Journey through all the multi-verse

The Art of Weaponry

Kirito's POV

The training grounds were familiar now, their earthy scent and the gentle rustle of leaves offering a sense of both challenge and comfort. But today, there was something different—a gleam of metal and a subtle tension in the air that spoke of a new kind of test. Lined up on a sturdy wooden table were weapons I had seen before but never truly wielded: kunai, shuriken, senbon needles, coils of metal thread, and the unmistakably imposing windmill shuriken.

Uncle Iroh stood nearby, his expression serene yet watchful, as always. "Kirito," he began, his voice carrying its usual calm authority, "a true warrior must not only understand bending but also the tools that have shaped the history of battle. Weapons are extensions of your will. They require precision, discipline, and respect."

I nodded, stepping forward to examine the tools. Their weight, balance, and even their shine spoke of potential. "I understand, Uncle. I'll learn to master them."

"Good," he said with a sly smile, but then he leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, "Just remember, if your mother finds out we gave you a sharp weapon, we're all getting a water whip to the backside. So… let's not mention it, alright?"

I couldn't help but grin at the mental image of Uncle Iroh and the White Lotus guards running from Mom while she wielded her water whip like a battle goddess. "Our secret, Uncle."

We began with the fundamentals. The White Lotus guards joined us, each demonstrating techniques with the smaller weapons. One showed how to throw a kunai with deadly accuracy, the movement smooth and practiced. Another wielded the shuriken with a flick of their wrist, the star-shaped weapon spinning through the air before embedding itself in the wooden target.

"Focus on control, not power," one of the guards advised as I tried my hand at throwing a kunai. My first attempt was clumsy—the kunai wobbled midair and struck the target handle-first.

I adjusted my grip and stance, recalling Uncle Iroh's lessons on balance. My next throw was cleaner, the kunai sinking into the outer edge of the target.

Senbon needles were a different kind of challenge. Their lightness and precision required finesse. My first few throws missed their mark entirely, but with guidance from the guards, I began to understand the subtle flick of the wrist needed to control their trajectory.

The metal threads intrigued me the most. One guard demonstrated how to weave them into traps or use them to bind an opponent. The intricate movements required patience and creativity, traits Uncle had often emphasized in my bending. I practiced threading the wires through my fingers, learning to manipulate them without tangling or cutting myself.

Introducing the Windmill Shuriken

The windmill shuriken was by far the most intimidating weapon on the table. Its size and weight demanded both strength and strategy. The guards demonstrated how to throw it, and I marveled at the way it sliced through the air with precision. When it was my turn, I hesitated briefly before gripping its handle.

Uncle Iroh placed a hand on my shoulder. "Remember, Kirito, it is not the size or power of the weapon that determines its effectiveness, but the intent and skill of the one wielding it."

Taking a deep breath, I focused, channeling the lessons I had learned so far. The windmill shuriken felt heavy in my hands, but I adjusted my grip and released it. It spun through the air, narrowly missing the target.

"Not bad for a first attempt," a guard said with a nod.

"I'm just glad Mom's not here to see this," I muttered, earning a chuckle from Uncle.

Wooden Weapons for Practice

As the day wore on, Uncle Iroh introduced wooden replicas of larger weapons—katanas, staffs, and even halberds. "Your mother," he said with a chuckle, "would not approve of us handing you real blades for practice just yet. Consider these an extension of your training."

I couldn't help but laugh. "She'd definitely have something to say about that."

The wooden weapons felt different from the metal tools—lighter, but no less demanding in terms of technique. I sparred with the guards under Uncle's watchful eye, learning the basics of defense and counterattacks.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, my arms ached, and my fingers were raw from gripping weapons all day. Yet, there was a deep satisfaction in the work I had done. Uncle Iroh approached, handing me a cup of tea he had prepared during a brief break.

"You've done well today, Kirito," he said, his voice filled with pride. "Weapons are tools, but they are also a way to understand yourself. How you wield them reflects your inner balance."

I sipped the tea, letting his words sink in. The path ahead was still long, but I felt a growing confidence. With each new skill, I wasn't just becoming stronger—I was becoming more complete