Kael’s boots barely made a sound as he followed the glowing path that had risen beneath him. The cavern walls shivered with ancient power, as if the very stone remembered the footsteps of those long dead. The air was thick with centuries of suppressed energy, old blood, and whispers that only the Hakana could interpret.“…this way…” the voice whispered again, faint yet insistent, like wind weaving through the roots of a buried tree. “…the one who forged the first blade awaits…”Kael’s eyes narrowed. He had to remind himself: this wasn’t some ghost story, some legend told to frighten children. This was real. And it called to him, not because of his bloodline, but because he was strong enough to wield it. Strong enough to survive it.The trail led downward, spiraling like a helix carved into the bedrock. It smelled of earth, smoke, and iron. Kael’s pulse quickened, but his movements remained measured, disciplined—controlled. With every step, he could feel the Hakana growing more alert,

The sun had barely risen, and the forest was still shrouded in mist. Every tree seemed to shiver with anticipation, leaves whispering secrets that only Kael’s Hakana could understand. He stepped lightly through the undergrowth, boots silent, silver hair flowing like liquid light in the early morning glow. The First Master had pushed him to the brink—pushed him beyond endurance, beyond reason—but now, finally, Kael could feel every master, every blade, every soul contained in his Hakana move as one.“…listen,” the whisper came, the First Master’s voice carried in the currents of energy around him. “…you are not merely a sword. You are the storm, the reckoning. They will come, and you will decide how it ends.”Kael exhaled, the tension coiling in his chest slowly unfurling. “Then let them come,” he murmured, letting the black Hakana pulse outward. The air vibrated, trees bending slightly as the energy wrapped around him like living silk. Every footstep echoed in harmony with the dormant

Kael stood atop the hill overlooking the kingdom he had once called home. The palace shimmered in the distance, a monument of power built on lies and blood. The streets below were eerily quiet. Guards had been summoned, armies marshaled—but Kael didn’t fear them. They were nothing compared to the storm he had become.The black Hakana swirled around him like living armor, pulsating with the whispers of a thousand Swordmasters. Silver hair glinting in the light, eyes glowing like molten silver, he stepped forward. Each footfall echoed like the drums of judgment. Every shadow bent toward him, every tree seemed to bow in respect—or fear.Inside the palace, Almond paced the grand hall, hands clenched, jaw tight. Every messenger brought reports of Kael’s path of destruction. Entire battalions scattered without resistance, elite Swordmasters felled in moments. The king’s fury had grown, twisting into desperation.“Gabriel!” Almond shouted, voice sharp with fear and rage. “Call the elite guar