiming to close the gap between them. He deftly maneuvered to his master's left side, embodying the teachings he had received, yet still struggling to execute the perfect strike. His master, a seasoned fighter, effortlessly blocked the boy's attempts, his movements fluid and unguarded, like a leaf dancing in the wind.
Despite the overwhelming skill of his master, the boy was not defeated. He had crafted a strategy that caught his master off guard, anticipating each move with keen insight, as he feigned a misstep and lunged forward, catching his master's hands in a firm grip. For a moment, they were locked in a silent struggle, his master exerting pressure while the boy remained still, testing the limits of the boy's resolve.
Suddenly, sensing his master's lapse in focus, the boy pulled his head back, preparing to strike. The master, realizing too late, attempted to evade, but the boy's hold was unyielding, determined not to let go. In a surprising display of strength, he unleashed a powerful blow, connecting with his master and drawing blood.
As the boy collapsed to the floor, panting from the effort, his master erupted into laughter, both amused and impressed. "You truly are a trickster, clever enough to catch me off guard," he exclaimed, a glint of pride in his eyes. The boy, suppressing a wince, responded quietly, acknowledging his master's praise.
"Let's move on to the next stage."