The ash winds howled at the cliff's edge, whispering secrets that hadn't been heard in centuries. Lucius stood at the rim of the Hollowed Peaks, the Fang coiled around his arm in silence. Behind him, the world still reeled from the awakening of the First Kill Stance. But ahead—within the ruins that jutted out like skeletal fingers—waited something older.
Something calling to him.
"It's in there," Seris said behind him, her voice low. "The vault that hasn't been opened since the Era of Sundering."
Lucius gave a slight nod. He had heard the stories—of a sealed chamber deep beneath the temple ruins, hidden away by the founding elders. A place that could only be accessed by one bearing the essence of the Annihilated Heaven Destroyer's Flame.
And after surviving the Nursery… after awakening the First Kill Stance… the seal had responded.
The stone beneath his feet pulsed. Ancient runes across the cliff wall shimmered, then cracked open with a sound like shattering bones. Dust roared out as the entrance revealed itself—a staircase descending into silence.
Lucius stepped forward.
He did not hesitate.
The descent was long. No light. No echoes. Just the rhythmic tapping of boots on stone.
He emerged into a hollow sanctum lit by dormant orbs embedded in the walls. They flared to life as his presence activated them—recognizing something within him. A symbol glowed on the far wall: a broken blade encircled by seven stars.
Lucius stared.
"Not Klaigos," he muttered.
"No," Seris whispered beside him. "Yevdel. The other founder."
The name was spoken with reverence and caution.
Yevdel—the lesser-known founder of the Annihilated Heaven Destroyer's Sect. Where Klaigos had embraced blood, chaos, and rage, Yevdel had walked the path of precision, stillness, and pure severance. Theirs had been a sect divided not by belief, but by method.
And in this room… Yevdel had left his truth behind.
At the center of the chamber rested a pedestal. Upon it, wrapped in cloth blackened by time, was a scroll.
Lucius approached. The Fang shivered.
He pulled the cloth away and slowly unrolled the parchment.
The characters inside were not ink—they were cut into the fabric itself, as if sliced by a blade too sharp to be seen.
A title sat alone at the top.
"The Seven Severance Blade Art."
Lucius exhaled slowly. The air grew heavy.
Each technique was accompanied not by diagrams—but by severed glyphs. The symbols were incomplete, yet resonant, as if their very absence communicated more than full words could.
Beneath the title, another inscription glowed faintly in gold:
"To counter the demon's sword, one must cut what cannot be cut. To sever not flesh, but cause."
Seris leaned over. "These forms… They aren't attacks. They're denials."
Lucius nodded.
Each form was named, though the methods remained veiled:
Void Reaving Edge
Pulsebreaker Spiral
Horizon Sever Reversal
Shadow Binding Step
Silence Between Slashes
Core Shatter Ascension
Severance of the False End
The names struck him like thunder.
They were designed as counters.
Direct mirrors to the Seven Demonic Sword Arts of Klaigos.
Lucius's hand trembled slightly as he traced over the first name. The Fang remained still—not hostile, but watchful, like a beast encountering a rival after years alone.
Seris pointed to the base of the scroll. Another phrase had appeared:
"Only those who have tasted blood without pride may begin. The art is not for glory. It is for the grave."
Lucius exhaled. "It doesn't want me to learn it yet."
Seris studied him. "But it recognizes you."
"Yes," Lucius said. "Because the Fang is only half of what I am."
Later, outside the chamber, Elder Elaan and Rengard awaited them.
Lucius handed over the scroll reverently.
Rengard's eyes widened. "So it was real…"
Elaan nodded slowly. "The lost counter-art. The sect was once split between two blades—Klaigos's and Yevdel's. One became madness. The other, silence. Both were hidden… but only one remembered."
Lucius frowned. "Why was it sealed?"
Elaan looked at him solemnly. "Because if someone mastered both... they would be too dangerous to live."
The wind whistled through the ruins.
Lucius met her gaze. "Then I'll master them both."
Rengard didn't argue.
That night, Lucius sat alone in the upper courtyard, the scroll of Klaigos laid beside the scroll of Yevdel. Two opposite forces—demonic aggression and deathly precision. Fire and Void. One taught how to kill beyond limits, the other how to deny death its price.
He stared between them.
The Fang pulsed once. Then again.
