"Then listen and attend closely, bhikkhus, I will speak."

"Yes, venerable sir," the bhikkhus replied. The Blessed One said this:

"Bhikkhus, when the uninstructed worldling is being contacted by a painful feeling, he sorrows, grieves, and laments; he weeps beating his breast and becomes distraught. He feels two feelings—a bodily one and a mental one. Suppose they were to strike a man with a dart, and then they would strike him immediately afterwards with a second dart, so that the man would feel a feeling caused by two darts. So too, when the uninstructed worldling is being contacted by a painful feeling … he feels two feelings—a bodily one and a mental one.

"Being contacted by that same painful feeling, he harbours aversion towards it. When he harbours aversion towards painful feeling, the underlying tendency to aversion towards painful feeling lies behind this. Being contacted by painful feeling, he seeks delight in sensual pleasure. For what reason? Because the uninstructed worldling does not know of any escape from painful feeling other than sensual pleasure. When he seeks delight in sensual pleasure, the underlying tendency to lust for pleasant feeling lies behind this. He does not understand as it really is the origin and the passing away, the gratification, the danger, and the escape in the case of these feelings. When he does not understand these things, the underlying tendency to ignorance in regard to neither-painful-nor-pleasant feeling lies behind this.

"If he feels a pleasant feeling, he feels it attached. If he feels a painful feeling, he feels it attached. If he feels a neither-painful-nor-pleasant feeling, he feels it attached. This, bhikkhus, is called an uninstructed worldling who is attached to birth, aging, and death; who is attached to sorrow, lamentation, pain, displeasure, and despair; who is attached to suffering, I say.

-Saṁyutta Nikāya 36.6, Sallatha (Dart) Sutta (Theravāda Canon)

To hate one's enemies was to hate one's self- that was one of the first things the Sculptor had taught Wolf. One who wishes for an enemy to be abandoned by their allies will instead be abandoned themselves, their own bitterness and anger pushing away those around them. One who wishes for an enemy to be damned to naraka will instead be damned themselves, condemned by their own resentment. Hatred had killed the sculptor, and it had nearly just killed him- but with Godrick standing before him, what else was he supposed to feel?

If nothing else, it seemed that the feeling was mutual- Godrick snarled at him with animalistic rage, axe swinging with reckless abandon. Arms writhed on every surface of his body, spasming and clenching into fists.

" Lowly worm! " The massive axe slowly rose above his body, leaving more than enough time to dodge. The beast of a man was freakishly strong, but it meant nothing if he couldn't land a hit.

" Thou think'st… " The axe dropped, cleaving the stone beneath it. "... thou can burn my castle? My Stormveil?" His rage was petulant, like that of a child losing a toy. This was not a battle- this was a tantrum, and it was one Wolf was more than capable of weathering.

There would be no room for brutality here- the flames within still burned brightly from his outburst. It would need to be clean- as clean as killing something with that many moving limbs could be. It would be a single deathblow, struck only at a vital organ- he had no clue where the demigod's organs were, or even how many he had, so the head would have to do.

Were Godrick a more capable foe, a deathblow would be extremely difficult, if not impossible. Each one of his arms could prove an obstacle, jerking around and reaching for him at an inopportune time. As it stood, though, most of the arms seemed to serve as decoration rather than any actual practical use, remaining stationary aside from occasional twitches. Whether he was unable to control them all at once or simply thought doing so was unnecessary against such an insignificant foe was hard to tell- but either way, it served to Wolf's benefit. What also served to Wolf's benefit was that the lumbering demigod seemed to have almost no training whatsoever, relying on brute force alone to heave the axe around like a club. One opening is all it would take- and there were far more than one. Every dodge and parry served only to enrage Godrick further, and with rage, came even more sloppiness. His axe faltered- and in a desperate maneuver, he thrust out the axe, hoping to knock the shinobi off guard.

What happened next would be a matter of muscle memory- the axe was just large enough to jump on to. His own weight wouldn't be enough to push the axe to the ground, but he didn't need to- he just needed to use it as a springboard. Perhaps if Godrick weren't so prideful, so assured in his own strength, he might have been able to predict what would happen next. With impossibly fluid motion, the shinobi hurled himself onto the axe, before jumping once more, wrapping around Godrick's neck. He straddled the demigod's neck, fighting against the hands trying to claw at him from behind, and locked his sword in front of his throat.

