On the training ground of the Camael family estate, the rhythmic clash of wooden swords echoed through the air.
Two figures were engaged in a fierce duel, their movements a testament to their daily practice.
The Camael family was renowned for their unique sword art, which had brought them fame and glory across the land.
However, this same art had also brought a curse upon them, casting a shadow over their illustrious legacy.
"Come on, sister. Bring it on."
Young Noah was huffing and puffing, his shirt drenched in sweat. He tightened his grip on his wooden sword, determination evident in his expression.
"You sure, Noah? You can handle my sword strike? Why don't you attack first?" The young lady hesitated, wary that she might harm her little brother.
"Come on, sis. I am the great warrior Rasura. There is no swordsman that can best this sword of mine." He laughed dramatically.
"That's why I keep telling you to stop reading that storybook of yours," she sighed.
"Hahaha... Now prepare for my sword!"
Noah charged forward, striking with his wooden sword. The young lady braced herself, meeting his attack head-on with a precise parry.
Noah maintained his aggressive stance, continuing to press the assault with relentless strikes. However, the young lady expertly parried and dodged each blow, waiting for the perfect moment. As Noah leaped to deliver another attack, she seized the opportunity, ready to exploit the opening in his defense.
"Now!!!"
She slashed with her wooden sword.
'Got you!!!'
The sword came perilously close to him, but just before it could strike, he executed a backflip in mid-air, narrowly avoiding the blow.
"What? Uhh... almost!!" She was frustrated.
"Did you see that, sis..."
Noah landed with a dramatic pose, poised to turn toward her. However, before he could fully face her, he heard the sharp sound of a sword striking above his head, followed by a sudden surge of pain.
"Ouch!!! I can't believe you hit me when I wasn't even ready!!"
He complained, a red bump forming on his forehead.
"You're the one who always says a warrior is always ready for battle. Never letting their guard down. And now that warrior is crying."
"Ahem... I was not crying. I was, hmm... I was..." he tried to change the subject but failed.
"Ya, ya. Stop playing with swords all day."
"What? But I want to be like Rasura."
"Ya, enough. It's already dark now. Shouldn't we be going? You remember what tomorrow is, right?"
"The execution ceremony." His eyes narrowed.
The only way for a human to become Awakened was through death. This harsh reality was why noble families held an annual ritual—The Ritual of Awakening.
In this brutal ceremony, they sacrificed their own children, hoping to awaken the survivors. Only those who endured the ordeal and survived would gain the coveted power of an Awakened.
Each year, thousands of children were killed in these rituals, all for the chance of unlocking that power.
For a noble family, there was no greater disgrace than remaining non-Awakened; it was an insult to their lineage and status.
"There is a good chance one of us will die tomorrow." She gritted her teeth.
"Ya... we might. This may be the last time we speak with each other."
He sat on the nearby bench. The young lady also sat beside him.
They talked about their childhood, the time they had spent together.
"Hey, Noah. I want you to give me a promise." She held Noah's hands.
"What is it, sister?"
"Noah... promise me that you will never forget to laugh."
***
The next morning arrived. I woke up from my bed, walked to the window, and opened it. The crisp, cool air touched my skin gently. I took a deep breath, savoring the freshness. I would have liked to enjoy the moment, but then I remembered what day it was.
How could I have forgotten?
A maid knocked on my door. Although I never locked it—perhaps out of fear, though I often tried to appear brave—I was actually terrified of the dark.
Each night, Sister would come to my room and sit beside me until I fell asleep. But she hadn't come last night. I couldn't bear the thought of losing my sister; I wished it were possible for me to take her place.
Lost in my thoughts, I heard the maid knock on the door once more.
"It's open. Come in," I said.
She politely opened the door, making sure the unpleasant creaking sound didn't disturb me.
To be honest, I rarely paid attention to such trivial details.
She approached me, holding a white cloth in her hands, and began preparing me for the ceremony. As I glanced at the mirror, I couldn't help but feel like a sacrificial beast. The thought alone made my stomach churn with anxiety.
And with that, it was time—for the slaughter. I meant the ceremony.
The maid politely led the way. I looked into her eyes. They were empty, like a void. There was no emotion.
No one in this family had any. They were all monsters. They should all just die...
I tried to calm down. Now that I think about it, it might not be their fault. It was the Art that we practiced. Our inherited Art, the Empty Blade.
It was a sword technique that had been passed down in my family for generations. In order to master the Art, one must empty their soul, they said.
But I didn't care about such things. My beliefs were different from that. I always believed that a warrior was not a warrior without emotions. They're supposed to be filled with them. Emotions are supposed to be a warrior's true power. Just like Rasura.
I don't remember when it was. But I wanted to be like Rasura—a swordsman wandering the world, defeating every swordsman he came across. A dream to be the strongest swordsman with a big smile on his face.
That's what I dream to be.
Just like him. A warrior filled with emotions.
I still remember the words he said, in his final battle with his rival. I just can't forget the words he spoke:
"When you face someone you truly consider your equal, words become unnecessary. Each time your swords clash, you'll hear their heartbeat in the echoes of the steel. Through the sound of combat, you can sense their emotions and feelings. When you look into their eyes, you'll see a reflection of yourself, even amidst the chaos of battle—surrounded by blood, screams, and clashing swords. In that moment, it's as if you both hear only each other. If you can feel your souls connect with each clash of blades, then you have found yourself a true rival."
A warrior should always fight with compassion. But those bastards said a warrior's soul needs to be empty.
We soon reached the ceremony site. All the family members were gathered there, wearing white robes. Among the crowd, I could see Fathe— I mean, the patriarch.
