The air in the courtyard was still, unnervingly quiet, as if nature itself awaited something.
Raizen stood in the center, katana in hand, eyes closed.
The memory of his grandfather's voice echoed in his mind, "Voidrend is not a sword art. It is a way of ending things—clean, silent, inevitable. Only those born with our blood can wield it to its fullest. Make it yours."
He remembered the flow of mana when it had first entered him—how the Voidrend had passed into his veins through his grandfather's hand. That mana hadn't felt like a gift. It had felt like a burden. Sharp, heavy, ancient.
And now he had to live up to it.
He inhaled.
Mana surged through his body like fluid fire, guided by instinct and telekinesis. He could feel his blade responding—lighter, hungrier. The first movement echoed in his bones.
Sever the Stillness.
A cut that sliced space itself—no presence, no resistance, no trace.
He moved.
His katana blurred through the air with no sound, no resistance. Not even the wind stirred. A wooden training dummy several meters away remained still for a heartbeat—then split in half so cleanly it didn't even fall right away. It simply separated.
Raizen exhaled slowly.
"That's… the first one," he muttered to himself.
But even now, he could feel the instability in his telekinetic threads. The strain of precisely maintaining the force that made the slash work without tearing apart the natural space around it. He wasn't fully in control yet. It had succeeded, but barely.
"Too shallow," he said, repositioning himself. "Again."
He repeated the strike.
This time the blade gave off a faint hiss—a telltale sign that the cut hadn't slipped entirely through space. The mana was slightly off-balance. Still powerful, but imperfect.
"Tch…"
"You're pushing too hard again," came a calm voice.
Raizen turned his head slightly. His sister, Lyra, stood a few meters away with a small, knowing smile. She leaned against a pillar, her blade strapped lazily across her back.
Next to her was Kael, his older brother, arms crossed with a slight smirk.
"You got Sever the Stillness to land," Kael said, walking over. "And on your first real attempt. Not bad."
Raizen relaxed his grip a little. "Not clean enough. It's still unstable. If that had been a moving target—"
"It wouldn't matter," Lyra cut in. "You're training. Not performing in front of the Emperor. Don't be a perfectionist."
"I don't have time to be anything else," Raizen replied.
Kael exchanged a look with Lyra, then unsheathed his blade. "Then let's speed things up."
Raizen blinked. "You want to spar?"
"No," Kael said with a light grin, stepping into the courtyard. "You need pressure. Dummies don't cut it. Try landing Sever the Stillness… on me."
Raizen didn't need to be told twice.
The spar began in an instant. Kael came in fast—an overhead strike, simple but heavy. Raizen moved to parry but let the sword fall short by an inch, forcing Kael to adjust. Their blades met, but Raizen didn't clash fully.
Instead, he stepped sideways and drew his sword through the air again—Sever the Stillness.
Kael's instincts saved him. He twisted just enough that the cut grazed his cloak instead of his rib. The fabric fell in two.
"You're crazy," Kael said, backing off. "That nearly took my damn arm."
"You said to try," Raizen replied, breathing heavier now. The attack had drained him more than he realized.
Lyra stepped forward, now drawing her blade too. "My turn."
Raizen didn't argue. Her approach was different—faster, lighter. She didn't come at him directly, instead dancing around him in tight arcs. Her blade was like water, flowing, feinting, unpredictable.
He waited. Focused.
When she lunged with a midsection thrust, Raizen moved again—but this time, something shifted.
His blade shimmered—and disappeared.
Flickerfall.
The second movement.
A cut that bent light, rendering the blade invisible for a fraction of a second. He hadn't intended to use it—but something inside had responded on instinct.
Lyra's eyes widened, the sudden appearance of his blade inches from her face forcing her to pivot. The edge brushed her shoulder lightly, leaving a shallow cut.
When they broke apart, she was staring at him, impressed.
"You used Flickerfall?" she asked. "You're skipping steps."
Raizen frowned. "I didn't even realize it until it was over…"
Kael raised a brow. "You're not supposed to get that until you stabilize the first two movements."
"I think I get it," Raizen murmured. "It's like they… echo. Once the feeling of one sets in, the next almost pulls itself out."
"Voidrend responds to intent," Lyra said softly. "If your killing intent is clear… the art follows."
Raizen lowered his blade. His hands were trembling slightly now, not from fear, but the raw mana fatigue that came from invoking Voidrend's techniques. His body wasn't ready for more than two movements.
Yet.
He knew the rest:Weightless Grasp – the telekinetic disarm that holds an opponent's blade still.Hollow Pulse – a delayed strike, cutting the opponent seconds after it's made.Reversal Edge – reflecting enemy force with telekinetic loops.Phantom Shards – launching multiple invisible strikes.And finally, Abyssal Silence – the seventh and final movement. One strike. One death. It wasn't something you used, it was something you became.
He wasn't ready for that one yet.
Kael sheathed his sword. "You'll get it. You're already ahead of schedule."
"We have a few days left," Lyra added. "Then the party begins."
Raizen looked at the sky.
He didn't say it out loud, but he was looking forward to the party—not for the nobles or the showmanship, but because every young heir would be there. His future rivals. His future enemies.
He wanted them to see how far he'd already come.
And how far ahead he already was.