Author's Note: Do Not Unlock Yet. Chapter Is Still Under Construction.
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The sheath whispered. He drew the legacy blade halfway, felt the hair-raising keenness sing against the air, then slid it home again. The chamber took the hum and smothered it. He drove through a sequence without qi, just angles and breath. On the third pass he let a thread of wind lace along the edge. It caught, multiplied, rode the steel like a living thing. He cut, then reversed, and the air cracked like a snapped banner.
He stopped before he cut something expensive. The room hadn't protested, but there was a respectful way to use borrowed walls.
