CHAPTER 162: FORGED IN SILENCE!

(If this is your choice... if the blade has accepted you, then so be it. I cannot take this path from you.)

His heart ached, but another thought followed, gentler, determined:

(Then I will protect you. No matter the storms that come, no matter the danger the Oathblade draws to you... I will stand by your side, even if it costs me everything.)

He did not speak these words. His lips pressed tightly together, holding back the emotions threatening to spill out. Without saying a single thing, he turned away.

But before leaving, he paused at the doorway. His shoulders shook ever so slightly. A single tear slipped down his cheek, glistening in the dim light of the ruined chamber.

(This is all my fault)

Then he left, silently closing the door behind him, carrying both sorrow and hope in his heart.

And Elysia, still clutching the blade, stared at the space where her father had stood.

From the following days, Elysia shut herself away inside the training room of her house. Morning and night blurred together as she devoted every breath to the sword, she trained harder.

Whenever she held it, faint whispers brushed against her thoughts—ancient voices guiding her hands.

They showed her forms she had never seen before: smooth footwork, flowing arcs, and cutting motions so precise that even a single mistake felt wrong.

It was as if generations of forgotten warriors were pressing their knowledge into her mind.

At first, her body could not keep up. After only a few swings, her arms would shake violently, and she would fall to her knees, gasping for air, sweat dripping onto the cracked training floor.

Still, she stood back up again and again.

Though the sword was heavy, she trained.

Each day, she lasted a little longer. Her strikes grew sharper, her stance steadier.

She discovered how to call upon the faint aura that wrapped around the blade, a shimmering light that made every swing heavier, faster, and filled with spirit.

But the burden was crushing. More than once, her vision blurred and darkness crept in at the edges of her eyes.

She collapsed on the ground, unable to lift her arms, the Oathblade slipping from her grasp. Her body screamed at her to stop, but the fire in her heart burned hotter than the pain.

Bruises marked her skin, her hands were blistered, and her muscles ached as if she had carried a mountain. Yet when dawn came, she was already on her feet again, sword in hand.

"I have no time to waste," she whispered to herself.

And so she pressed on, step by step, strike by strike, carving her will into the blade—and letting the blade carve its will into her.

Though the Oathblade had accepted Elysia, she quickly realized this was only the beginning of the sword’s power.

Its power ran deeper than she could yet touch—like a vast ocean she had only dipped her hand into.

The first stage revealed itself quickly in a few days of training.

Her body moved with unnatural swiftness, her swordplay as light and fleeting as the wind itself.

The whispers of the sword told her of the second stage—a stage where her strikes would carry the fury of the elements.

Flame to burn, frost to freeze, lightning to shatter. Her blade would no longer be just steel, but a force of nature itself.

And beyond that, the third stage loomed in mystery. It was spoken of as soul resonance—a state where her heart, her will, and the Oathblade’s spirit became one.

In that state, she would no longer simply wield the sword. She and the Oathblade would become one.

But with such promise came danger. Every swing she made drained her body. Her stamina bled away like water from a cracked jar.

The more she reached for the Oathblade’s power, the more it pressed against her—testing her, threatening to devour her should she falter.

And yet, each time her eyes fell on the blade, resting silently in its black and grey sheath by her side, her heart steeled.

She felt no fear—only determination.

No matter the cost, she thought, her grip tightening on the hilt. I will master you.

Elysia leaned back against the wooden railing of her training room, the cool evening breeze brushing past her cheeks.

Her gaze wandered aimlessly toward the horizon.

"I only have one week of leave left..." she whispered to herself. "And Cecelia... she hasn’t come here even once since the midterm break."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, recalling the moments of the Council of Clan Arena Competition.

Cecelia’s absence had been loud, undeniable. Even Edwin had noticed it, and yet no explanation was given.

"She was absent there too," Elysia murmured, tapping her fingers restlessly against the railing.

"Not even a word... not even a message."

The thought nagged at her, wrapping around her chest with an uncomfortable tightness. Cecelia wasn’t the type to simply vanish without reason.

Something must have happened—or someone.

A sudden possibility struck her.

Her breath caught.

Her heart skipped.

"Don’t tell me..." she muttered. "Is she... with Kael?"

Elysia let out a quiet sigh as she pushed away the troubling thoughts.

"Leave it... I hope Jin is also training," she muttered under her breath, as though convincing herself that her companions hadn’t simply vanished into their own worlds.

A faint crease formed between her brows.

"Were they all busy?" she wondered. The academy break was nearing its end, and yet everyone seemed to scatter, training, plotting, and some keeping to themselves.

Knock, knock.

The door to the training room rattled softly.

"Honey, you’ve been training hard. Eat some healthy foods too," her mother’s gentle voice called from outside.

Elysia lowered her sword, wiping the sweat from her brow before pulling the door open.

"Mother... I’ll eat later"

Her mother’s eyes softened as she glanced at her daughter’s flushed face.

"You push yourself too much. Strength isn’t built in a single night." She paused, then added,

"Oh, and the house maid will arrive tomorrow."

"The maid?" Elysia tilted her head.

"Oh I forgot to notice her when I reached here?"

"You silly girl, eat before it gets cold"