The moon hung high over the Emerald Estate, casting silver light across the sprawling stone walls and the vast green lawns.
The northern hills whispered with frost, and the icy breeze carried the faint scent of pine and distant snow.
Even in the still of the night, the estate hummed with life—guards patrolling silently, the soft scrape of sharpened swords, and lanterns flickering along the corridors.
I stood in the training courtyard, wooden sword in hand, the night air sharp against my skin.
Sir Terence emerged from the shadows, silent and precise.
"Michael," he said, voice low, controlled, "Tonight you will learn Hawk's Whisper. This Secret technique was taught to me by my master, and it is what has made me renowned as the Whispering Blade. Strike whenever you sense changes in the surroundings."
He blindfolded me. Darkness swallowed my vision. Every sound, every ripple in the air, every faintest movement became magnified. Terence circled me, releasing subtle sword sounds, tiny shifts of air, and traces of killing intent.
I focused. My senses sharpened, every footstep, every whisper of wind, even the heartbeat of the courtyard became clear.
My strikes, though blind, flowed with precision. Each movement mirrored the subtle cues Terence emitted—the faintest vibrations, the tiniest hints of intent.
Terence's eyes narrowed. This child… he can sense the world like no one I've seen.
Hours passed. Only the first form of his Star Fall Swordstyle—Glimmering Night—was shown. Terence revealed nothing of the other seven forms; secrets to be earned through mastery.
When the blindfold finally came off, I breathed heavily. Terence stepped back, nodding once. "Enough. Hawk's Whisper is precision. Control your senses, control your world."
Hours passed, and when the first pale light of dawn brushed over the estate, I made my way to the highest tower— Father's office.
My limbs ached pleasantly, and the air smelled faintly of iron and dew.
At the doorway, the patriarch's guards stood at attention, their armor polished, hands resting on hilts.
The emblem of the Ozark Clan—a long sword etched with ancient runes, a dragon's head looming behind it—hung proudly above the entrance.
Inside were guardian knights the - 10 most elite sword experts and an elite force of the clan except the blade guardians.
Father gestured, voice echoing in the stone chamber. "Michael, listen carefully. The Ozark Estate is vast, and every boundary must be understood.
To the north lie the Icy Hills of Glost, jagged mountains crawling with monsters unknown and dangerous.
They stretch from the north to the west. South, the Ochilis lands—rich in trade, commerce, and swift swords.
West, Chambers and Ista—the first line of defense with shields and spears, keeping the northern dangers at bay. And east…" His voice grew solemn. "…the Icy Ruins. Forbidden, ancient, and dangerous. None may enter."
I stepped forward. "Father, the ruins are worse than unknown. The demon Wragnik lies sealed there. Any trespassers may awaken him. Cultists have been stirring in that region—we cannot leave it unguarded."
Father's eyes narrowed, weighing the words. "Then it shall be protected. Fifty Crimson Knights and…" He gestured to the shadows.
From the darkness emerged Sir Rogran Ozark - The Howling Beserker, a werewolf Blade Guardian of immense stature.
Muscles corded, battle scars mapping his body, each mark a story of survival and lethal mastery. His long sword, nearly his own height, gleamed in the morning sun. The moment he stepped forward, every guardian knights present tensed, instinctively aware of the predator's aura. Even I stiffened at his aura.
Father continued, "Sir Rogran, lead fifty Crimson Knights east. Guard the ruins. Eliminate all threats and intruders without question."
"Yes, Lord Lionel, I will slaughter any intruders that touch the ruins."
Rogran replied, his voice heavy, each word echoing power.
He turned to us, analyzing every stance, every breath. His amber eyes settled on me. "Lord Michael,"
he said slowly, "you have worked hard, please await a warriors trial when I return" I bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Sir Rogran. I will be ready."
Father then summoned my brothers.
Father then addressed my siblings. "Lance, Kainel, Derrick… each of you will have mentors, chosen among our finest.
You will train, spar, and face trials to sharpen your skills.
You will not falter. Unity and strength are the true foundation of the estate."
The weight of his words sank deep.
The days ahead would be merciless.
Rogran's departure left a shadow of anticipation and fear—but also a promise of challenges to come.
This was not the time to hide!
It was the time to bleed.
Even as Sir Rogran left, I returned to the courtyard for more training.
Terence's lessons from the night lingered.
My strikes were refined, precise, and deliberate, crafted for efficiency, for killing, and steeped in bloodlust.
I sparred with Lance and Kainel, testing their reflexes against my sharpened senses. No matter the pain, no matter the bleeding, I refused to yield, pressing forward relentlessly even though I lost.
Rod Ochilis, meanwhile, had been assigned a trade mission beyond the estate, though under careful surveillance.
His absence was noted, but not a relief. Shadows of betrayal lingered in the estate, and vigilance
The Ozark Estate, vast and imposing, was alive. And we, its heirs, were now its sharpest edges.