That night too, I dreamed of the snowy plain.
The night in the north comes early. Everything in sight, along with the moonlight, settles in pure white. The frozen breath, the rough coniferous trees supporting the snow, all turn to black and white under the dimly pouring starlight.
Truly a world of achromatic colors.
In the landscape painting devoid of the sun, I was sweating alone. Despite the severe cold, my body temperature rose, and steam rose from my skin.
The sensation of the sword hilt in my hand gradually becomes clearer. The voice endlessly repeating inside projects the memory from not long ago onto my retina.
‘All motion (動) begins from stillness (停).’
How on earth?
How can such a simple realization be taken as a secret technique? The Ghost Sword’s (鬼劍) teaching had this unkind and abstruse aspect.
Just like the Ghost Sword’s inner thoughts.
It was while I was panting like that, gasping for breath.
“……Hey.”
With the brief call, a soft texture covered my hair. It was because someone had thrown a towel.
The culprit was clear. He was a friend I’d known since childhood, and now…