The monk calmly responded with a slight nod, then said, "Follow me."
Takeshi obeyed, silently trailing behind the monk.
As they walked through the hushed forest—lush with greenery, ancient trees twisted in elegant shapes, and towering stalks of bamboo—Takeshi found himself lost in thought.
He had no idea where the monk was leading him, nor what intentions lay behind his calm demeanor. To break the silence, Takeshi asked, "Sorry, I forgot to ask for your name."
The monk replied without turning around, continuing his steady pace.
"Names are meaningless. They may hold a certain amount of power in some situations, but in the end, they're nothing more than burdens."
Takeshi didn't quite understand what the monk meant. His words seemed cryptic, leaving Takeshi riddled with confusion.
Why does he speak like this? I can't keep asking him to explain everything he says. It's better to pretend I understand.
Still, amidst the confusion, a sliver of truth lingered in the monk's words—one Takeshi wasn't sure how to interpret.
My new identity as Ren Takeshi is burdensome in its own way… It would be easier if I could adopt the monk's philosophy and stop caring so much about the image I present to the world.
After some time walking in silence, the monk suddenly asked,"Are you, by any chance, contracted to—or blessed by—a demon?"
The question caught Takeshi off guard. But he chose not to lie. There was clearly a reason the monk had asked.
"I'm a blessed," he answered shortly.
The monk gave a small nod, accepting the answer without pause.
Eventually, they arrived at an old stone staircase that descended to a lower level of the forest. The stairs looked ancient, yet somehow natural—almost as though they had grown out of the earth itself. They had at least 100 steps.
The monk began descending without hesitation.
Takeshi followed, though much more cautiously. Each step was treacherous, blanketed in a thin layer of wet moss. The stone seemed almost fused with the forest, weathered and alive.
On both sides of the staircase, every few meters, stood short stone pillars. Resting atop each pillar were miniature temples carved from stone, each housing melted, long-extinguished candles—ghosts of ancient prayers.
Takeshi could tell this path led to a place of deep religious significance, forgotten by time yet still sacred.
At last, they reached the bottom.
From just a few steps above the final landing, Takeshi caught his first glimpse of what awaited them: a wide, circular platform made entirely of stone. It had clearly been integrated into the forest long ago, overgrown but dignified.
In the very center of the platform lay an intricate carving. Etched into the stone was an open lotus, delicate and precise. At the heart of the lotus, there was a large and strange wheel with eight evenly spaced thick spokes. And in the very center of the wheel—almost glowing in the pale forest light—was a small butterfly. Its wings were shaped like a four-leaf clover.
As soon as Takeshi stepped onto the stone platform, he turned to the monk and asked, "What is this place? And what does that carving mean?"
The monk responded swiftly,"It is the symbol of our god. This was once a renowned site for praying to Him—a place where His believers shared the deepest connection to Him. The same is true for the entire Forest of Fortune."
Forest of Fortune… Takeshi repeated the name in his mind, surprised.
So that's what this place is called? Does that mean this whole forest is sacred to the god of fate and fortune? That would explain why I encountered a monk here—perhaps there were even more hidden among the trees.
But before Takeshi could think on it further, the monk turned to him and asked, "Is that sword your primary method of combat?"
Takeshi nodded silently.
It's my only method of combat, he added in his mind.
Then the monk said, "Attack me again, like you did before—but this time, use your sword."
Takeshi was caught off guard by the request. He would've attacked without much hesitation—he already knew the monk could handle it—but the idea of striking him with a blade gave him pause.
I don't know him that well, Takeshi thought. But he seems like a decent man. I don't want to seriously hurt him.
Sensing his hesitation, the monk took the initiative. In one smooth motion, he stepped forward and struck Takeshi squarely in the chest with an open palm.
Being pushed back so suddenly, Takeshi instinctively drew his sword.
Realizing what he had done, he muttered to himself, "I see."
Without hesitation, Takeshi rushed at the monk, slashing with practiced fluidity. Each strike flowed seamlessly into the next—perfectly consecutive, almost rhythmic in their execution. There was a natural grace to his movements, like water cascading down a stream.
The monk managed to dodge every blow, though this time it was clear that it required more effort than when he had blocked Takeshi's punches.
