A samurai without his blade is but a man, his blade and his Bushido are one. He lives upon the battlefield dancing with death, every stroke of the sword like a poet on the paper. With no blade the Samurai becomes a Ronin, wandering without a purpose. Clinging to notions like revenge and justice. Only a true swordsman can realize the truth, that he is the blade, he is his bushido. In the hands of one enlightened to this truth even a wooden sword is as deadly as the greatest of blades.