The sun had barely dipped beneath the horizon when Klein's carriage rolled into the familiar courtyard of the Azure Crest Garrison. The faint clang of training swords echoed in the distance, knights sparring under fading light. The air smelled of oil, sweat, and faintly of steel — home.
Klein stepped down, brushing the dust from his boots. He hadn't even taken three steps before a familiar voice broke the din.
"...So you finally did it."
Lucien stood at the base of the watchtower, arms folded, his long white cape rustling in the breeze. Even in the dimming light, his blue eyes gleamed with calm power.
Klein smiled. "I told you I would."
Lucien's gaze sharpened. For a brief moment, his usual relaxed demeanor shifted into focus — as if his senses reached out to touch the mana swirling faintly around Klein.
"…Dense," Lucien murmured, stepping closer. "You're not even trying to release it, but your aura feels as though you've already reached the edge of the second star. Your latent potential… it's immense."
Klein scratched his head awkwardly. "So, I did good?"
Lucien gave a small smile — that rare, quiet approval that always felt heavier than words. "You did more than good."
Klein grinned. "Then I guess you know what comes next."
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"
"The blade art, obviously." Klein crossed his arms dramatically. "You said you'd teach me once I awakened."
Lucien's expression froze for half a second, then — slowly, ominously, he began to grin.
Not the kind of grin one gives before imparting ancient wisdom.
No.
This was the grin of a man about to enjoy something far too much.
Lucien lifted one hand to his neck and cracked it, then his voice suddenly dropped an octave — deep, regal, and absurdly self-important.
....
Lucien: "Jin, you have finally proven yourself worthy of receiving the Supreme Inheritance. This technique is not merely a sword art; it is a philosophy—a method of perceiving the world's most fundamental truths."
Klein blinked.
"...Jin?"
Lucien ignored him, already lost in character.
Klein (playing along): "Master, I am humbled. What ancient wisdom guides this legendary technique? Does it pertain to the Dao of Swordsmanship, or the cycles of the heavens?"
Lucien placed both hands behind his back, staring into the distance like a philosopher on a cliff.
Lucien: "It pertains to... the Eight Forms of Celestial Inspection."
Klein: "Celestial Inspection! To see the secrets of the cosmos! How does one begin to grasp such grandeur?"
Lucien adjusted his collar with grave dignity, though the suspicious glint in his eye made Klein wary.
Lucien: "Patience, young one. The grandeur is merely the outer shell. The true power lies in the intent. You see, the original Master of this art was a man obsessed with… precision."
Klein: "Precision is the heart of the sword! Is it meant to target the opponent's vital points, their weaknesses, their very cultivation core?"
Lucien's lips curled into a grin that was anything but holy.
Lucien: "In a sense, yes. But the Master's original goal was somewhat more… anatomically focused."
Klein blinked. "Anatomically… focused, Master? I don't understand."
Lucien's tone became disturbingly reverent.
Lucien: "The Eight Forms are named not after celestial bodies, but after the precise, subtle movements required to inspect a fully clothed opponent's figure—their natural curves, their hidden contours—with the tip of the sword, without leaving a mark."
Klein froze.
The silence was deafening.
Then came a slow, strained exhale.
Klein: "Master… are you saying the Legendary Art is fundamentally a practice in… perverted voyeurism?"
Lucien's grin widened. "The technique requires unparalleled control of the blade and flawless mental clarity to execute. It forces you to perfectly understand the enemy's structure. By the time you've mastered the 'Gazing Upon the Hidden Peak' form, you'll be able to bypass any physical defense with terrifying accuracy."
Klein's brain stalled. "Gazing… Upon the Hidden Peak."
Lucien nodded proudly, completely serious. "One of the eight, yes. The others include Tracing the Silken Horizon, Piercing the Obscured Moon, and the infamous Double Blossom Appraisal."
Klein rubbed his temples. "You're actually serious."
Lucien shrugged, finally breaking character with a low chuckle. "My father taught me the same way. Said a name that absurd keeps you from forgetting the moves."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, timeworn leather notebook. The pages were yellowed, covered in dense, ancient handwriting and detailed sketches of blade arcs and footwork.
"This," Lucien said quietly, "belonged to my ancestor — a seven-star cultivator. He created this art at the height of his life. I've only ever mastered one of its forms."
Klein raised an eyebrow. "Why only one?"
"Because," Lucien said simply, "the rest require a mythical-ranked weapon to execute perfectly."
Klein's hand instinctively moved toward his spatial dimension, but he didn't pull it out, not in front of Lucien. "And my blade? Not sure of the rank."
Lucien smirked. "A legendary blade. Which means…"
Klein's lips twitched. "…I can try."
Lucien's grin widened again. "Do you still wish to inherit the Eight Forms of Celestial Inspection, knowing the nature of its bizarre and questionable lineage?"
Klein sighed, glancing toward the sky, as though hoping a divine being might strike him with lightning to save him from this.
The truth of the matter was that Klein enjoyed the names and seeing this side of Lucien. As Lucien called out the bizarre sword form names, Klein even saw a reflection of his old self—the highly perverted self he was before reincarnating into this world.
But then, as Lucien waited, half-serious and half-amused, Klein's expression softened.
"…Yeah," he said finally. "Let's do it, Master."
Lucien chuckled — a warm, real laugh this time. "Then draw your blade."
While Lucien went to the garrison armory to grab a suitable weapon for Klein's training, Klein seized the opportunity to draw out Whisperfang from his spatial dimension.
Klein exhaled slowly, stretching his hand outward. With a flash of crimson light, Whisperfang slid from his spatial dimension, materializing in his grip. Its silent edge shimmered faintly under the dying sun, hungry for motion.
With a swift return, Lucien's voice steadied, calm again — the playfulness gone, replaced by quiet intent.
"Then, Klein Adler… let us begin."