As Takeshi moved, he noticed how natural it all felt. Every slash, every motion—effortless. That's when it dawned on him: he had truly inherited the original Takeshi's swordsmanship.
The duel became a flowing dance, Takeshi's blade tracing arcs through the air while the monk weaved through them like wind slipping between branches.
This continued for over a minute until, mid-dodge, the monk called out, "Stop."
Takeshi halted immediately, breathing softly as he looked up at the monk.
The man regarded him with a curious expression.
"What changed?" the monk asked. "You just now, you're completely different from how you fought earlier. This time, you were calm—focused. You fought with your mind, not your anger."
Inwardly, Takeshi let out a self-deprecating laugh. That's because before, I fought as Jean Prince—a man from Earth. But just now I fought as Ren Takeshi.
Then he came to an realisation: The gap between us is that vast. Me simply inhabiting his body it's a disgrace to who Takeshi truly was.
When he didn't answer, the monk offered a rare compliment: "You fought incredibly well. If I didn't have the blessing of fortune, a couple of those strikes might have grazed me."
Blessing of fortune?
Takeshi's mind latched onto that thought. So the deity he follows truly blessed him—with luck. Interesting.
The monk then added, "But there are still things you need to improve, even in this state."
"Huh?" Takeshi blurted unconsciously.
The monk chuckled softly—the first true display of emotion he had shown.
"Are you not wondering how I managed to dodge each of your slashes with such precision?" he asked. "I'll tell you—it wasn't because of luck."
That would've been my answer, Takeshi thought.
The monk continued, "It's because I don't pay attention to your sword when we fight. I watch your muscles, your breathing, your stance—even the tiniest shifts." He paused briefly before concluding,"I don't see you as just a sword and its wielder. I see a dozen different segments that come together to form a whole."
Hearing this, Takeshi's perspective on combat shifted.
In that moment, something fundamental about fighting—and perhaps even himself—began to change.
Then the monk said,"There is no way to learn this in the traditional sense. Rather, try to do it—and in time, you will understand it completely."
Takeshi briefly reflected on the monk's words, then nodded in acknowledgment.
Without warning, the monk once again pushed him back.
Takeshi immediately assumed a combat stance—but this time, he didn't rush in, relying recklessly on the swordsmanship he had inherited.
Instead, he held his ground, observing. He tried to break the monk down into separate parts, just as the monk had advised. He noticed how the monk's breathing was calm and steady, his muscles completely relaxed despite his combat-ready stance.
So he knows how to mask these things… not letting his opponent read him.
Just then, as Takeshi continued observing, he saw the monk's upper arm twitch—only slightly, a movement so small it would've gone unnoticed had he not been focused so intently.
Suddenly, with lightning speed, the monk stepped forward and launched an attack.
But Takeshi was ready.
Instinctively, he swung his sword, and to his horror—he landed a clean hit. The blade sliced across the monk's chest.
Eyes wide, Takeshi dropped his sword and rushed to the monk's side, thoughts racing. This is exactly what I didn't want to happen!
But before he could get close, the monk stretched out a hand, signaling him to stop.
Then, without a word, the monk sat down on the stone platform and assumed a prayer position.
The wound on his chest was grave—but not lethal.
Takeshi watched as the monk muttered something under his breath, a chant in a language he didn't understand. For half a minute, the air was still.
Then, right before Takeshi's eyes, the wound began to close. Flesh knit itself together, blood faded, and soon… it was as if the injury had never existed.
Takeshi stared in disbelief, his mouth slightly open.
He just… healed himself. That was… a miracle.
The monk lifted his head, meeting Takeshi's astonished gaze, and said, "Your impressive swordsmanship, paired with the way you took time to observe your opponent, is a lethal combination."
After a short pause he said, "I believe that's enough training for today. Let us rest. You have a difficult night ahead."
Takeshi wanted to ask if the monk was alright, if he needed anything… but the miracle he had just witnessed left him speechless.
All he could do was silently obey.
He took a seat beside the monk on the stone platform, and together, they practiced meditation—stilling the mind, calming the spirit, and preparing for what lay ahead.
They remained that way until nightfall.
As the darkness deepened and reached its peak, the monk finally spoke."I wish you the best of luck."
Takeshi nodded. And in the very next moment, he was mid-run, sword in hand, surrounded by pillars of bone.
He had once again returned to the Shadow Realm.