The courtyard behind the Azure Crest Garrison was eerily quiet at dawn. Mist clung to the training grounds, curling around weapon racks and stone tiles, and the air carried a faint tang of dew and iron.
Klein stood at the center of the field, his black coat fluttering softly. In his hand, Whisperfang gleamed faintly under the pale light.
Lucien paced before him, hands behind his back, posture regal, eyes half-lidded in the way only masters and eccentrics could manage.
"Before we begin," Lucien said gravely, "you must understand what the Eight Forms of Celestial Inspection truly demand of you."
Klein nodded, hiding his amusement. He already knew Lucien was about to monologue like a saint from the Sword Scriptures.
Lucien's voice carried across the fog.
"This is not merely a technique to strike an opponent. It is a dialogue — between you, your weapon, and the rhythm of creation itself. To gaze upon the hidden peak, you must first…"
He paused dramatically, spreading his hands to the heavens.
"…accept that you are a pervert of the blade."
Klein nearly choked, surging with amusement. "A what now?"
Lucien ignored him. "To perceive perfection, one must appreciate every curve of motion, every hidden angle, every subtle contour of form. Only then can the blade move without hesitation."
Klein muttered, "You could've just said 'precision training.'"
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "Silence, disciple. The Hidden Peak reveals itself only to those who truly observe."
He drew his own blade, the silver arc cutting through the fog. With a single motion, the ground rippled — a soft whump as the air bent around him.
Klein's eyes widened. He hadn't even seen Lucien move.
The mist around Lucien's blade was cleaved apart, leaving a thin, perfect corridor of empty air.
"That," Lucien said, lowering his sword, "is the first form — Gazing Upon the Hidden Peak. It teaches you to predict motion through presence alone. Every step, every tilt of an enemy's shoulder, must become a map of intent in your mind."
He stepped back. "Your turn."
Klein inhaled deeply. The Talisman of Accelerated Insight pulsed faintly beneath his shirt, its golden light hidden from view but already weaving through his mind like liquid fire.
His perception sharpened.
The world slowed.
Every particle of mist, every vibration in the wind, every pulse of Lucien's mana — it all stretched into clarity.
He lifted Whisperfang.
For a long moment, he simply stood still. Then—
Shff!
The blade danced.
One, two, three cuts in a blur. Each motion came instinctively, flowing like water around obstacles that only his enhanced mind could see. His feet glided over the cobblestones, movements sharp yet elegant.
Lucien's brows rose slightly. "You're… catching on faster than expected."
Klein didn't answer. He could feel the rhythm now — the unseen geometry of the sword's arc, the tension in his muscles, the invisible current of air displaced by every swing.
The fog reacted, breaking into swirling ribbons that spiraled around him like coiling spirits. His eyes tracked their paths, every curve guiding his next motion.
Slash!
The mist split.
Another step — slash!
The air itself seemed to sigh as Whisperfang cut through it.
Lucien's grin widened. "You're already syncing with the blade's breath. Don't stop. Let the sword move first — let your body follow."
Klein pivoted, blade extended. His movements grew smoother, faster, more fluid. His breathing aligned with the rhythm of the technique, each exhale pushing the mana through his meridians, refining it as it flowed into Whisperfang.
The courtyard trembled faintly as his aura expanded.
Then — in one perfect motion, Klein slashed upward.
The mist exploded, torn in half by a streak of invisible energy that carved a thin scar across the training field's flagstones.
Lucien blinked once. "…You're kidding me."
Klein lowered his sword, panting slightly. "Did I… get it?"
Lucien walked forward, staring at the faint line carved into the ground. "That was a mid-tier execution of the first form."
"Mid-tier? I literally just started!"
Lucien rubbed his jaw. "And you're already ahead of where I was after a month. You're either unnaturally gifted or you've been blessed by divine nonsense."
Klein grinned faintly. "Or maybe I'm just built different."
Lucien gave him a flat look. "You're absolutely insufferable when you're smug."
But behind the deadpan, Lucien was quietly impressed. Klein's progress wasn't normal. His perception had reached frightening precision — his blade no longer wavered even at the subtlest motion.
Lucien resumed his stance. "Again. But this time, feel the flow — not just the sight. The Hidden Peak is not about cutting what you see, but what you anticipate."
Klein nodded. His eyes closed.
And then… silence.
The next moment, Whisperfang moved.
It wasn't speed — it was control. Each swing began half a breath before his body seemed to realize it. Every line of motion traced an invisible structure through the air.
Klein's mana rippled outward, forming faint streams of fiery-orange energy. The Iron Drake blood within him pulsed, heat licking through his veins as his body attuned more deeply to the technique's rhythm.
Lucien felt the temperature rise. "He's channeling his affinity unconsciously…"
The mist around Klein evaporated completely, leaving the ground beneath his feet glowing faintly red from residual energy.
Then — in a single, elegant motion — Klein sheathed Whisperfang.
The world seemed to exhale. The air pressure dropped slightly.
Lucien blinked. "…You just finished the form."
Klein opened his eyes. The faint golden light from the Talisman faded from his pupils as its power continued to hum beneath his skin.
"I think I get it now," he said quietly. "The form isn't about looking — it's about sensing structure. Predicting where something will be before it moves."
Lucien nodded slowly. "You compressed three months of learning into… what, half an hour?"
Klein smiled. "Call it a good day."
Lucien exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You really are something else, Klein. My father used to say that technique chooses its wielder. I guess the perverted arts have finally found their champion."
Klein coughed. "Please never say that again."
Lucien chuckled. "Too late. It's canon now."
....
The two men stood in the quiet aftermath, the morning light spilling over the now-clear courtyard. The mist had been banished completely — replaced by the faint smell of scorched stone and morning dew.
Lucien sheathed his sword and walked forward, clapping Klein lightly on the shoulder. "Rest for now. You've already gone beyond what most could dream of in a day. Tomorrow, we'll begin with the second form — Tracing the Silken Horizon."
Klein raised an eyebrow. "...I'm scared to ask what that means."
Lucien smirked. "You'll see."
Klein watched him walk away, then turned his gaze to Whisperfang. Its blade shimmered faintly with residual mana, humming softly like a living thing.
He smiled to himself.
He could feel it — the fire in his veins, the rhythm in his chest, the whisper of power growing clearer each day.
From a nameless wanderer to a one-star cultivator standing on the threshold of mastery…
He wasn't just spectating anymore.
He was ascending.