Varin Bloodthorn sat on a raised stone platform, legs crossed, arms folded, a faint smirk carved across his pale face. The crimson veins on his neck pulsed like living serpents, glowing faintly with curse qi.
Around him, disciples whispered.
"Bloodthorn… he already reached Rank 2: Curse Channeling."
"And the new boy awakened three tongue sigils…"
"Impossible. Elder Seris must be lying."
Varin's gaze fixed on Osric across the hall — cold, assessing, hungry for dominance.
Elder Seris raised her voice.
"Today, you will learn the first rule of spoken curses:
A curse is only as strong as the mind that wields it."
She pointed at two raised circles etched into the floor.
"A test. Two disciples enter the curse ring. They may speak only one word. One curse.
The more powerful mind, the sharper intent, the stronger curse — wins."
A hush fell.
Varin stood immediately.
"I challenge the newcomer."
Drevan's face tightened.
"Seris—this is reckless. Varin is half a realm above him!"
Seris didn't blink.
"Let the Hall judge their worth."
Her eyes briefly met Osric's — not pitiful, not worried.
Expectant.
Osric stepped into the ring.
Varin walked in opposite him, rolling his neck.
"Try not to embarrass yourself, village rat."
Osric remained silent.
The lanterns dimmed.
The sigils on the ground flared dark crimson.
Seris lifted her hand.
"Begin."
---
The Clash of One Word
The air tightened instantly, curse qi crackling like burning threads.
Varin lifted his chin.
"Break."
A surge of red-black energy burst from his mouth — a wave of crushing spiritual pressure that slammed toward Osric, distorting the air.
Disciples gasped.
Some staggered back from the intensity.
"That curse can shatter bones!"
"Osric is finished—"
Osric's feet dug into the stone floor.
Pain stabbed through his chest — Varin's curse was heavy, vicious, dripping with killing intent.
For a moment, the world dimmed.
He heard his mother's voice.
His father's laughter.
And the whisper that had saved him before:
> "Despair does not break you… it sharpens you."
Osric lifted his eyes, burning with resolve.
His tongue tingled — the three sigils igniting like hot metal.
He whispered his single word:
"Sink."
A cold black ripple erupted around him — quiet, smooth, but unbelievably dense.
Varin's "Break" slammed into it—
And vanished.
Snuffed out like a candle.
The black ripple traveled forward, a silent wave.
Varin's face twisted.
He tried to leap away—
But his legs refused to move.
He sank.
Not into the ground —
Into fear.
His knees buckled.
His breath hitched.
His curse qi stuttered and collapsed as if drowned.
The ring glowed darkly, sealing the effect.
Varin crashed to his knees, trembling, eyes bulging.
"N-No… impossible… how—?"
Osric's voice was calm, almost cold.
"You break bones.
I sink spirits."
Varin tried to stand. He couldn't.
Elder Seris raised her hand.
"Enough."
The sigils faded. Varin gasped, collapsing fully into the circle.
The hall erupted into chaos.
"He defeated Varin with one word…"
"What kind of curse is 'Sink'!?"
"That wasn't Rank 1… that was on the level of Rank 2!"
Drevan's eyes were wide.
Seris stepped toward Osric slowly.
"You understand intent."
Her voice carried rare approval.
"You understand pain."
She paused.
"And you understand silence."
She turned to the disciples.
"Let it be known— Osric has qualified for Silent Path Inner Training."
Gasps spread like wildfire.
Varin lifted his head weakly, hatred burning in his eyes.
"This… isn't over…" he hissed.
Osric walked past him without a glance.
"Good," he said quietly.
"Try again when you can stand."
Varin trembled with rage.
---
The Price of Victory
Outside the hall, when the echoes of awe faded, Osric's legs almost gave out.
He staggered, clutching his chest.
His meridians burned. His tongue throbbed. Every breath felt like knives.
The curse he unleashed had cost him far more than he let show.
"You hid your pain well," a voice murmured.
Elder Seris appeared beside him like a shadow.
Osric tried to bow, but she lifted a finger.
"Don't. Stand."
He straightened, breathing raggedly.
She studied him for a long moment.
"Your curse wasn't just powerful."
"It carried memory."
"Hurt."
"And clarity."
She placed a feather-light hand on his throat.
"You will be strong… but only if you survive your own sorrow."
Osric looked down.
"I will."
"I believe you," Seris said.
Then her eyes hardened.
"But understand this:
Varin will not forgive this humiliation."
She turned, her robes whispering like ghost-silk.
"And the Bloodveil Sect does not lose gracefully."
Osric watched her go, the weight of her words settling like cold iron.
He whispered to himself:
"Let him come."
The sigil on his chest pulsed once — like a heartbeat forged of shadow.
---