The Lost Panacea [ ✓ ]

Chapter Five: I Used To Be A Samurai

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Day 2 -·- 4:30AM (Dawn)

Location: Isle of Eye

Mission: Operation Lost Panacea

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The vigorous rustles of foliage nearby agitated me. I saw leaves detaching from their parents.

"Finn? Astro?" A bloody string of flesh I didn't want to believe was Finn's hand suddenly sprang out from the bush, then it dove into the sea of green leaves again.

More blood spurted. I closed in on the distance between me and Finn and whatever was below cautiously. My long, slightly curved sword shimmering celestially by the illumination provided by the phone, making me look like a knight in the Lord's army.

Ha bloody ha. I used to be a samurai.

At ten, it was common knowledge that I was a weirdo, a delinquent and walking menace. Now at this point, I wished I had defied Father and attend the shooting range instead of the dojo classes he had forced me to. But then, the truth of the matter was that he (Father) was afraid I would go berserk in the range someday, shooting anyone that annoys me at the slightest. Him included. To be smugly honest? He was very right. I would.

Dojo was the most boring thing I had ever done aside from hand-picking awfully green aphids in a twelve plots maize field owned by one annoying Pa Xhao Lin during the weekends. That aside.

Sensei Chang Lee would repeat everyday in his Chinese droning monotone. According to his name — Chang,  which means harp — I can proudly say he is the complete opposite of the musical instrument. He has never sounded like it his entire eighty-nine boring years.

After school, I attended dojo classes and immediately I come through the doorway, Sensei Chang would tell me to sit cross-legged on the wooden floor and "Deep breath, young master. This way. Focus on your breathing and let your blood flow in a peaceful rhythm. Wavy as the water dragon. Your Chi is the fundamental element you'll require in every fight."

Blah blah blah. In short, the bald, bearded bloke was a bore. Fine. After plenty persistent persuasions, he finally agreed to make me a swordsman instead of the routinely dull meditation.

"I'll teach you the art of swordsmanship. Make you the greatest swordmaster there is, only on three conditions. One, you'll have to be a swordmaker for two years," Sensei Chang Lee had said. I had scoffed. "Two, after you've served under me for two years, you'll promise to obey all my orders and be a good student. The last but not the least is, you will swear an oath that you aren't going to slice through anyone with your katana."

"Sensei Chang, don't you trust me anymore?" I asked, far from sounding innocent. "Especially that last condition. I might accidentally amputate someone's limb but kill?" Mischief puffed from my mouth and gleamed in my blue eyes when I said this.

"I do trust you," he said in a sardonic voice dripping with irony. "A lot, I trust you."

In the third week, I was successful in pestering him into teaching me a few sword stances. "Self-defence against bullies, Sensei." I'd said with the cutest teary eyes, more mesmerizing and cute than that of Puss in Boots.

Six weeks later, I was a half-baked swordsman but I felt like a full-fledged samurai. No ninja in all of Japan could challenge me and win. I was that cocksure.

But now, back to my current situation, I realized I was not only a fool to think that. But a really dumb fool too. I was scared as shit. Suddenly, a dark, feline creature shot up from the underlying bush, going for the only thing sitting atop my shoulders. In other words, my head is in a bloody danger.

Mayday! Mayday!

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