For the first time, Lucius didn't feel like it was fighting him.
He felt… chosen.
The following morning, Rengard met him at the training plateau.
"You're not ready to learn them yet," the master said. "Not physically. Not spiritually. But we'll prepare you."
Lucius looked up. "How?"
"By testing what you cling to most," Rengard said. "Because to wield both Klaigos's sword and Yevdel's blade, you'll need to abandon something. Or someone."
Lucius's eyes narrowed. "What do I have to give up?"
Rengard looked past him. "We'll find out."
Elsewhere, deep beneath the continent, a figure clad in bone sat in silence.
His fingers closed around a crimson shard.
"The boy has found Yevdel's art."
A voice responded from the dark. "Will he choose it?"
"He won't have to," the man murmured. "He'll choose both. That's what will ruin him."
A pause.
"Or raise him."
In the coming days, Lucius trained not in forms—but in mental suppression and dual-force qi control. The Fang grew restless as he tested its flame against echoes of Void, summoned through ritual symbols based on Yevdel's teachings.
Every failure stung. Every success burned.
But something was happening.
Lucius was beginning to walk not one path—but two.
And each path had its own madness.
On the fifth day, Seris approached him during meditation.
"You haven't touched the Severance scroll again," she said.
Lucius nodded. "It doesn't want me to yet. Yevdel's path requires… stillness. I'm not there."
She sat beside him. "You're afraid."
He didn't deny it.
"I've been trained to burn through everything," Lucius said. "To strike. Kill. Survive. But the Seven Severance Blade Art… asks me not to move. To erase. Not to conquer."
Seris smiled. "Then maybe that's why you were meant to find it."
That night, he dreamed of a sky with two moons—one of fire, the other of void.
He stood between them, holding two swords.
One hissed like the Fang. The other was silent, impossibly cold.
From the shadows ahead, two figures emerged.
Klaigos, his skeletal form crackling with crimson qi.
And beside him… a calm man in black robes.
Yevdel.
Lucius took a breath and raised both blades.
Neither ancestor spoke.
They simply watched.
And then charged.
Lucius jolted awake, breath ragged, sweat beading on his brow. The dream still clung to him—Klaigos and Yevdel, their silent charge echoing through the folds of his mind. His heart thundered not with fear… but resonance.
He felt both blades still within him.
The room was dim. Moonlight spilled through the lattice windows, falling across the scrolls beside his bed. He sat up slowly, gazing at them.
The Fang pulsed again.
He placed a hand on it. "You recognize them both, don't you?" he murmured. "One is the fire that made you. The other is the silence that could end you."
There was no answer. But the Fang calmed.
He rose.
The training grounds were empty in the dead of night, save for the occasional flicker of flamelight from the shrine torches. Lucius moved into the open circle of scorched stone, scrolls in hand.
He knelt, spreading them out in front of him.
To his left: Klaigos's 7 Demonic Sword Arts.To his right: Yevdel's Seven Severance Blade Art.
He didn't read them. Not this time.
He simply stared. Listened. Felt.
On one side: raw, raging destruction. Blades forged in suffering, meant to consume and terrify.On the other: ruthless precision, sharpened absence, and execution without expression.
Two paths.
But he knew—he wasn't meant to choose.
He was meant to become both.
The realization hit him like thunder.
"Not fire or void," he whispered. "I am the edge between them. The fracture point. The severance and the fury."
And somewhere deep within, both legacies stirred.
Behind him, Seris had been watching silently. She stepped forward, voice quiet.
"You're starting to understand."
Lucius didn't turn. "Understanding is easy. Accepting it… harder."
She sat beside him. "You'll be forced to, eventually."
He nodded. "I know. That's what scares me. What happens when I finally choose to swing either sword? Or worse—what if I never stop swinging both?"
Seris met his eyes. "Then the world will change, whether it's ready or not."
Lucius exhaled slowly and closed both scrolls.
"Then I'll be ready before it does."
Far away, in a place where the world frayed at the seams of reality, a shrine of blackened swords stood in eternal twilight.
A solitary figure—shrouded in robes of flame and ash—lifted his eyes.
The winds whispered: He has found the Severance.Another voice, ancient and hollow, whispered back: He will not stop with it.
The shrine trembled.
And the flames began to bend.
[End of Chapter 15]