The raspy voice groaned out, " I… am a Lord…" Was it meant for the shinobi to hear, so that he could reinforce his authority one last time before his death? Or was it meant for himself, a desperate reassurance that his life, and the many lives he had sacrificed, had meant something? The shinobi didn't know- and he believed it wasn't worth it to dwell on such things- not if he wished to contain himself any longer.

With only one thing left to do, he pulled back his hands. In a single euphoric moment, he felt his blade encounter resistance, before continuing on its path. Something fell to the ground with a wet thud. A geyser emerged from the stump of the demigod's neck. He felt the grotesque arms tearing at his back grow slack.

He dismounted the mass of limbs and sighed quietly. That shouldn't have felt as good as it did- but for now, he was still in control of himself. He felt something enter him- a Great Rune, though inert. He planned to keep it that way. One of two- he would need to consider which would be the second. Godrick had been rather easy to slay, but Melina had stated that he was the exception, not the rule- Godrick was a demigod only in name, and if he had not devoted his entire existence to cutting up others to take their power as his own, he would not be much stronger than a regular man. Worrying about what came next could be saved for later, though- for now, he could rest.

If he had to describe Liurnia in a word, it would probably be wet. Not that he was unused to such things, but it was an interesting change of pace from Limgrave. He had encountered a few folk already- a dejected sorcerer of some kind, a blind woman on a quest, and a girl who really needed to improve her posture. The lattermost had asked him to retrieve a pendant from another man, wearing some kind of strange metal helmet- perhaps helping others was what he needed to calm his hatred and better himself.

He stood calmly, waiting for the man to notice him. "Oi, is there a reason yer standin' 'ere? Want me prawn, do ya? Well, if you've got the runes…"

"No."

The helmeted man cocked his head in annoyed confusion. "No prawn? Why're you…" He paused, noticing how Wolf's eyes locked on to the pendant around his neck. "Ah, I see. Admirer of fine craftsmanship, you are. Well, I could be willin' to part with it, if you've got the runes. I'm thinkin' a thousan-"

Runes? He had plenty- and they were useless to him anyway. "Deal."

The man paused. "...Well, I can appreciate a man who knows what he wants. Nice to see someone with sense 'round here. So, that'll be all, then?" He unclasped the pendant and gave it to the shinobi.

He took the pendant into his hands. Well, that was easier than expected. He was pretty much done talking to the helmeted man- but he was also pretty tired of eating Rowa berries all the time. "...How much would I have to pay for the prawn?"

"Ah, a man with good taste, too! Well, my friend, I'm sure we can come to an agreement- no friend of Big Boggart goes hungry." His mouth, one of the few features uncovered by his helmet, was locked in a jolly grin.

With a wave and a goodbye, he left the company of the so-called Big Boggart, a considerable number of runes poorer. What he lacked in runes, though, he made up for in something infinitely more valuable- prawn. He knew that Buddhists shouldn't spend their time chasing transient pleasures, but he had been stranded in another world- if he wanted to eat piles of shrimp to try and feel better, he would. The girl, Rya, was ecstatic to be reunited with her pendant, rewarding him with an invitation to an estate of some kind. He took it and thanked her- but he was almost certain he would not be going. He had dedicated himself to a master already- and nothing in this world could or would supersede that.

Helping out others had felt alright, he supposed, but didn't really do much to help him with his "burning from the inside" situation. And so, his journey through Liurnia continued. He trotted on Torrent through the ruin-covered swamp- he would go so far as to call it relaxing, if it weren't for everything trying to murder him. If he never saw one of those damn lobsters again, it would be too soon. After a few hours of exploration, he arrived at a half-sunken church- the surrounding water was tinted with blood, or something strongly resembling it.

He raised his blade and turned, just in time to lock swords with the figure that lunged from behind him. "Good, good! I would love to… ah, but I did promise him." The masked man spoke in a conflicted tone, pulling back his sword.

The shinobi still kept his blade up- "Who are you?"

