THE MYSTERIOUS SWORD TECHNIQUE
The mists of the Miasma Plains swirled low, curling around broken statues and blackened trees. Whole night was spend there for spiritual replenish. Dawn had not yet broken, and the air trembled faintly with energy–neither alive nor dead, neither sacred nor demonic.
Kiaria sat cross-legged upon a stone slab, eyes closed, his breathing calm as the wind. Diala rested opposite him, still struggling to steady her breath. Her awakening had ended only a few days ago, and though her martial souls had been reborn, her control over spiritual energy was still fragile, uncertain–like a flame threatened by every whisper of air.
Kiaria opened his eyes. His gaze glimmered faintly with reflected starlight. "Dia," he said softly, "today, I'll teach you something that can protect you when I'm not there."
She tilted her head. "A new technique?"
He nodded. "A sword technique. But not one of mere slashes or strikes. This is a scripture born from the ancient runes of enlightenment–the same letters hidden within the Saint Wolf's heirloom."
Her brows furrowed in confusion. "From the Elder Wolf's treasure?"
Kiaria smiled faintly. "The Elder guarded them. He never possessed them. These runes are fragments of Heaven's first words–each a key that opens a door to comprehension. They reveal themselves only to those who truly seek, not those who demand."
He raised his hand, and between his fingers glowed a golden rune–one of the 111 letters that slumbered within his sea of consciousness. The rune pulsed once, then began to disintegrate into shimmering dust.
The dust swirled before him, condensing into a scroll of light that unfolded slowly, its writing etched in a language far older than any living tongue. The air trembled; even the mist bent away from its glow.
Kiaria inhaled deeply. "This is how the runes respond when one's intent resonates with them. The letter dissolves and reshapes into a scripture–a memory of Heaven itself. But enlightenment depends on the heart of the reader. One rune can build an empire or destroy it, depending on who reads it."
Diala's eyes widened. "Can I… read it too?"
He shook his head gently. "No. It resonated with me, not with you. To transfer its essence, I'll need to channel my energy through focus and will."
Kiaria closed his eyes, letting spiritual energy surge to his fingertips. Golden light gathered around his forefinger and middle finger, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. The air around him vibrated, rippling the mist. Slowly, he brought his glowing fingers toward Diala's forehead.
"Relax," he murmured. "Don't resist. This will hurt, but only for a moment."
Diala drew in a shaky breath and nodded. As the golden orb of energy formed between his fingertips, he pressed it gently against the point between her brows. A hum filled the air–low, resonant and alive.
The orb sank into her skin, spreading light across her veins. For a brief instant, she felt herself falling into a sea without end. Then–words appeared before her mind, whispering like wind through leaves:
"Heaven and Abyss in a deep breath,
The autumn leaves thrust the shadow.
All are equal in the sea of wind.
Water reflects the sword intent,
And Nature subdues the will of evil."
The ancient syllables echoed inside her consciousness, but to her they were only sounds–beautiful, haunting, and incomprehensible.
She gasped softly, opening her eyes. "Kiaria… I can't understand it. The words make no sense."
Kiaria smiled faintly, his voice calm. "That's because the scripture speaks in enlightenment, not language. Listen instead of reading."
He repeated the words, his tone like water flowing over stone.
"Each word holds more than one truth," he said slowly. "Heaven and Abyss share a single breath–that means good and evil dwell in the same heart. The autumn leaves thrust the shadow–when your blade falls, you must see not the enemy, but yourself in their fall. All are equal in the sea of wind–the sword does not favor saints or sinners; its edge divides all the same. Water reflects the sword's intent–clarity, not fury, gives the blade its will. And Nature alone subdues evil will–for even destruction, in the eyes of nature, becomes balance."
He looked at her, eyes serene but intense. "The sword you wield is your own heart. Your intent–your will–is the blade. To lose it is to break your sword."
Diala bit her lip. "Then… which path do I choose? The Heavenly one or the Demonic?"
"Neither," Kiaria replied simply. "Walk the path of balance. The Heavenly path blinds you with light, the Demonic drowns you in shadow. Only when you carry both do you see the truth."
He stood and walked to the edge of the ruin, where a dry, long leaf swayed gently in the wind. He plucked it and returned, holding it between two fingers. "Watch."
He steadied his breath. The world around him seemed to still; the wind paused, the mist held its shape. Slowly, his will condensed–a pressure so sharp it sliced through silence. Then–he flicked his wrist.
A flash of light.
The leaf sliced through a nearby stone pillar cleanly, the upper half sliding off soundlessly before crashing to the ground.
Diala's eyes widened. "You–cut that with a leaf?"
Kiaria nodded. "The sword intent doesn't come from steel. It's your will condensed so tightly that even air becomes a blade."
He handed her another leaf. "Your turn."
Diala swallowed hard and mimicked his stance. Her small fingers trembled as she tried to focus. The leaf quivered but did not glow. She exhaled and tried again–once, twice, ten times. Sweat beaded her forehead.
Kiaria crossed his arms. "Your heart is restless," he said quietly. "Sword intent is born from clarity, not impatience."
She looked up at him, eyes glistening. "I'm trying! It's just… I can't feel it!"
He sighed softly and knelt beside her. "Close your eyes."
When she obeyed, he placed his palm over her forehead. "Don't panic. I'll guide you through your consciousness. Feel what I feel."
A faint glow pulsed between them. Kiaria's energy entered her sea of consciousness gently, like ripples on still water. Together, they stood before an endless field of light within her mind.
"Do you see that spark?" Kiaria asked.
Diala nodded faintly. "Yes… it's small, but it's warm."
"That's your will. Feed it. Don't force it. Let it grow."
The spark flared slightly, then steadied. When Diala opened her eyes again, her expression had changed–focused, calm.
She raised the leaf again.
The air around her rippled faintly. A soft whistle followed–a delicate sound, but filled with intent.
A thin line appeared across a nearby branch. It split cleanly in two.
Her breath hitched. "I… I did it."
Kiaria smiled faintly. "That's only the beginning."
Unbeknownst to him, the patterns he shared were not ordinary–they were fragments of the Kiasin Sword Doctrine, a long-lost art that had hidden within his since birth.
She stared at the leaf glowing faint gold in her hand. "It feels alive."
"Good. That means your soul has recognized it." Kiaria stood. "But remember, the moment you grow arrogant, your blade will turn against you. Never underestimate even the smallest force."
Diala nodded quickly. "I understand."
He looked at her with faint amusement. "Now show me what you've learned. I'll help once. After that, you're on your own."
Kiaria demonstrated a slow sequence–steps, balance, swing, recovery–each movement simple yet precise, flowing like water. Diala mirrored him, her form awkward at first but quickly refining. Within minutes, her strikes carried grace beyond her age.
Watching her, Kiaria's eyes softened. Inborn talent… she'll surpass me someday.
As the sun rose behind the gray mists, she completed the sequence, panting but smiling. "Kiaria… how was it?"
He stretched and yawned lazily. "My part's done. The rest is up to you."
Diala pouted. "You always say that!"
He chuckled. "Because it's true. A teacher can open a door, but walking through it is your test."
Her laughter echoed faintly through the ruins.
The air around them shimmered slightly–somewhere between light and shadow, a faint energy stirring again in the depths of Kiaria's consciousness. The runes pulsed quietly, whispering promises of more secrets yet to come.
And as the mists drifted past, Kiaria glanced at Diala–her leaf-sword glowing faint gold in the dim light–and whispered under his breath, "Perhaps… the world will remember you long after it forgets me."