A full day had passed…
In the training courtyard, where only the wind dared to break the silence, Kray stood unmoving — as solid as stone.
Her sword was in hand, its blade dulled, refusing to reflect anything but silence. Her clothes were light, offering no protection… revealing not a body prepared for battle, but a soul ready for anything.
She stood still… as if waiting not for combat, but for something greater — a confession, or perhaps… a miracle.
On the ground, Isaac lay motionless, his body as still as death — yet his eyes remained shut by choice.
Kray spoke, her voice calm but firm:
"Today… we begin laying the foundation of Noxvir's legacy.
Tell me, my little one… are your eyes still unwilling to open?"
He said nothing.
She exhaled softly and brushed a lock of hair from her face. Her lips carried a faint, motherly smile as she whispered:
"I know… you've already answered me before.
But this mother, standing before you now, cannot banish the worry in her chest.
This fear… defies reason."
Silence lingered… until his voice came, low and steady — but with a flicker of anger beneath:
"Why do you always smile?
I truly want to know… what joy is there in things so meaningless?"
She stepped closer, light on her feet, then knelt beside him. Her hand gently rested on his head, fingers moving as if to ease the weight of the world:
"How could I not smile… when you're alive before me?
As long as you breathe, that alone is enough.
Your voice… it frees me from this life.
You are my cause… and my purpose."
His features tensed, and his voice turned to cold steel:
"Isn't that… slavery?
Losing yourself in someone else?"
She looked at him, eyes overflowing with tenderness, and whispered — her voice like breath:
"Since the day your father died… and I discovered you were within me…
I've had nothing left in this world… but you."
Something stung in his chest. A strange sensation.
A light pain… yet it wouldn't fade.
What is this?
Why… does it hurt?
Impossible… is this body betraying me?
But he didn't finish the thought. It was interrupted by a voice — familiar, calm, amused, distant:
"Perhaps this is your first time… feeling something real.
Not so awful… is it?"
Isaac answered with frozen fury:
"Emotions… are weakness.
If I could… I'd tear this heart out of my chest."
The Blue Sovereign chuckled lightly:
"Sadly… it doesn't work that way."
The king returned to himself.
Though his eyes remained shut, his senses were sharp—almost maddeningly so.
He felt the scent of the wind… the warmth of the sun against his skin… and even the soft, quiet rhythm of her breath before him—like an anchor tying his soul to this world.
Then her voice came again — soft, but charged with a quiet joy that wasn't spoken… only felt:
"You've finally come back…
It's been around thirty minutes.
You slipped into a deep state of meditation, and I didn't want to disturb you, my little one.
You're… not like the others."
She sat before him in silence, then continued with Pride
"Let's begin your sword training.
The first technique you'll learn was created by the founder of our family himself.
He named it…" The Steps of Death."
Her eyes shimmered with love as she spoke:
"When mastered at its highest level, this technique turns the swordsman into a shadow—dancing on the edge between life and death.
So far, only the original head of the family ever reached that level.
And the one who came closest… was my father.
He achieved the rank of Sword Master."
She paused briefly, then added—her voice slow and deliberate, like truths carved into stone:
"Those who reach that stage… are no longer mere mortals.
They become a threat on the scale of a nation.
Their presence radiates like sunlight—sometimes gentle as rain nurturing flowers,
sometimes violent as a flood drowning fields.
In the end… they walk a razor's edge between good and evil.
At first glance, we detest evil and wish to erase it…
Yet without it, good would never be known."
The king smiled—not with sarcasm, but in rare admiration… moved by the depth of her wisdom, and the nobility of her mind.
Then, she began to explain the technique's secrets — her tone bare and reverent, as if reciting from a sacred text:
Silent Steps: The swordsman never fully lifts their feet, but glides gently across the ground—like floating on water—minimizing noise and rendering movement unpredictable. Weight Distribution: Balance is evenly spread between both legs, allowing movement in any direction without losing stability. Fluid Offense: The movement avoids straight lines, instead flowing in curves or erratic patterns, making it difficult for the opponent to anticipate. Killer's Pause: At critical moments, the user freezes completely—as if vanishing in broad daylight—creating a visual illusion before striking with a sudden, lethal blow. Environmental Merge: On uneven or obstructed terrain, the user blends with their surroundings… becoming part of the very landscape.
Kray began to move.
Her body flowed like a thread of wind — each step precise, measured, as if she spoke to the earth without ever touching it.
There was no display of brute force in her movement, only fluidity and skill… like a hunter who no longer needs effort to catch her prey.
And the king watched.
Though his eyes were shut, his mind devoured every detail.
He analyzed. Reconstructed each motion in his thoughts — as if etching it into a language that would never fade.
Then… he rose.
His first steps were slow, hesitant — but he moved.
He began to imitate her — step by step, motion by motion — as if his body obeyed memory, not will.
And as his limbs moved, a quiet smile crept onto his lips…
For the first time in a long while — he smiled, as if joy lived in the act of rising.
**
Five hours passed.
And by the end…
He had mastered the first stage of the technique: "Cloud Step" — a style that tripled his speed compared to the average swordsman.
Kray sat not far away, watching him while sipping water, a faint smile playing on her face:
"So this… is where your happiness lies?"