He wore a wooden mask of an old man- reminiscent of Isshin, in a way. And that katana- it had a red aura, yet not the same as the Mortal Blade. This man was definitely from Japan- or an equivalent to it. "Ah, haven't figured it out yet? I did catch you off guard, I suppose!" The man seemed to find this incredibly funny- he began to cackle aloud. After a few seconds of full laughter, he calmed down and spoke- "Okina. I believe our mutual… associate, let's say… has spoken to you of me. And he has spoken to me a great deal of you."

Well, now was the time for questions. Wolf slowly lowered his blade… "Do you know Japan?"

Okina paused, and scratched his mask's fake beard. "Hm. Can't say I do."

Still inconclusive, then, if the Land of Reeds is Japan. "Why did you leave the Land of Reeds?"

"Bored."

Wolf looked confused at this- "...During a civil war?"

Okina's hand twitched- "Nothing left for me there. Steel can't be sharpened by stone. I had to climb new mountains- none worth climbing still existed in that land. But maybe I was wrong- if warriors such as you still come from there."

The shinobi's eyes sharpened. "Most flee from war. You would seek more of it?" Looking into the mask's eyes, he saw a dim light- the reflection of Shura. It was only a possibility for now, but even the possibility should be enough to kill him. Then again- he would be a hypocrite for doing so. He had almost lost himself to Shura only hours ago, and here he was walking around. Isshin had spared him, all that time ago. For now, he would give the same courtesy to Okina.

His mouth was not visible, but his voice suggested a wolfish grin. "I do not seek war. I seek battle."

Wolf scowled at him, "It is a miracle you have not been consumed by hatred."

At this, the man cackled once more. "Ha! I am consumed by hatred every day, friend. How else am I to achieve enlightenment?"

The shinobi raised his blade slightly- "Your jokes are in poor taste, friend. I have seen firsthand how hatred destroys- one must be misguided or evil to call such a thing enlightenment."

The man paused his uproarious laughter to sigh- "It is sad, to see a young Buddhist so improperly taught. You haven't seen the destruction that hatred brings. You have seen the destruction that a lack of control of hatred brings."

The shinobi paused- "What do you mean?"

Okina began stroking his fake beard once more- "Perceptions, attachments, emotions, form, sensation- these are not the spirit, but distractions from the spirit. This is what is meant by Anatta, the concept of non-self- what we see as the self, our thoughts and feelings, are instead transient conditions of existence. The body is not the spirit- yet it feels. Attempting to make the body not feel is an exercise in futility. So long as emotions are experienced in the body and not in the spirit, all is well. Only feel once, my friend. Do not feel twice."

"...But how?"

Okina tried to grab Wolf by the shoulder, but he quickly pulled away- "As with all things, realization is the hardest step. We think of ourselves in terms of our perception and thoughts- for what else have we known?"

Wolf hesitated, thinking of a retort, "You say that your emotions do not affect your spirit- why, then, do you continue to seek out battle and hatred?"

Okina shook his head- "Must I guide you through every step? It is true that we should not chase after emotions for the sake of experiencing them- but I do so for the opposite reason- to deny them. If to reach nirvana is to remain untouched by all the sensations and sufferings of existence, I must experience every sensation there is- and choose not to linger upon them. Through hatred, I will temper my soul to enlightenment."

The shinobi thought back to Yura and the Sculptor- "You say experiencing sensation is the way to nirvana. Why would monks isolate themselves, then? Starve themselves? Derive themselves of sensation?"

Okina laughed harder than he ever had- "Because they're idiots, my friend. The Buddha himself has denounced self-mortification. Perhaps, in the beginning stages of the path, it is useful. The spirit cannot be distracted if there are no distractions. But such a thing is untenable. To live in reality is to experience sensation- you cannot blind yourself to it forever. Tell me, when you first picked up your sword and killed someone, what would have happened if you didn't?"

The shinobi reminisced- "...I would have died."

Okina crossed his arms in self-satisfaction- "Nobody can live a perfect life forever. If one doesn't want to be killed, one must fight, and feel the hatred of such. If one doesn't want to starve, one must eat, and feel the satisfaction of such. To reach nirvana is to accept existence as it is, and then let it go. What monks practice is denial. "

Wolf kept his eyes furrowed, "I still think tha-"

Okina interrupted- "There are two drunkards, alright?"

Wolf's eyes furrowed further. "Is an allegory really necessary?"

