THE LEGACY OF THE SWORD MASTER

chapter nine

Immediately Kael was back from the clinic, he was assigned by Master Harond to clean the locker room.

"But I am twice better than most of the kids around here. Why would you assign me to do the chores? I want to fight!" Kael shouted.

"Are you going to tell me what to do now? You could have died if the beast hadn’t missed. I want cooperation, not someone who wants to stand out. Locker rooms. Now. Scrub them clean," Master Harond barked, his voice echoing across the training grounds.

Kael stood frozen. The morning sun bathed the academy walls, but it offered no warmth against the cold stares and mocking laughter of the students surrounding him.

"A hero yesterday, a janitor today," someone snickered.

"Was he even one? The beast almost killed him."

"Maybe he can scrub out his failure," another added.

Kael said nothing. He clenched his fists, pride warring with discipline. Harond’s eyes narrowed.

"Move, boy. Unless you’d prefer to be flogged again."

Kael turned and walked silently toward the locker rooms, each step heavier than the last. Inside, the stench of sweat and damp training gear choked the air. He dropped to his knees, grabbed a rag and bucket, and began to scrub.

Hours passed. Outside, the clash of weapons and the shouts of sparring partners echoed through the stone walls. Kael wiped sweat from his brow, his mind lost in the rhythm of cleaning, his rage boiling beneath.

Just as he was rinsing the last corner, footsteps approached. Master Harond stood in the doorway, arms folded.

"You're done here. Back to the grounds. The king has arrived."

Kael blinked in surprise. The king? What now?

When Kael stepped outside, the training grounds were hushed. The king stood tall on a raised platform, flanked by guards, his expression unreadable.

Master Harond stepped forward. "His Majesty has issued a final test. Pairings will be made. Those who pass, continue their training. Those who fail will either be sent home... or face battle and die as fodder."

A collective gasp rippled through the students.

"Only those who have awakened their Hakana will fight," Harond added. His gaze swept the crowd, lingering briefly on Kael.

Students shifted nervously.

"That counts Kael out," Rand said loudly. "All he awakened was the ability to mop floors."

Laughter followed. Kael stared at the ground, jaw tight.

Pairings were announced one by one. Rand’s name was called. His opponent: Valor.

Valor, tall and agile, smirked as he approached the center of the grounds. But Kael’s eyes were locked on him.

As Valor strapped on his gear, Kael moved like shadow.

Before anyone could blink, Kael struck—not to kill, but to paralyze. His blow landed on Valor’s spine with surgical precision. Valor collapsed, groaning in pain.

Gasps erupted from the crowd.

"Kael! What are you doing?" Harond shouted.

Kael stood over Valor, unmoved. "He was never going to beat Rand. I saved him from humiliation."

Rand laughed. "Saved him? You just ensured your own death."

The king raised a hand. "Let him fight."

Harond turned, incredulous. "Your Majesty—he wasn’t on the list."

"He is now. Pair him with Rand."

Tension strangled the air. Rand stepped forward, rolling his neck. Kael met him, calm and cold.

"You don’t stand a chance," Rand hissed.

Kael’s lips curled faintly. "We’ll see."

The academy buzzed with whispers.

"He’s nothing. Should’ve stuck to scrubbing floors."

"Now he’s going to get humiliated by Rand."

"I heard he awakened a dark Hakana."

"A dark Hakana? How’s that even possible?"

"I want to see how his 'dark' Hakana gets ripped out of him—if he even survives the prelims."

They fell silent when Kael walked past, blade wrapped in cloth across his back.

"The janitor has a weapon? Where’d he get it?"

They laughed, but Kael didn’t look back. He walked toward the training hall, eyes sharp.

The final competition was two days away. Kael knew he needed an edge—something no one taught at the academy.

He gathered his training gear and left for the mountains, the only place he could train in peace.

As Kael ascended the slopes, the cool wind brushed his face. He found his hidden clearing and drew his blade. Every slash was a vow. Every stance, a declaration. He trained until his muscles burned and the sky turned gold.

His mind drifted to his past—to the lessons of his father, to the dreams he buried. He wasn't just fighting Rand. He was fighting every doubt they cast on him.

Each night on the mountain, Kael pushed himself further. By the third night, his control over the dark Hakana had deepened. It pulsed inside him, dangerous and silent.

He returned to the academy under cover of dawn. The air was crisp. The sky gray with anticipation.

Inside the empty arena, Kael stood at the center. He scanned the surrounding, the seat and the thought of becoming the finest Swordmaster ever crossed his mind again.

Only if he could get back his father's Hakana, he knew that was only then he was going to be able to survive the brutal life he was left in.

Then he felt it.

A presence. Cold and powerful. Behind him.

Kael turned slowly, holding his two daggers firmly.

A figure stood cloaked in mist.

Fear prickled his spine.

And the dark Hakana within him stirred with his hands placed gently on the tip of his dagger.