He stopped, yet the smile lingered — not on his mouth, but deeper, somewhere within.
She continued, her voice like the tide — shifting, warm, alive:
"Wherever your happiness is… use me to reach it."
She didn't know she was speaking into a storm.
His mind screamed in defiance against every emotion…
But the feeling struck harder — like a solid blow that left a mark.
**
He returned to training without a word.
Though blind, his talent prevailed.
His senses sharpened. His will forged forward. Only death could halt this pursuit.
By sunset, he had reached the second stage: "Water Step" — a technique that allowed him to walk across water or rough terrain for short distances by channeling mana to create a barrier between his body and the ground.
But his body couldn't bear the strain.
His mind collapsed under the weight of focus…
He fell — motionless, breath ragged.
Kray didn't move toward him.
She remained seated, gazing at him with eyes that held no power… only longing:
"My little one… I know you're hurting.
Even though you hate my love… you've never once raised your voice at me.
And that alone… is enough for me."
Her words didn't knock gently on his mind…
They struck like silent slaps.
He lowered his head, saying nothing.
As if the words… had failed to reach him.
Lara interrupted them.
Her voice was soft, yet deliberate — an announcement of presence without intrusion:
"My lady… my lord… the bath is ready."
Kray looked toward the king with gentle warmth and said:
"Noxvir… let's bathe first, then eat.
You did well today."
**
The king walked silently toward the bath, yet his mind was anything but still.
Thoughts gnawed at his skull — a silence louder than sound.
He removed his sweat-drenched training clothes and slipped into the warm water, resting his head against the edge.
Steam swirled around him like mist from another world.
Then came the voice of the Blue Sovereign, calm as ever:
"What weighs on you, my friend?"
The king was slow to respond, but finally said:
"Shame.
That woman… she's slipping into me.
Unbalancing me.
It feels like I'm fighting an immortal… and losing.
I hate this feeling… of weakness."
The Sovereign replied gently:
"Why not… try accepting her?"
The king snapped:
"Strength… requires solitude."
The Sovereign's voice softened to a murmur:
"But time… is undefeated.
Don't be so harsh on yourself."
Then he added, his voice carrying the scent of a long-forgotten past:
"But we… regretted that path.
Be different… my king."
But the king heard none of it.
Sleep had already taken him.
**
Some time later, Lara stepped into the bath chamber, murmuring to herself in quiet concern:
"Lord Noxvir has been here for more than two hours…
And my lady still waits at the table…
The food's gone cold, and she refuses to eat without him…
I hope he's alright."
She approached carefully, finding him asleep — deeply, as if a candle had burned out and left only silence behind.
She whispered in quiet sorrow:
"How can you sleep so peacefully… when someone waits you without rest?"
Suddenly, his voice emerged from the mist:
"My apologies… I dozed off.
Tell her… I'll be out shortly."
**
He rose from the water — and something strange swept over him.
A presence.
Something unseen… yet undeniably there, brushing against his skin without form.
He looked toward the rising steam…
And for a fleeting moment, it seemed… the steam was smiling.
Then — without warning — a voice erupted in his mind.
It wasn't the Blue Sovereign.
It was familiar… yet foreign to memory.
Sharp. Burning. Born of flame.
"Weak."
The king snapped into a combat stance, body tense, muscles coiled, sweat dripping, heart pounding like war drums.
And then… he laughed.
A wild, hysterical laugh.
Gripping his knee, he stared at the floor with eyes gleaming in madness:
"So this… is fear.
Whoever said that… he was right."
Then he turned to the Sovereign:
"And you… you won't answer me either, will you?"
The Sovereign replied coldly:
"I don't know what that was either."
The king said nothing more.
He simply left the bath… in silence.
A short while later, he emerged—dressed in light, elegant attire.
He said nothing… but his features had changed.
His eyes remained calm, closed, unresisting.
In the corridor, Lara was waiting.
She hurried toward him, voice wavering before suddenly bursting out:
"My lord…
My lady has been waiting for over three hours.
She hasn't eaten a thing…
She told us not to disturb you, but I couldn't stand it any longer."
She hesitated, then spoke again — this time with a boldness that erupted from her heart:
"You're being unfair.
Even if you don't love her back… she loves you unconditionally.
Doesn't that… deserve at least a little appreciation?
She brought you into this world, my lord…"
His expression widened.
Brows raised, eyes still shut — as if the truth he'd always refused to face had now struck him head-on.
He lowered his head slightly, and in a rare, quiet voice, he said:
"Thank you."
And he made his way to the dining hall.
**
He opened the door… and there she was, waiting.
She didn't need to see him.
The sound of his footsteps was enough—her smile bloomed from within, not from her lips:
"The food's gone a little cold… but it still tastes wonderful."
Then, pointing to the seat beside her, she said with a soft, teasing tone that barely hid the longing beneath:
"And since you were late… you'll sit right here next to me."
He hesitated…
But his body moved on its own.
**
The meal began.
And as the spoons moved in silence, he realized something…
Something simple
The food… was delicious.
The Blue Sovereign spoke in a low voice:
"Doesn't food taste better… when it's shared?"
He didn't respond.
He simply kept eating, mind tethered to a truth he wasn't ready to believe…
And to feelings… he could no longer escape.