The samurai, having passed his final test, buried his master in a shallow grave at the foot of a snow-covered mountain next to his master, who was laid next to his master. Leaving him to rest, the samurai picked up his sword, and started walking. 

     He moved silently through the towns, spending the days in tea houses sipping drinks, the nights curled up sleeping against a wall with his sword tightly held against his chest. Word soon spread of an unnamed swordsman travelling throughout the land, whose gift with his weapon was unmatched. As rumours and whispers swirled about him, challengers appeared before him, weapons in hand. Fighters of every discipline sought to test their skills against him, in hopes of being able to boast a victory against him. The samurai stayed silent, taking on all who approached him. No matter how they tried, no man could penetrate his defences. None managed to cut his robe nor pierce his flesh. 

     Nor could any man withstand the power of his attack. With a single stroke, the samurai sliced his opponents’ weapons into halves. He sent their bodies flying through the air. Their blood dripped down from the tip of his sword and splashed onto the floor. Onlookers gasped at his might and skill. Townsfolk kept their distance from him, averting their eyes when they walked past each other. The samurai paid their fear no mind. He simply continued his wandering, from town to town to town, his sword by his side, always ready for a duel. The peacefulness of the hillsides and pastures broken with the clashing of metals, the sound of air being sliced through by a sword. The pained yell of yet another defeated foe. And the story of the unconquerable samurai continued to be told. 

     One day, a young boy carrying a beat-up bamboo pole approached the samurai. He got on his knees, begging to be taken in under the samurai’s wings, to teach him how to be strong. To teach him to be the best. The samurai stared the boy up and down, examining every scrawny bone, each underdeveloped muscle, the look in his eyes and the jaw set in his face. The boy would follow him on his travels; through the depths of the forests, the expanse of the plains, the chaos of the cities; all while undergoing the most brutal training from the samurai, who had undergone the same from his master. In time the boy grew many sizes taller and many lengths wider. his muscles obtained mass and definition. His bamboo pole, discarded many miles before, was replaced with a sword of his own. The boy’s mastery of his weapon, under the tutelage of the samurai, was now said to be comparable to that of his master. Now the townsfolk spoke not only of the undefeated swordsman - they also discussed the young disciple walking alongside him, whose power with a sword seemed equal to his master’s. 

     After many years of teaching the boy, the samurai brought him to the foot of a snow-covered mountain, where a blacksmith fashioned him a new sword — Identical to the samurai’s in every way. With this new sword gifted to the boy, the samurai told him he had been taught everything worth teaching. He told the boy that it was time for his final test. 

     Outside the blacksmith’s home, everything was covered in white. Facing each other across a great distance, the samurai and the boy bowed deeply toward the other. Then, drawing their swords, they let out a great howl and charged. The sound made by the crossing of their swords frightened the birds away. The power of their attack sent a shockwave rippling through the trees, snow knocked off their branches to reveal the wood beneath. 

     For a day and a night the samurai and his disciple traded blows, neither giving the other the advantage. They were evenly matched - the samurai had trained the boy well. He had studied the lessons, absorbed the blows, followed the teachings. And now the boy had in almost every aspect become the samurai himself. If they had wanted to, they could have fought for an eternity. 

     As the sun awoke from its slumber, the two were still battling to a draw. The samurai felt the heat creeping up from the ground, the strength in his arms fading away, and he knew that it was time. With a bellow he broke away from the fight, creating distance. The boy saw the sun rise from over the horizon, and surmised that the duel was reaching its end. Mirroring each other’s movements perfectly, the samurai and the boy bent their knees, swords pointed at each other. Almost simultaneously, the two launched their final attacks. They met in the middle crossing each other. And just like that, their battle was over. 

     As the sword pierced his flesh and swung across his chest, the samurai felt no pain. He felt no agony. What he felt could only be described as Peace. A burden had been lifted off his shoulders. He soared through the air as if on wings, landing back on the ground in a crumpled heap. His sword flew a short distance away and buried itself in the snow. As the white surrounding him turned red, the samurai smiled. The samurai laughed.

     The samurai said to the boy: “My feet are relieved! For I have no further need of walking. You — You are no longer Disciple. You are now Samurai.” 

     With these dying words, the samurai turned his gaze towards the east, where the sun was now fully above the horizon line, and closed his eyes for the final time. 

* 

     The newly-christened samurai, having passed his final test, buried his master in a shallow grave at the foot of a snow-covered mountain next to his master, who was laid next to his master, who was laid next to his master. Leaving him to rest, the samurai picked up his sword, and started walking.