The yard behind the castle — the field called the "Heart of Darkness." Cold winds blew through the mountain passes, and the air smelled as if it had soaked up blood. This was not an ordinary training ground; this was a place to learn war with one's life.
Sephist's harsh voice rang out.
"Kraan! Do not fear the clash! If you fear, this world will chew you up and spit you out!"
Kraan gripped his sword tightly, steadied his breath, and fought a forged iron man. This was not a mere training dummy but a mechanized iron warrior with real weapons and levers — animated under Sephist's control.
Each time the black blade struck the iron man, sparks flew; even when Kraan took a step back, he bit down and attacked again and again. His ribs were nearly broken by the blows; his chest burned with effort.
"You must command the power — not let the power command you!" Sephist's words cut into his heart.
Kraan suppressed both rage and fear; his eyes flamed red as he filled his sword with a deeper dark energy. Yet his body trembled; his veins split and blood began to flow.
When he fell and knelt, Sephist suddenly stepped forward and grabbed him by the throat.
"Will you become a slave to the darkness? If you use its power, you must control yourself. Your hatred will strengthen you, but it can also destroy you!"
Kraan inhaled sharply, lifted his blood-and-sweat-soaked face.
"I… will not yield. My hatred will not destroy me — I will use it myself!"
He rose once more and struck the iron man so powerfully that a whole mechanism tore and shattered. The iron warrior pitched to the ground; dust rose in the yard. Kraan shouted that he would grow strong, stronger than anyone — but, overcome by his wounds, he fainted. Before he lost consciousness, Sephist supported him and laid him down.
"Sephist: You grow not by years but by days, by every passing second you grow stronger."
"And now the training truly begins. This is only the beginning. We will make you stronger than anyone."
Silence returned to the castle yard, but inside Kraan a fire had started to blaze.
When Kraan awoke, his wounds had nearly healed. Yet his body felt heavier, not lighter. Sephist fixed him with a stare.
"This is not ordinary healing. The black sword is giving you its power. But now the question is: will you submit to it, or will you control it?"
In recent days Kraan had slept little. He trained daily, bleeding in every session. Under Sephist's guidance his movements grew sharper, his strikes fiercer; his way of handling a blade became wild yet precisely controlled.
Still, some nights he dreamed strange dreams: people screaming from the darkness, the laughter of a blood-stained child, a mother's tearful gaze. It felt as though the black sword were showing him these things itself.
One day Sephist placed a secret weapon called the Chain of Darkness into his hand.
"This chain is a companion to your sword. It draws the enemy's strength and stores it within you. But be cautious. If you absorb too much power, you will become its slave."
Day by day Kraan felt himself growing stronger. Yet behind that strength there was a black empty pit, an endless anger, and a whispering voice of sorrow.
At the end of the training, Sephist spoke plainly about what he had seen.
"You are no longer merely a man. You are one of us — a herald of darkness. But brute strength is not enough. You must conquer the horror that hides within your darkness. Otherwise you will not be a true hero — you will be merely a slave of the sword."
Sephist looked at Kraan.
"You have grown strong, Kraan. But only physically. Psychologically you are still like a small child. This black sword is not an ordinary blade. Shadnei may have mentioned a little bit about it to you. If you can unleash the sword's full power, then even the gods your enemies once worshipped will fall."
"I may have spoken too much. We must return. Now this is your final training. It may take months — even years — to overcome it," he said.
Then Sephist guided Kraan down the castle's lower corridors and stairs until they stood before a great door. He said:
"Your final test lies within here. Only you can go in and see what is there."
Sephist's words pressed heavily on Kraan's heart. Doubt, fear, and excitement shone together in his eyes. The torchlight fell upon the damp stone walls of the passage, and shadows seemed to stir.
Before a large iron door cast with ancient sigils, Sephist bent and whispered:
"Beyond this point I will not go with you. This place tests only your inner strength. If you can overcome what lies beyond this gate, you will become a true Herald of Darkness. If you fail…"
He did not finish. He simply placed his hand on Kraan's shoulder and left in his gaze a stern hardness, and also a final faith.
Kraan took a deep breath, grasped his black blade, and pushed the heavy, screaming iron. The door opened with an awful sound. Inside waited an overwhelming cold, a vast space of deep darkness. After a few steps, the door slammed shut behind him, leaving him completely alone.
From the darkness came a sound — a whisper as if from his own voice:
"Do you think you will use me, Kraan? No… I will use you."
The edge of the black blade glowed with a blood-red light, and before him appeared a shadow-Kraan — identical to him, but with blood-red eyes and a face carved by wrath.
This was his final test: the embodiment of his deepest fear and fiercest anger.
The shadow-Kraan laughed cruelly and brandished its sword.
"You will not overcome me. You are only a wounded child, weak and drowned in hatred. I am the true power you aspire to."
Kraan's breath faltered; the sword felt heavier in his hands. He realized the time had come to fight his own soul.