Okina spoke hastily, taking on a more casual tone- "Okay, so these two drunkards both denounce drinking. In fact, not only do they denounce drinking, they denounce the very desire to drink. Now, our first drunkard here, he runs and screams at the sight of a bottle. Won't let a drop of that stuff get near 'em."

Wolf's eyebrows had never been more furrowed. "I get the ide-"

"Let me finish here, okay? Now, our second drunkard, he doesn't care. He goes to festivals, parties, any manner of event where there's booze. Doesn't take a single sip of any of it, though. Who would you trust more, if they both said they don't have even the slightest desire for a drink?"

Wolf sounded resigned. "Is it the sec-"

"It'd be the second guy, obviously. What does the first one have to fear, if not his own desires? Sure, his desires might not matter if he can always stay away from the stuff, but the moment he gets close to it- he'll be unprepared. His desires'll get the best of him." At the end of this story, he nodded, as if revealing a grand truth.

The shinobi scowled, and held his blade up - "So instead, you would choose to drown yourself in drink?"

Okina sighed, and his hand twitched once more- "Ah, there's no way to help someone understand what they do not wish to understand. I had thought you more open minded. Perhaps a demonstration is in order." With inhuman speed, the masked man's emaciated hand unsheathed his sword- somehow dripping with fresh, crimson blood. "Rivers of blood have spilled from my foes. I have immortalized them- in my thoughts, their sanguine life continues to flow. They are my flames. I should very much hope to see yours."

Wolf felt his heart race- this man was a skilled killer. Perhaps as strong as Genichiro, if not more. As he was, burdened by hate, he was unsure if he could win- but he must. Okina thrust forward, leaving red ripples behind him. The shinobi parried the blow, but the force of the bloody strike made his muscles throb- this was not a fight to be won through passivity. Wolf spoke- "You will have to keep hoping, I'm afraid."

Okina whipped his blade- caustic crimson fizzled through the air. "Ah, friend, you have a sharp tongue on you. If you wish to keep it attached to your mouth, I suggest you stop hesitating."

Hate would almost certainly consume him if he continued to fight- but to do nothing would mean death. He slashed forward at Okina, and felt heat crackling in his skin.

A bloody haze lingered in the air where Okina slashed, and Wolf felt his charred skin open as blood seeped out. Okina spoke- "You have let your emotions grow close to your spirit. Such a thing is irrelevant- they are, and will forever remain, separate. So long as you recognize this, your spirit may drown in flames, and emerge untouched."

Wolf's arm caught ablaze, and the flesh began to warp. He tried to swing through the pain, but the attack only fanned the growing fire. It was crawling up his side, now- the pain was all he could focus on. Okina jabbed at him- with his conscious mind occupied, he deflected out of reflex. Okina paused- odd, for such a skilled swordsman- but unconsciously recognizing the opportunity, the shinobi sliced across his side. There was no deliberation in the swing- only execution.

Okina giggled- a wet, burbling thing, with blood fresh on his tongue. "Good, good. The result of cutting is hateful. The action of cutting is mere movements of muscle- no different than slicing meat. Intent is all that matters- let there be none." He gazed at the shinobi- only to see his eyes completely unfocused. "Ah, can't even hear me, can you?"

Agony ate at his nerves. It would be easy to give in- to let the heat consume him completely. Yet, he had felt this sensation before- and this time, he was able to resist it, if only barely. Every inch of his body succumbed to brutalizing sensation, but his spirit clung on- though it, too, had not emerged unscathed. It seemed as if minutes, if not hours had passed. In time, the flames began to slowly recede- consciousness returned. The first thing he felt was panic- what had Okina done to him while he was preoccupied? Yet, as his eyes began to refocus, he felt his body move, and his sword slice down, cutting into Okina's guard.

Okina locked eyes with him through his mask- "You're back, good. Do not focus on me- only focus on your body."

Strangely, Wolf followed his directions- yet, his arms continued to move, unleashing a flurry of blows unto Okina, all of which were deflected.

Okina rasped, "You are not fighting- you are enacting motions you have practiced millions of times. There is no violence- only repetition."

Though a strange sense of calm had overtaken him, he still felt embers flicker once more- fire jumped from his pores. Blood oozed from blistered skin.

