Golden sunlight streamed across the imperial training yard.
It glinted off Aslan's crimson eyes as he stood alone at the center — sweat dripping down, breath sharp and heavy. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, still breathing hard.
Huff… huff…
He raised his blade once more.
Clang!
Steel roared through the air — a clean, violent slash. Then another. And another. Each strike came stronger, sharper… more precise than the last.
Aslan exhaled deeply, then shouted:
"Secret Technique: Break Point."
In a flash, he launched himself into the air, body twisting mid-flight — and then slashed forward with raw, explosive force.
FWOOOSH!
The air split open. A shockwave burst out, as if the very sky had been torn apart. Dust scattered in waves across the yard.
Aslan landed smoothly on one knee and sheathed his sword.
He stood up in a flash — no hesitation.
He slashed mid-air with precision, then spun, flipped, and landed gracefully in a seated stance.
Suddenly — he swung his arm backward, without even glancing behind — and then swung his blade to the side, intercepting an imaginary strike.
Then, with a sharp reverse flip, he landed upright again, his blade humming through the wind.
He shouted:
"Secret Technique… Zero Cut."
This time, he didn't swing wildly.
He simply pointed his sword — directly at the wooden dummy.
Silence.
Then—
SWIP! SWIP! SWIP!
Multiple clean slashes erupted from all directions — slicing the dummy apart in an instant.
Not just the dummy — even the nearby training walls and wooden racks cracked from the air pressure alone.
Swords, spears, and even shield edges resting nearby were sliced — without being touched.
The force alone had shattered everything around him.
Aslan lowered his sword slowly, his posture calm… but his eyes blazing with quiet pride.
He slid the blade into its sheath with a soft click.
Aslan murmured:
"I've reached 2-star swordsmanship.
And all it took… was a single week of training."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"It's thanks to my past life's secret techniques that I advanced this far.
Most people take 15 years of training from childhood to even dream of reaching this level."
He brushed dust from his sleeves.
In this world, swordsmanship is divided into ranks:
1-Star – Basic
2-Star – Trainee
3-Star – Apprentice
4-Star – Mid-Level
5-Star – Aura Blade
6-Star – Advanced Blade
7-Star – Swordmaster
8-Star – Grandmaster
My father is a 7-Star Swordmaster, but he'll soon reach Grandmaster level.
He is one of the top 3 strongest people in the world.
And then… there is a tier beyond them:
Soulblade Tier
This is the term used to describe swordsmen who have gone beyond the known Eight-Star level — they have unlocked swordsmanship through a deep connection with their own soul.
They don't train under anyone.
They don't use techniques taught in any academy.
No one knows where they are or what they're doing.
They don't need aura the way normal warriors do.
Their power comes from something internal — a mental/spiritual fusion called Soul Sync.
Most kingdoms treat them as dangerous anomalies,
because their power can't be measured.
They are untraceable. Uncontainable.
Some are assassins. Some are mercenaries.
But some use their power for goodwill — to protect others from Black Ghosts.
Still, they are feared regardless.
People gave them a name:
GhostBlades.
— Those who protect are called White Ghosts.
— Those who bring destruction are called Black Ghosts.
Night fell.
Cold winds brushed through the quiet palace grounds.
In Aslan's room, he fastened the last strap of his belt.
Aslan wore a sleek, silver-lined blue combat coat with a high collar and back hood. Beneath it, a reinforced gray vest layered over a crisp white shirt, secured with black suspenders. A dark utility belt held pouches containing potions and scrolls, while twin swords hung at his sides. Half-black gloves covered his hands, and fitted black pants with combat boots completed the look.
"I designed this coat to sneak out of the academy at night…
but I never thought I'd use it for something like this."
Outside the windows, his Shadows appeared.
"Boss."
Aslan replied in an intrigued tone:
"Let's go."
Beta cast a speed spell, and the group leapt from pillar to pillar, swiftly moving over rooftops, silent and fast as night blades.
As they moved, a recent memory crossed Aslan's mind…
He had been standing beside the Emperor's personal knight — Peter.
Aslan's expression at the time had been dead serious.
"Peter. I want the truth.
People have reported sensing forbidden magic near the border."
Peter's expression stiffened. His eyes widened in shock — but he remained silent.
Aslan's eyes narrowed.
"Your silence confirms it. Now speak — I want the full truth."
Peter looked down, hesitating.
"Your Highness… I'm not permitted to speak of it."
Aslan's tone darkened.
"Can anything be worse than this?
The Emperor is missing. The Empress is poisoned.
And now… there are ten times more monsters at the border than ever before."
Peter exhaled shakily.
"Before His Majesty vanished… we discovered forbidden magic circles carved deep in the earth near the border."