The morning air was calm, carrying the scent of old wood and steel.
In the training courtyard behind the Vlorians' estate, Kaien Vlorian stood barefoot on the stone tiles, his posture straight, his breathing slow and controlled. Sweat traced silent paths down his temples, yet his eyes remained steady—clear, sharp, and unyielding.
Across from him stood Kael Tharion.
The man looked nothing like a legendary swordsman at first glance. His clothes were simple, his hair tied loosely behind his head, and his presence—while calm—carried a weight that pressed subtly against the air itself. It was the kind of pressure that came not from power alone, but from experience.
Kael watched Kaien carefully, arms crossed.
"Again," he said.
Kaien moved.
No wasted motion. No hesitation.
His sword traced a precise arc, clean and deliberate. Footwork flowed seamlessly into posture, posture into momentum. When the final strike ended, the blade stopped a finger's breadth from Kael's throat.
Perfect.
Silence followed.
Kael exhaled slowly, then laughed under his breath.
"…Tch."
Kaien lowered his sword and looked up. "Was there an error, Master?"
Kael stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head.
"That's the problem," he said. "There wasn't."
Kaien blinked. "Then why do you sound dissatisfied?"
Kael stepped forward and lightly tapped Kaien's forehead with two fingers.
"Because you've reached the end of what I can give you."
Kaien froze.
Kael turned away, walking toward the wooden railing that bordered the courtyard. "Technique. Stance. Timing. Control. Adaptation. You've passed all of it. Not copied—understood."
He glanced back, eyes sharp.
"A teacher exists to open doors. Not to walk through them for the student."
Kaien tightened his grip on his sword. "So… this is farewell?"
Kael smirked. "Don't look so dramatic. I'm not dying."
That earned a faint smile from Kaien.
Kael's expression softened slightly. "Kaien, listen carefully. From this point on, improvement will no longer come from instruction. It will come from conflict—within yourself, and eventually, with the world."
He paused, then added, "Let me give you something more valuable than techniques."
Kaien straightened. "I'm listening."
Kael folded his arms.
"Strength is loud. Skill is sharp. But wisdom?" He tapped his temple. "Wisdom is quiet. If you chase power alone, it will abandon you when you need it most."
He continued, voice steady.
"When you are faster than your enemy, slow down. When you are stronger, hold back. When you are confident—question yourself. The moment you believe you've reached the peak is the moment you begin to fall."
Kaien absorbed every word.
Kael smiled faintly. "And one more thing."
"Yes, Master?"
"If you ever surpass me," Kael said casually, "try not to look too smug about it."
Kaien chuckled. "I'll try."
Kael laughed openly this time, patting Kaien's shoulder. "Good. Then my work here is done."
As Kael walked away from the courtyard, Kaien stood still for a long moment.
Then—he clenched his fist.
I will become stronger.
Stronger than everyone.
Even you, Master.
Elsewhere — The Virel Estate
The Virel mansion stood tall and imposing, its marble pillars etched with ancient runes of dominance and lineage. This was not merely a home—it was a declaration of superiority.
Inside the grand dining hall, a long obsidian table reflected candlelight like a dark mirror.
At its head sat Lord Vaelric Virel, the patriarch.
Broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, his presence alone commanded obedience. Beside him sat Lady Seraphina Virel, graceful and coldly elegant, her silver hair adorned with jeweled pins.
To Vaelric's right sat Kalen Virel.
Arrogance clung to him like a crown.
"So," Vaelric said, slicing into his meal with refined precision. "How did your Awakening Ceremony go?"
Kalen smirked. "Perfectly."
Lady Seraphina raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Kalen leaned back. "Name: Kalen Virel. Rank: S. Talent confirmed. Evolution potential detected."
A satisfied murmur rippled across the table.
His younger sister, Lyria Virel, clapped softly. "As expected."
Vaelric laughed. "Good. Very good."
Kalen's lips curled. "I'll reach the next rank during evolutionary cultivation. The peak will follow naturally."
Vaelric nodded approvingly. "That is how a Virel speaks."
Kalen paused, then chuckled. "You know… the Vlorians' bookworm was there too."
Vaelric glanced up. "Oh?"
"The boy Kaien," Kalen said dismissively. "No training. No physique. Always buried in books. I wonder if he thinks knowledge alone can save him."
Lady Seraphina sipped her drink. "And?"
Kalen laughed. "Pathetic. A weak class will always be weak."
Vaelric joined in. "Indeed. The Vlorian family has never once produced a GOD-level being throughout their genetic history."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Unlike the Virels."
Silence followed, heavy with pride.
"Our bloodline," Vaelric continued, "has produced GOD-ranked legends—your grandfather, and before him, his father. Power recognizes legacy."
Kalen nodded eagerly.
Vaelric's gaze hardened.
"But remember this, son."
Kalen straightened.
"You must not fail me. Improve your cultivation. Surpass your limits. Become favored by the universe itself."
His voice lowered.
"Reach the absolute peak."
Kalen bowed his head. "Yes, Father."
The family resumed their meal.
Lyria smiled faintly, though her eyes lingered thoughtfully. "The world is changing."
Vaelric scoffed. "Let it. The strong adapt. The weak vanish."
Outside, the wind stirred.
Far away—unseen, unheard—a different path quietly continued its ascent.