Okina continued his lesson- "Dispel the hatred that remains. Do not let it fester in your flesh- with every movement you make, let it pass through you."

Wolf felt like a passenger in his own body- Okina's rapid slices left no time for thought, only reflex. He still felt hatred ebb in his chest, but it felt more tangible- a substance to be moved. He had felt this before, his many fights with Genichiro had drilled it into his mind and body. His muscles tensed- roiling flames coursed through his torso, down his arm, and into his fingers. It desperately wanted a target- he would give it one. For a single moment, he pulled his blade into his sheath, and released it once more. With a single fluid motion, a flaming blade cut through the air- the telltale cross of Ashina. Air rippled, disturbed by the swift motion of the sword- before the path where the sword cut burst into a deep red flame. He had reversed lightning- and fire would prove to be no different.

The blast of fire struck Okina's blade, causing the blood on it to burble and drip- but the masked man still stood. Not that such a thing mattered to Wolf- Okina was the last thing on his mind. He leapt, his legs draped in flame, yet his flesh did not singe. In the air, he felt his smouldering leg rise above his head- gravity pulled down, and his leg struck the ground with a fan of flames. The monks of Senpou Temple were vile- but they did know how to fight. He punched with one hand, his fist near-exploding into Okina's sword, while his other hand used Kusabimaru to cut into his leg.

Okina rolled back, his leg still spurting, and laughed through the mask- the church they stood in was devastated. It was a conflagration, red flames tinged redder by blood. Wolf swung his torso around- with one leg raised, a devastating kick fell directly into Okina's wounded torso. He fell to the ground, a wet sputter emerging from his throat. He attempted to rise- but his wounded leg fell from under him. The shinobi swept his blade to the side of his neck- and then paused.

Okina gurgled, "Have you… learned nothing? Your mind must be unclouded! You must act without hesitation until the deed is done!" It was an attempt at a yell, but his voice was too weak for anything other than a breathy rasp.

Wolf kept his blade suspended in the air- this man had taught him how to control his hatred. Still, he was unquestionably dangerous to keep alive- this was a man who was single mindedly dedicated towards enlightenment, and was willing to commit any atrocity to achieve it. Wolf had no doubt in his mind that if he failed to learn what Okina was trying to teach him, he would have been cut down. Perhaps such a decision would be unbecoming of a Buddhist, but if Okina so desired death, he could not find it in him to refuse.

The slice was quick- it passed through air, met flesh, and passed through air once more. A body below him dissolved into dust.

"Forgive me," Wolf spoke solemnly. He did not know who the words were addressed to.

He rested in the church for a few minutes- it was odd to see his enhanced vitality knit his skin together before his eyes. He looked around the church- it was not a comfortable resting place, damp and bloodied as it was. Still, until his wounds healed, he was in no position to move. He didn't like idling around and resting- it always led to his mind traveling in directions he would rather it not go. He tried to close his eyes and meditate- a fruitless endeavor, as always. How anyone actually found relief in keeping their body painfully still, he had no idea…

As he failed to clear his mind, a familiar voice spoke. "It has been years since I have tasted defeat. Take pride in that."

The shinobi jolted back, hand at his sheath- "You! How are you alive..?"

Okina let out a familiar, infuriating laugh. "How indeed! To speak truthfully, I had worried my dedication had faltered to the point where Grace had seen fit to abandon me! It has been so long since I had struggled- I feared I had begun to plateau. Thank you, for rekindling my flame." He glanced at the shinobi unsheathing his sword- strangely, a different one than he had used last time. "Ah, but we have fought today already. There is still much for both of us to learn. Why don't we wait until our paths cross again, and teach each other once more, hm?"

Wolf contemplated, his hand hovering above the Mortal Blade- should he kill him, truly? It was one thing to do so in the heat of battle with Okina demanding him to do so, but to kill him now… He would wait. Wolf still felt the flames in his chest, but they felt farther away than usual- for that, at least, he would live. "...Where are you going?"

Okina leaned against the church's stone wall- "Well, my associate convinced me to make a little detour to try and find you, but Leyndell is where I plan to go next."

Wolf paused- would it be wise to tell him that he was going there too? Probably not. "I see. I'm wandering, for now. Why Leyndell?"

