Year - 1417 - January 1
The Blade Sanctuary lay bathed in pale moonlight, swords embedded along stone paths, each humming faintly with the will of its master.
The air was thick with history, discipline, and the silent weight of countless warriors who had walked this path before.
Father's voice called softly. "Summon Sir Terence—The Whispering Blade."
From the shadows of the Sanctuary emerged a middle-aged man with short black hair, a burn near his neck, and eyes sharp as winter frost.
He moved with calm precision, each step deliberate, radiating a quiet menace.
Sir Terence Ozark—the Whispering Blade. A Blade Guardian. Lifelong companion of Father.
Before earning the mark of the clan, he had been renowned as a high sword expert. Now, he was one of twelve blade guardians,
chosen to enforce the will of the Ozark Estate.
Father gestured toward him.
"Michael, this is Sir Terence Ozark.
A Blade Guardian. He commands the Star Fall Swordstyle and the Ozark Swordstyle.
He embodies our legacy, and for now… he will be your mentor."
Terence's gaze swept over me, weighing every heartbeat, every breath.
Silent. Calculating. Unblinking.
"All Blade Guardians bear the Clan Mark," Father continued. "It is not just loyalty—it is life itself. Betrayal, recklessness, or ambition without purpose, and the mark will seal your cultivation… or end your life. Guardians enforce my will and protect our House.
Observe carefully, Michael. Terence is both your guide and your shield."
I nodded, absorbing every nuance.
Father began explaining the power structure of the Ozark Estate which I did know.
"Listen, Michael. Our Estate is a web of threads, each strong enough to hold the weight of the storm.
The allied families—Ista, the Spears; Chambers, the Shields; Ochilis, the Swift-Swords—each masters their domain.
Ista controls the frontlines, Chambers anchors defenses, Ochilis wields speed and precision.
Learn their strengths and weaknesses. Loyalty is precious but fragile."
"Next, the Knight Orders. Crimson Knights—the main force, 100 knights leading 1,000 soldiers. Strike first, strike hard, never falter.
Emerald Knights—200, with 5000 soldiers, our major income source, guardians of wealth and estates, mercenaries when needed.
Silver Knights—new recruits, 1000 strong, defending the northern borders under a high sword expert's guidance. They fight monsters, learn discipline."
"And above all… the Blade Guardians. Twelve of the deadliest, closest to me.
They enforce the Clan Mark, ensure loyalty, and execute decisions no one else can. Terence is one of them—and now he will teach you. Every Guardian is mentor and judge."
He paused. "Your siblings will also receive mentors. Lance, Kainel, Derrick, and Cecilia—they will be trained and tested. None of you will grow unprepared. All must be strong enough to face the coming storm. "
Father's gaze drifted north, eyes narrowing. "The Ochilis family… and anyone allied with them… will bring fire and blood.
A purge is coming. Every sword, every knight, every plan must be ready.
Train as hard and bleed as much as you must. The coming winter will be merciless."
He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Michael, the Ozark Estate stands tall, but only the sharpest, the strongest, and the most cunning will endure. This is your path… and you are now walking it."
"An Ozark who does not bleed is no Ozark"
I felt the weight of his words, the certainty that life had shifted irrevocably.
We both bowed to Father.
Terence's presence, steady and absolute, was my anchor—and my reminder that the true lessons had only just begun.
We left the Sanctuary together. The night was quiet, the moon hanging low.
"Michael," Terence said, voice calm as stone, "we will live together now. If necessary, I will enter through your window. You will train when the Estate sleeps. Tonight… we begin."
The training grounds were empty, bathed in the pale glow of the moon.
I gripped a wooden sword, instincts sharp, mind focused.
"Begin. Every move of the Ozark Swordstyle. I want to see your talent."
I moved. The forms flowed from memory and instinct, honed by bloodlust and past life experience:
Blue Cut – a sharp horizontal slash, slicing cleanly through the air.
Iron Fall – a vertical strike, heavy and unstoppable, designed to crush defenses.
Silent Edge – a quiet, subtle slash, precise and deadly without a sound.
Gale Shift – a fluid movement slash, striking while repositioning.
Guardian Slash – a defensive maneuver, both block and counter in one motion.
Riptide – a sweeping arc designed to eliminate multiple enemies at once.
Piercing – a precise attack aimed at vital points, swift and lethal.
Dragon Damnation – the ultimate strike, a horizontal sweep that combines speed, weight, and precision to annihilate all in its path.
Each form flowed seamlessly into the next, every swing honed for killing.
Bloodlust and intent sharpened the strikes, the sword moving as if it were an extension of my will.
In the quiet of my mind, shadows emerged—Sir Hendricks' moves, fifteen fluid forms and five secret strikes.
Seven of them were new, untested by anyone.
They whispered guidance through memory, shaping each swing to be faster, deadlier, more refined.
I kept the seven new forms locked away, unseen, unheard, untested. Not yet.
Terence would not know, and neither would the world.
This knowledge was mine alone—a shadow of calamity hidden within a child.
Terence's eyes betrayed nothing outwardly. Inside, however, his thoughts raced.
This Child… he will become a calamity.
Even as a Blade Guardian, he had never witnessed a child move with such deadly refinement, instinct, and dark intent.
The eight Ozark Swordstyle forms were no longer drills—they were a prelude.
Each swing carried the weight of intent, the shadow of Hendricks, and the hunger of blood.
When I paused, chest heaving, the night felt charged, the air thick with tension.
The training grounds themselves seemed to hold their breath, aware of the calamity quietly awakening within me.
Terence remained at my side, silent.
A mentor, a guardian, a witness.
The first night of training had begun. And this was only the beginning of hell!