That bastard... I mean, his highness looked at me with his piercing eyes. As always, empty and cold. Every time I saw his eyes, my blood boiled.
Those were the same eyes he gave me when he killed my mother in front of me. And that bastard had the audacity to say it was for my benefit.
I took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. I had no choice. I politely bowed slightly to the bastard, then looked away. I avoided contact with anyone, although no one in this freaky family ever talked anyway.
They led me to the altar at the center. It was crafted from an unfamiliar metal that I didn't recognize, but it was undeniably breathtaking—almost as if it were alive. I stood before it, awestruck by its presence.
After a while, all the other seven candidates were escorted there. Among them was my sister. I was in the last position, but my sister was in the second position.
Before the ceremony began, an obese old man appeared before us. He was short, and his neck was nearly invisible beneath layers of fat. Judging by his attire, he seemed to be a bishop of the Seven Gods Church. He took his place near the altar.
"I am the archbishop in service to the Seven Gods. My name is James Riruda." He smiled at us. "And I will be responsible for today's ceremony."
Riruda was the name given to all who served one of the the Seven. I read once that it was the name of their first Apostle. And now they all shared the same name. Like noble families does.
Several maids brought eight of us to the altar. Attached to a single thick chain were eight handcuffs. They made us kneel before the altar and fastened the handcuffs onto our wrists. Afterward, they placed blindfolds over our eyes.
I couldn't see anything; all I could hear were the eerie magical chants spoken by the archbishop.
The chants, recited in an unfamiliar, mystical language, sent a chill down my spine. I had never heard that language before.
When the chanting ceased, I heard footsteps approaching us, accompanied by the ringing of a steel blade.
There was a moment of silence, followed by a chilling scream that echoed through the walls. It was quickly followed by the unmistakable sound of flesh being pierced—a sound I knew all too well from hunting, the same noise I heard when my sword struck the neck of a beast. This time, the sound came from my left.
The scream was filled with such intense agony that it was almost unbearable. It eventually ceased, replaced by the brutal sound of an axe severing a head. The final sound that reached my ears was the sickening drip of blood hitting the ground.
'Damn it, the next one is...'
The child beside me began to cry, pleading for mercy. It was a futile gesture; accepting one's fate was the only option when born into this cursed family.
The next sound of a sword piercing flesh came from my left—it was the crying child. Hot blood splattered onto my face, its metallic scent filling my nostrils.
Despite the horror, I felt a surge of relief. It wasn't my sister. The thought that she was still alive brought me a strange sense of happiness amidst the fear.
"Noah, don't forget the promi—"
I heard my sister's voice just before the sound of a sword piercing flesh. With that, her voice was silenced... forever.
I didn't cry. I remained silent, my breath slow and my mind blank. I couldn't recall what happened next.
I only have a vague memory of being transported to an unknown place where I could see my own soul. And just like that, I found myself with a soul.
***
In the torture chamber of the Camael family estate, I was bound in chains. Blood dripped from countless whip marks covering my body. The pain was unbearable—but it was nothing compared to the agony of losing my sister.
"I'll ask you again—what did you say?" the patriarch of the family demanded, lifting my chin with his hand.
"That you bastards are all murderers. You pieces of shit killed my sister!" I screamed with every ounce of strength I had left.
I was no longer afraid. After living my whole life in fear, something inside me had finally broken free. I wasn't scared anymore.
He grabbed my hair, stared into my face for a long moment, then turned and walked out.
"Keep going," he ordered the guards before leaving.
The beatings continued for several days. I was amazed I was still alive. Then I realized—I'd become Awakened. I could feel a strange, potent energy coursing through my veins. My strength had grown beyond human limits. But even so, I couldn't break the chains. Perhaps they were forged from some kind of enchanted metal.
They tortured me relentlessly, day and night, pausing only for their lunch breaks. I hadn't eaten or drunk anything in days, yet I survived. I knew now—I could endure this for even longer.
As the beatings went on, my body began to collapse. But just as I neared death, they used their Art to heal me. Not even a trace of the wounds remained.
Two more days passed. By then, I had become numb to the pain. I started to channel the strange energy within me, shaping it, mastering it.
By the fourth day, they healed me again—but this time, I resisted it. I used my energy to control the healing. I allowed my body to recover, but I stopped the scars from disappearing.
I wanted the scars. I wanted them to stay. I needed a reminder—etched into my flesh—of what I had vowed.
I made a promise to you, Sister: I will make them all pay. I will do it with the fire of my soul, driven by every last emotion you left behind in me. I swear it.
***
Twenty years have passed since your death.
My scars have healed.
In my pursuit to avoid becoming like them… I became worse than them.
I killed so many that now they call me The Slayer in the Moonless Night.
There is no emotion left in me. My soul has become as empty as a void—hollow and emotionless.
I have mastered the Empty Blade.
***
[Mathematician: Numerical Manipulation –
A godlike aura of a Saint radiated from Jin, completely suppressing everyone inside the barrier.
"I—I can't move! His aura is too powerful!"
Maya wanted to heal Roma, who was on the brink of death, but under Jin's overwhelming spiritual pressure, she couldn't even lift a finger.
"Ugh... Wha–what is this...?!"
Luke's mind went blank under the crushing force. He collapsed, losing consciousness.
[Battle Art: Empty Blade]
A blade streaked through the air at blinding speed, slashing across Jin's chest.
"You... You were able to injure me?!" Jin was stunned. He had never imagined that someone with only Sorcerer King level Harmony Completion could actually harm him.
[Mathematician: Information Calculation]
'So... it's that Art of yours.'
The blade hadn't pierced deep into his muscles, but the fact that it could wound him at all—in his Half Harmony state—should have been impossible.