Okina spoke conspiratorially- "Hm. Most people who are 'wandering' don't go out of their way to kill a demigod." Wolf tried carefully not to flinch at this- he failed. "Surprised I know? Word travels fast, friend. Especially when it comes to Great Runes. Where could you be planning on going with a thing like that, I wonder?" He paused, despite the question being rhetorical.

"But as for why I'm going to Leyndell…" He leaned in to whisper- "Well, I told you about how I've *plateaued*. To reach enlightenment, I need to feel every sensation, every drop of hatred there is. I'm only one man- and feeling it all by myself is a bit… inefficient. Well, I've heard tales- the demigods here are a brutal bunch- easier to say what people they haven't massacred. Not all of their victims went gently, though- a massive group of 'em gathered, pooling their collective hate and suffering into a single incorruptible flame, pure and true- perfect hatred. That, my friend, is the key. The key to enlightenment." He tapped on his head, as if it contained unknowable secrets.

Wolf stiffened- "And this flame… is in Leyndell?"

" Beneath. At least, I'm pretty sure it's there. Everything the Golden Order wants to hide ends up there, in the depths- and believe me, there's nothing they'd want to hide more than a flame more powerful than them all."

Wolf nodded grimly, "I see."

"Then you understand the importance of my mission. It's always nice to show a misguided soul the true dharma, but I should be off." Okina slowly stepped out of the church. Wolf did not follow him.

"Hm, you've amassed quite a number of runes…" Melina laid her hand on Wolf. "...Is there any reason you changed your mind about using them?"

Wolf spoke softly, "Long story."

Melina smiled at him pointedly- "It really wouldn't hurt for you to talk more, you know."

He gazed flatly at her- "Don't know how."

Melina looked at him gently- "You had mentioned your lord, Kuro. Perhaps you could try speaking of him?"

He nodded. "Hm… He is… young. Cheerful- Or, at least, he was. it hadn't been easy for him, with Ashina struggling. I worry how he is managing without me. He is… a target."

"How so?" Melina asked.

"He is immortal. Rare, where I come from. Until recently, I had not even seen him bleed. He wished to end his immortality- he believed it could only lead to stagnation. I agreed."

Melina paused- "Perhaps I can see where he comes from. Stagnation… would not be an incorrect way of describing the Order. His immortality- did he succeed in ending it?"

Wolf looked forlorn. "I don't know."

Melina paused, as if she didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry." Another pause. "Would you like me to use your runes now?"

"...Go ahead."

Strength, vigor, and fire filled him. A blaze grew within him- but it was distant. As long as he felt it in the body and not in the spirit, he would manage. The heat within him reminded him of something…

"You wanted to go to Leyndell. Do you know of anything under it?"

A wary look appeared on Melina's face- "...Why do you ask?"

"Someone I had met spoke of a flame that he believed was under it. Do you know anything about it?"

Melina hurriedly spoke, "I know that you would be wise not to search for it. Such a thing… it can only bring destruction. Many seek such a thing- for power, mainly. It is a doomed search- what good is power that cannot be controlled- that will turn on everything you have known and loved?"

Wolf hesitated, taken off-guard by her impassioned speech. "...I do not plan on taking such a thing. But I know that he does."

Melina spoke, steel in her eyes. "Do you believe he can be dissuaded?" Wolf shook his head- he did not see Okina as the type for reason.

"Then, the next time you meet him- kill him. For the safety of you, I, and the entirety of the Lands Between, nay, the world. The possibility of them reaching the throne with such a thing is enough to take such measures."

Wolf was stunned, but eventually nodded. Melina had been nothing but helpful- and Okina had already proven to be a threat without the apparently world-ending flame.

A dreadful silence lingered. Why was it that every conversation he had seemed to end in sadness? He needed to say something nice… what nice things could he talk about?

"When I was back home, Kuro gave me a rice ball."

Melina looked at him confusedly- "A rice ball?"

Wolf was looking upwards, stuck in a memory- "He made it himself. I didn't know he knew how to make such things. I think he must have practiced, while I wasn't looking. He wished to… surprise me, I suppose."

Melina gave him a soft smile- "How was it?"

Wolf had a fond smile on his face- "It was the best thing I've ever tasted."

Melina gently squeezed his hand. "I hope you will see him again soon."

"I hope so too."