The World's Strongest Sword Art
If a protagonist is obsessed with a particular technique, the origin story is always something dramatic.
Falling into mortal danger, only to be saved by someone who happens to unleash that technique.
Or maybe their family has studied it for generations, so it naturally becomes theirs too.
Or perhaps someone they admire uses it—there are all sorts of triggers you could imagine.
It would've been nice if mine was like that, but nope. It all started because an anime character drawing their sword looked so damn cool.
Sheathing the blade, then drawing and slashing in one fluid motion.
Such a simple action, yet that static poise—why did it make my heart race like this?
The paradoxical beauty of utter stillness like a serene lakeside, exploding into waterfall ferocity. I was utterly captivated.
After that anime, I devoured anything with Battōjutsu: comics, shows, movies, dramas, novels—didn't matter.
And the more I learned about Battōjutsu, the deeper I fell.
Eventually, just watching wasn't enough. I decided to learn the real deal in the real world.
First thought: the local kendo dojo.
Most wouldn't teach Battōjutsu—something about it being too "Japanese"—but not all.
A Korean branch of a famous Japanese sword school.
Turns out I wasn't the only Korean hooked on its charm. Lucky me—I could learn authentic Battōjutsu without going to Japan.
But...
"No, sir!! Battōjutsu isn't like that!"
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"I've told you a dozen times: it's for ambushes. Why draw and then sheath it again?!"
"Why? So I can swing even faster next time, duh."
"No, that's not how it works!! Just drawing and swinging is stronger!!"
"Man... You're a kendo master—how do you not get this? The friction from drawing converts to kinetic energy, adding speed and power!"
"I said no!! It doesn't work that way!! Drawing and swinging normally is stronger!!"
We spoke the same language, but why couldn't we communicate?
Thinking back still chokes me up like a blocked airway.
A few months in, I quit and tried other dojos. No one got it.
Were they all artsy types? If they'd majored in science like me, they'd understand.
Despairing at this cruel reality that rejected Battōjutsu, I retreated to my fantasies.
Endless searching led me to Sword Saint of the Royal Academy.
A tale of a protagonist from the Sword Saint's lineage growing into a hero at the academy—famous for its rigorous historical accuracy.
Plus, the MC mastered all weapons, not just swords.
Of course, that included katanas. My expectations skyrocketed.
But chapter 32, the big katana debut, crushed them.
"You don't use Battōjutsu?"
"Battōjutsu? Oh, that cowardly assassins' trick? I'd never stoop to ambushing someone whose sword isn't even drawn yet."
"Wh-what?! You fucking...!!"
I yelled out loud at that blatant declaration of war on the National 50 Million Battōjutsu Association.
Sure, versatile Battōjutsu could be used for assassination, but that's not all it was.
Normally, I'd say the author deserved to be sliced by Battōjutsu for insulting my parents' craft—but my training had hardened not just my body, but my mind. No petty comment rants for me.
"What?! You psycho—tried what?!"
Dude writes a knight novel and thinks he's Sir Lancelot now?
That chat ended there, but I kept commenting till the end, hoping to enlighten this Battōjutsu-denier.
Chapters piled up: 50, 100, 200, finally 653—the finale.
That fateful reply... and I blacked out. When I woke...
"Waaah!!"
I was a baby.
It took maybe 10 seconds—give or take—to grasp what happened.
Battōjutsu [Rank: F]
Draws a sheathed sword in a flash to strike foes. But just swinging after drawing is faster and stronger.
Only an idiot wouldn't notice this rude, inaccurate crap floating in front of me.
Reincarnated with the ultimate skill Battōjutsu, my new name: Ian Bar Tow.
Barony title: barely noble scraps. Didn't matter.
With supreme Battōjutsu, I could go anywhere.
I dreamed of reaching Battōjutsu's peak—limits my old body couldn't breach.
But as a baby, I couldn't even hold my head up, let alone draw.
So I satisfied myself with imagination till I grew.
Then hell began.
Got the ultimate skill... but couldn't use it. Pure contradiction!!!
All I could do: imagine myself drawing.
Suckling Mom, shitting diapers—always mentally drilling Battōjutsu imagery.
Years passed. At 5...
"Father! I want a sword!!"
Now mobile, I begged Dad straight-up.
"What?!"
He panicked at my boldness—but beamed at my sword interest.
"Yes, Ian! That's my boy! I'll grab my old one from—"
"No! I want a specific one!"
"Eh? Which?"
"Yes! A katana—from the East!"
"Katana? How does a kid like you even...?"
Dad gawked as I named the perfect weapon for Battōjutsu.
Makes sense—a 5-year-old naming a killer blade?
"Well... not a bad choice. Alright, I'll get one soon!"
"Yes!!"
Soon after, he delivered two katanas as promised.
With them, I drilled Battōjutsu nonstop—even in sleep.
On a vibrant spring day, gentle breeze caressing new life, I drew.
"Battōjutsu!!! "
Scorching summer sun baking the earth, sweat pouring under brutal heat, I drew.
"Hah... hah... B-Battōjutsu!!!"
Autumn leaves aflame, harvest joy in the air, munching sweet potatoes, I drew.
"Nom nom... Battōjutsu!!!"
Harsh winter blanketing all in white slumber, enduring biting cold, I drew.
"B-B-Battō...jujutsu...!!"
Always, only Battōjutsu. Sick, even when Father died as a warrior—I never skipped a draw.
The result...
"Battō."
Lightning from the sheath, deafening roar, shockwave—felling a massive tree.
Battōjutsu [Rank: B++]
Draws a sheathed sword in a flash to strike foes. What... what made you like this?
15 years of training: my Battōjutsu shattered the sound barrier, tearing the air itself.