Arvel's gaze was sharp, weighing every flicker of my expression as though peeling back the layers of my soul.
"Tell me, Kael… do you want to survive?"
The words hung in the air like a blade pressed against my throat.
For a moment, I hesitated. Images flooded my mind—darkness, the tearing jaws of the hounds, the suffocating cold as life slipped away. And then, brighter ones: Liana's tears soaking into my shoulder, her trembling arms holding me as if she could anchor me to this world, the warmth of her light chasing away the void.
I clenched my fists. My voice came out rough, but steady.
"Yes."
Arvel's eyes narrowed, but I didn't falter.
"I want to survive. I want to protect the people who matter to me. Even if I have to break myself a thousand times, I'll live. Because if I fall… then the ones I love fall too."
The silence that followed was heavy. Arvel didn't move, didn't speak. But I thought—just for a heartbeat—I saw the faintest curve of approval in his eyes.
He moved away from the window and sank into the chair. I stepped forward, standing before him.
"So, Kael… why don't you practice the Thorne Spear Style? It's one of the finest spear arts in the world—our family's pride. A five–star art."
He wasn't wrong.
Every discipline—whether martial arts like swordsmanship, spearplay, or even bare–handed combat, or mystical practices like mana circulation, recovery, or channeling—possessed specialized techniques. These techniques weren't mere movements. They were structured methods that shaped mana or aura into lethal forms of combat or utility.
That was what Arts truly were.
Not just skills, but refined disciplines carrying destructive weight.
Arts were measured by stars.
One star marked the weakest, while seven stars belonged only to myth. In the Human Federation, five–star arts stood as the peak. Beyond that, the other races guarded their six–star arts, reserved for SSS–rank monsters and legends, not ordinary men.
And the Thorne family… possessed one of those rare five–star arts.
The Thorne Spear Art.
But I lowered my eyes, a bitter taste on my tongue.
"I can't use it."
I lowered my head slightly.
"I can only use two of the eight forms… and even those, I haven't mastered."
My voice was steady, but the weight of the truth pressed against my chest.
"The spear isn't my weapon," I added, fingers brushing against the hilt at my side. "My blade is the katana."
The commander's eyes lingered on me, unreadable as always.
"In the future, I'll need a sword art… a real one," I said, forcing the words out. "Something that matches me."
He said nothing, but I could feel his gaze judging, measuring.
Of course, I already knew where I would find the perfect sword art.
But that was for later.
For now… I had to survive, endure, and grow stronger within these walls.
"A sword art, you say?"
Commander Arvell's voice was calm, but there was a weight behind his words. "Do you think finding a sword art is easy? With the Thorne family's influence, of course, you could acquire one. But understand this—those sword arts sold in the markets, no matter how flashy, are little more than hollow shells. Only the arts guarded by ancient families, passed down generation after generation, are true legacies. With them, heirs stand at the peak of their era. Without them, even talent struggles to keep up
....
AUTHOR NOTE....
Read the remaining chapter on my other webnovel with the same name and cover..
I'll be continuing this story on my other novel (same name and cover). This version will be deleted soon, so please head over there to keep following the journey. Thank you for your support!