Once, my martial arts were praised so highly that they were said to be one with the sword. "The World's Greatest Swordsman." Back when I wandered the lands under that cringeworthy title, the warriors in taverns would set down their cups and hold their breath at the mere sound of my footsteps.

But that glory did not last long.

Four years ago, when a fire broke out at the tutelary shrine of the village I was protecting, I dove into the flames to save a child.

However, the arsonist was the village chief's son. To cover up his child's crime, the chief pointed at me as I stood before the raging fire and shouted.

The glares of those who repaid grace with enmity were hotter than the flames themselves.

I was never given a chance to explain. Resenting the pointing fingers of the villagers, I retreated to an abandoned shrine to continue my secluded training and forget the secular world.

Now, four years later, the long silence has been broken by the sound of unfamiliar footsteps.

Found you.

A shadow stopped outside the door along with a low, muttering voice. Then, without preamble, he demanded that I take him as his disciple.

Despite my cold dismissal telling him to get lost, he didn't even flinch. Instead, he replied indifferently, saying that just because I lived here in hiding didn't mean my past martial prowess had vanished.

"What do you think you know about me to act so bold?"

At my sharp question, he opened his mouth as if he had been waiting. He recited the age I attained the title of the world's greatest, and even the specific wrist angles and habits I had when parrying an opponent's blade during my prime.

The words he recited were sentences from the swordsmanship manuals I had personally written for future students. My records, written in the hope of being helpful to someone, now sounded strange coming from this man's mouth.

I want to become the greatest swordsman in this land. I ask for your teachings.