The deafening clash of steel and aura, moments ago a symphony of my desperate struggle, abruptly ceased. "Stop!" My father's voice, sharp and commanding, sliced through the ringing in my ears, resonating with an authority that seemed to freeze the very air. He lowered his spectral sword, the terrifying purple glow that had enveloped it dimming, then fading entirely. His eyes, still intense, bore into mine. "I think I would kill you if you fought any longer. It's been a long time since I've fought with... lowering my strength."
Lowered strength? The words struck me like a physical blow, a wave of profound, chilling shock. My mind reeled, frantically piecing together the implications. If the formidable purple aura I'd just faced, the one that pushed me to my absolute limits, was him lowering his strength, then... he has something more than purple aura. It means he has black aura. The realization sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cool air of the training hall. It means he is too powerful. Unfathomably so.
The hierarchy of aura colors, a system I now understood with stark clarity, flashed through my mind: Green, Yellow, Orange, Red, Dark Red, Purple, and finally, Black. Black was the ultimate, the aura of the strongest, the true peak of martial power, a legend whispered only in the deepest corners of the Murim. My father, the Ryu Clan Head, was at that level. The sheer gap in our power, even with my System-enhanced abilities, was a chasm.
A sudden, disembodied voice, sharp and frantic, erupted directly in my head, making me flinch. [Host, why are you facing your father so early?! I just went for a moment, and you are here to die!] The System's voice, usually a flat, synthesized monotone, was now laced with an unmistakable tremor of fear, a raw, almost human panic that vibrated through my skull.
Where were you? I mentally snapped back, my own irritation flaring despite the lingering exhaustion from the spar. You abandoned me!
[I was just called by the Administrator,] it replied, its fear still evident, though slightly more controlled.
Administrator? The word felt heavy, alien, echoing with a power far beyond anything I had yet encountered.
[Host, they are the entities behind the System. They cannot interfere directly in this world, so they have sent me. I am just a small part of them.] The System's explanation, though brief, painted a chilling picture of unseen forces, of a grander game being played with lives as pawns.
I don't want to know more, I thought, a profound shiver of unease running down my spine. The concept of unseen entities pulling strings, manipulating destinies, was unsettling in a way even betrayal hadn't been. It felt like a violation of my very existence. Let's leave the topic here. I have a bad feeling about that. I pushed the thought away, forcing my attention back to the present, to the man standing before me.
My father's voice cut through my internal dialogue, pulling me back to the immediate reality. "What are you doing, son?" he asked, his gaze sharp, assessing my dazed expression. "You have withstood thirty seconds, so you have completed the task I gave you. You didn't last sixty seconds, but it was me who stopped the fight, so I will still give you the sword."
He strode towards me, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the polished floor. Without a word, he extended his hand, the ancestral sword, its polished blade gleaming with ancient power, offered to me. Its hilt, dark and worn, felt impossibly heavy in his grasp.
The System's voice, now devoid of fear and instead filled with a frantic, almost childish excitement, erupted in my head once more. [Host! How can you have this sword?! What have you done, Host?! This is given to the heir of the family! What did you do to get this?!] It barraged me with questions, its synthesized voice almost cracking with disbelief and a bizarre sense of triumph.
Shut up, I commanded mentally, a sharp, cold edge to my thought. This was my moment, my victory, however small.
I looked at my father, my expression carefully composed, hiding the turmoil and the System's incessant chatter within. I reached out, my fingers closing around the sword's hilt. It was cool, solid, and hummed with a dormant power that resonated with my own core. "Thank you, Father," I said, my voice clear and strong, a silent promise echoing in the vast hall. "I will take the responsibility you have given me and make our clan even greater." The words tasted of ambition and a calculated lie, a performance for the man who valued power above all else.
My father's gaze lingered on me for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable—perhaps surprise, perhaps a hint of approval—in his eyes. "I hope you do it as you say," he replied, his voice still deep, a note of warning beneath the surface. "You are not officially the heir yet. There is a requirement and test for that too. You will have to do that first in order to become the heir."
"Yes, Father, I am aware of that," I acknowledged, a respectful nod. "I will be ready for that. But before that, I have some things to do, some preparations to make. So, I hope you can grant me six months of time."
He considered my request, his brow furrowing slightly, a rare sign of contemplation. "No. That is too much," he stated, his decision final, his authority absolute. "I will give you three months. Do whatever you want." With that, he turned, his imposing figure moving towards the exit, his presence receding like a fading storm. Old Master Lee, after a final, concerned glance my way, followed silently behind him, his steps light as a shadow.
I was left alone in the vast, echoing hall, the ancestral sword now heavy and real in my hand, a tangible symbol of my first small victory. Three months. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough to begin.