Chapter 12: The Power of Yoruha
Aric remained in the confines of his room, the air heavy with the scent of burning incense as he practiced with Yoruha. Sweat dripped down his brow as he executed one of the Sword Saint's techniques — a sweeping slash that seemed to cleave through the very air itself. Each swing of the blade felt more natural, more fluid, as though his muscles were gradually awakening to the memories embedded within the katana.
Yoruha gleamed, its edge catching the dim light filtering through the open window. Aric's eyes were cold, focused. In his mind, flashes of the Sword Saint's battles resurfaced, each stroke of the blade like a symphony of death. The Sword Saint's techniques were precise, brutal, and methodical, and Aric was determined to master them all. His mind was a battlefield of memories — the Sword Saint's life and experiences flashing before his eyes like fragments of a dream, each moment a lesson in the art of the blade.
In a single, fluid motion, he brought the blade down in a powerful arc, the sound of the air splitting around it echoing through the room. He exhaled deeply, sheathing the katana and rolling his shoulders. Despite the fatigue weighing down his muscles, Aric felt exhilarated. With each passing day, he was getting stronger. Yet the Sword Saint's voice echoed in his mind, urging him to perfect each move, to eliminate every weakness, to embody the very essence of a true Sword Saint.
A knock sounded at the door, breaking the silence. It was Leon. "It's time, Aric. We're leaving tomorrow. The emperor has given us permission to return to our families."
Aric wiped the sweat from his brow, nodding as he met Leon's gaze. The boy still looked as cheerful and oblivious as ever, his innocent smile in stark contrast to the darkness Aric now harbored within. There was a dissonance between them now — Leon's pure-hearted optimism and Aric's newfound hunger for power, a hunger that thrummed through his veins like a living entity.
"I know," Aric said, his tone cool and composed. "Let me finish up here. I'll meet you outside."
That night, as they dined in the great hall for the last time, the atmosphere was tense. Nobles whispered behind gilded fans, their eyes darting toward Aric and Leon. News of Aric's exceptional performance in the sparring match against Leon had spread throughout the palace. Some praised him as a prodigy, while others feared what he might become. The air was thick with murmurs of suspicion, and every glance that fell upon Aric felt like a silent accusation — a reminder that his power was growing too quickly, too dangerously.
Leon remained oblivious, chatting animatedly about the upcoming Academy enrollment, his excitement palpable. "I can't wait to see what the Academy is like! I've heard they have training grounds as big as the emperor's palace and instructors who can control lightning!"
Aric smiled, though it was a hollow gesture. "Yeah, sounds amazing."
But his mind was elsewhere — on the katana resting in his room, on the techniques still ingrained in his muscles, on the power he would unleash once he mastered Yoruha. The katana felt like a living entity, a vessel for the Sword Saint's indomitable spirit. Every time Aric wielded it, he could almost hear the whispers of the Sword Saint's voice, guiding him through each strike and stance, pushing him to surpass even the original wielder.
The next morning, they stood at the palace gates, the rising sun painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. Leon's carriage awaited, a symbol of the prince's royal status. Aric's was a simpler affair — a sturdy horse-drawn carriage that would take him back to his family estate.
"Guess we'll see each other at the Academy," Leon said, clapping Aric on the shoulder. "Take care, alright?"
Aric's smile was dark and inscrutable. "You too, Leon."
As the carriages rolled away in opposite directions, Aric settled back against the seat, his hand resting on Yoruha's hilt. The road stretched out before him, winding toward the distant hills and the estate where his parents awaited. The journey felt longer than it should, every bump and jolt reminding him of how much he had changed since he last left home.
Upon arriving, his parents welcomed him with open arms, their faces beaming with joy. But Aric's mind was already elsewhere, his eyes cold and calculating as he made his way to the training grounds behind the estate. Two months. He would have two months to train with Yoruha, to hone the Sword Saint's techniques, to become stronger, faster, deadlier.
Every morning, he would rise before dawn, his breath fogging the cool air as he practiced each strike, each stance, each form until his muscles ached and his hands blistered. Yoruha became an extension of himself — a part of him that pulsed with the Sword Saint's legacy. The katana felt like a living being, its whispers echoing in Aric's mind, urging him to perfect every move, to cut down all who stood in his way. And each night, as he collapsed onto his bed, visions of Lilith's crimson eyes and Leon's naive smile would haunt his dreams.
Two months passed in a blur of sweat, blood, and steel. Aric's form grew sharper, his strikes more precise, his control over Yoruha more refined. And when the summons to Aetherion Academy finally arrived, Aric sheathed the katana with a grim smile. He was ready. Ready to show the world what he had become. Ready to seize the power he so desperately craved.
As he stepped onto the carriage bound for the most powerful institution in the world, Aric's heart thudded with a dark, insatiable hunger — a hunger that Yoruha echoed, its blade gleaming beneath the morning sun like a predator's smile. The katana was no longer just a weapon; it was the perfect weapon to claim everything he desired, a symbol of the power he intended to seize and the fear he intended to instill.
But as the carriage rumbled forward, Aric couldn't shake the feeling that the Sword Saint's legacy came with a price. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, as though the spirit of the Sword Saint still lingered within the blade, waiting to see if Aric was truly worthy of wielding it. Would the katana elevate him to greatness, or would it consume him in the end?