The mansion's courtyard was silent, only the sound of leaves rustling in the cold wind filling the space. Damon stood in the center, spear firmly in his hands. His sweat-covered body glistened in the pale morning light, his muscles rigid, his eyes fixed on the void before him.
It was the seventh consecutive day he had trained to the limit. With every blow, with every breath, he felt closer to something. Not just power. It was as if he were taming a beast within himself—the fury of his own existence mingled with the invisible decree of the Emperor's Spear.
The manual said: "The Decree is only the first step. When the world accepts your will, your spear will no longer be a weapon. It will be an inevitable destiny."
Damon didn't fully understand, but his body was beginning to comprehend what his mind still struggled to accept.
He took a deep breath, assuming his stance.
Spear in front of him, his gaze fixed, his feet planted like roots in the stone.
"First Stance: The Decree."
