A morning comes and passes as Hoffmann licks his wounds, enjoying a nourishing dinner and a night of relatively restful sleep. Upon rising, Hoffmann had been found felling imaginary foes in the shape of cutting down rolled mats with a glinting Katana, borrowed from the armory Xinobu kept within a well-built Dojo on the first floor of the tree mansion. He hadn’t paused to rest further; the enemy would not wait, and fighting man, demon, or cosmic angelic force required as sharp a blade as a mind.

“Your technique suggests training, but a lack of experience.” Xinobu quipped as he jumpscared Hoffmann once more with his presence.

“Gah - quit doing that, please, respectfully…I’d rather not cut you down by accident.

Well…It's been years since I’ve held a proper sword. I had borrowed an old cavalry saber for protection, before I wound up here. But, I faintly remember…some other blade.”

Hoffmann dug deep into the blocked recesses of his memory, trying to recall a falling memory by reaching out his arm to pull it from the swallowing pit. His fingertips brushed against the sensation of a pitted handle, and he held the Katana upright in a two-hander grip, his arms offset and canted.

“Like this, if that makes any sense.” Hoffmann said.

“Hmm. A European blade, of some kind. A…”Hand and a Half”, of some sort?” Xinobu pondered.

“I-I think so. It would make sense given my heritage.”

“Where is this blade?” Xinobu asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t the faintest idea what it even looks like.”

“Investigate this matter thoroughly when you have the time. If my life of peace is to be disturbed by these beasts, they will live long enough to regret bringing war to my domain, but not live long after that.

Seeing as you are the one they want, I can draw the conclusion that you know the end goal of this endeavor. What are we to do? You must make the decision.” Xinobu said.

Hoffmann hummed quietly. “Hm…you have a point. We’re at Point A. Point C is defeating the angels and demons whom wish me harm for my actions, or rather, lack thereof. Sufficiently whittling their forces down until they give up their pursuit. It's us or them, really, and I would rather it be them. I enjoy living and others living.”

“A fair assessment. Are we to go on the offensive?” Xinobu pondered.

“Whoa, big guy, not yet…Some day soon. Hopefully.” Hoffmann said.

“Let the foolish tiger sit in the bush, thinking they are doing the stalk. The tiger may hunt where it will, but the wolf does not heed to night nor day, nor does it need a bush to stalk from. We must be like wolves.”

“I appreciate the ardour, Xinobu. If more men like you existed in the world…If only.”

“We are to never stop attacking this enemy until we reach ‘Point C’, as you say. But for now, we are at Point B. We have today. The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. The next best time is now.”

“The implications of this being..?”

Xinobu deftly kicked the handle of his naginata off of his back, catching the pirouetting blade as it came down into his hands. He secured a wooden scabbard to keep the blade safely squared away, offering a fighting pose to Hoffmann.

“Let us do one assessment of your talents, so that I may demonstrate your failings and you may learn from them. Attack what you will. If we are to master each other, what hope do they have against us combined as allies?”

Hoffmann smiled, accepting Xinobu’s prompt as he collected a bokken training sword, bowing slightly in respect to his superior.

“Just try not to break anything will you?”

“Pah. Bloody knuckles are a small price to pay for a technique to save one’s life. Come, enough talk.”