The Honorable Wanderer: Mushoku Tensei

The wind howled fiercely along the edge of the canyon, sweeping up dust and tiny fragments of rock into the air. Overhead, the gray sky deepened the sense of desolation, as if the world itself held its breath in anticipation of what was about to unfold.

At the edge of a twenty-meter cliff stood a young man named Zephyr Ranga. His sturdy frame seemed small against the vast expanse of the valley below. His gray eyes stared blankly ahead, but his mind churned with restless thoughts.

Thin snowflakes began to fall around Zephyr, yet he paid them no mind. The chaos that usually filled his head had grown silent, replaced by the resonating echoes of his master Ash's words—words that had remained a puzzle for so long.

"Sword of the Heart…"

The term felt like an enigma he could never quite solve. But here, amidst the silence and the exhaustion of his grueling training, something began to take shape—a clarity he hadn't grasped before.

Closing his eyes, Zephyr allowed his mind to drift to memories of his time training under Ash. His master, with his warm smile and unyielding patience, often spoke in ways that confounded the young Zephyr.

"Zephyr," Ash had said one day, resting his sword casually on his shoulder, "the Wind God Style isn't just about speed or technique. It's about the heart. Its ultimate technique, Sword of the Heart, is a state where your sword is no longer a tool but an extension of yourself."

"But how do I achieve that, Master?" Zephyr had asked, his confusion evident.

Ash had only chuckled, ruffling Zephyr's hair. "It's not something I can teach. You have to find it for yourself. When you understand that true strength comes from within, not from the blade in your hand, then you'll know."

Those words had felt like an impossible riddle, but now, amidst his physical fatigue, something clicked.

Zephyr slowly opened his eyes, gazing out at the deep canyon before him. The wind here felt different, as if it carried a message he couldn't ignore. His body ached from unrelenting training, but his mind suddenly felt light.

"Sword of the Heart," he thought, letting the term reverberate in his mind. "It's not about how tightly I grip the sword but how deeply I understand myself."

Zephyr tightened his grip on the cracked wooden sword in his hand, lifting it slowly. He let the wind flow over him, caressing both his body and his blade. In that moment, he felt as if the sword wasn't just a weapon—it was a part of him, an extension of his will.

"I understand now, Master," he murmured softly. "True strength isn't just about physical power or technique. It's about uniting the mind, soul, and sword. When I can do that, my blade will move with true intent."

From a distance, Nina Farion watched intently, her expression unreadable. She had followed Zephyr to this secluded spot, curious about what the young man was doing out here. What she saw was beyond anything she had expected.

Zephyr, who had seemed like a madman with his extreme training methods, now stood calmly at the edge of the canyon, his wooden sword raised as if in silent conversation with the wind.

"What is he doing?" Nina thought, feeling a mix of confusion and fascination.

She had never fully understood Zephyr. To her, he was an enigma—a young man rejected by her father, Gal Farion, who still chose to remain in the harsh Holy Land of Swords. And now, watching him, she saw something different.

There was a stillness in the way Zephyr stood, as though the world around him had paused. The fierce wind seemed to become part of him, and Nina could feel an aura radiating from him—one that wasn't just about physical strength but something much deeper.

"He's… changed," Nina whispered, unable to tear her eyes away.

The gray sky above the canyon seemed to grow quieter, as though nature itself waited in anticipation. The snowfall slowed, hovering in midair as if unsure where to go. In that stillness, Zephyr Ranga stood resolutely, his wooden sword raised above his head.

His gray eyes focused, not on the outside world, but within himself. The wind, once howling, now stilled, as if unwilling to disturb his concentration. The aura surrounding Zephyr shifted—from chaos to a serene, rippling calm.

Nina, hiding behind a tree in the distance, held her breath. The scene before her felt almost otherworldly. Zephyr, usually brimming with raw, unrefined determination, now exuded an entirely different presence.

Zephyr slowly inhaled, aligning his thoughts with his body. His master Ash's words resonated in his mind.

"Sword of the Heart is a state where your sword is no longer a tool but a part of you."

Without hesitation, Zephyr began to lower his blade in a movement that seemed deceptively simple. Yet, in that instant, the world shifted.

"Haaah!"

His sharp cry accompanied the swing of his wooden sword, but what followed left Nina frozen in place. The motion wasn't visibly extraordinary—it moved too fast for the eye to follow—but its impact was like an explosion.

The gray sky above the canyon, laden with heavy snow, suddenly split apart.

Nina's eyes widened, her mouth falling open in disbelief. "What…?" she whispered, but her voice was lost in the air now filled with eerie silence.

A long crack appeared between the gray clouds, splitting them as if Zephyr's sword had truly reached the heavens. The snow, once falling thickly, scattered, swept away by the force of the swing, leaving a clear path in the sky.

"Did he… cut the sky?" Nina thought, her mind struggling to process what she had just witnessed.

Zephyr, however, showed no sign of pride or celebration. He remained still, the wooden sword in his hand now visibly splintered. His face was calm, but his gray eyes carried the weight of exhaustion, as though the technique had drained every ounce of his strength.

He gazed at the sky he had seemingly cleaved, not with triumph but with a quiet, reflective serenity. He felt a newfound harmony within himself—a step closer to mastering the ultimate technique.

"This isn't about physical strength," he thought. "Sword of the Heart… it's about uniting will, soul, and blade."

Lowering his sword, Zephyr let its tip rest against the snowy ground. The weapon, which had been his companion through endless training, finally gave way, snapping in two. He regarded the broken blade for a moment before closing his eyes and exhaling deeply.

"I'm far from perfect," he murmured, "but this is a beginning."

From her hiding spot, Nina could not take her eyes off him. Her hands trembled, not from the cold but from the storm of emotions swirling within her.

"What… what did I just see? That… can't be possible."

Yet she knew what she had witnessed was no illusion. Zephyr had cut the sky—not stone, not wood, but the sky itself.

"He's more than just a stubborn kid," she thought, her gaze fixed on his figure. "He's… a monster."

But alongside her awe, a creeping sense of inadequacy filled her heart.

"I'm the daughter of the Sword God, yet I've never seen anything like this. What kind of training… what kind of resolve brought him to this point?"

Zephyr opened his eyes again, turning slowly from the canyon's edge. His body was heavy with exhaustion, yet his spirit felt light. He had taken his first step toward understanding the ultimate technique.

As he walked away, he felt it—a presence watching him.

"Nina," he murmured, without needing to look.

Behind the tree, Nina flinched, caught off guard. "I-I…"

Zephyr said nothing more. He simply continued walking, leaving Nina behind with her swirling emotions—confusion, admiration, and a faint tinge of fear.