Chapter 14 - Core Forms and Execution, Pinnacle Technique And Oath

Transitioning seamlessly, the master flowed into the first form: "Eclipse Descent." From a low guard—right foot forward, hilt at navel height—he pivoted 45 degrees, sword rising overhead in a fluid arc. The blade sang through air, birthing a crescent qi wave that sliced a three-foot gash across the stone floor, edges glowing molten red before sealing with imperial runes. "Feel the weight of fallen dynasties in each pivot; shoulders remain centered, hips uncoil like a dragon awakening." Sparks erupted on impact, the chamber trembling as phantom afterimages of the stroke lingered, humming with latent destruction.�He chained into the second: "Throne Ascendant." Squaring his stance—left foot leading—he thrust low, blade dipping to 45 degrees earthward, then exploding upward in a helix. Qi erupted as interlocking dragon heads, weaving a barrier that repelled invisible foes; the master's robes billowed without wind, sweat beading yet evaporating mid-air from sheer heat. "Internal energy binds strike to will—rage scatters qi, but imperial calm multiplies it tenfold." Abraham's pulse quickened; attempting the motion, his own mana flared erratically, cracking the ground but lacking precision.��Pinnacle Technique and OathThe climax unfolded in "Eternal Dominion," a synthesis of prior forms. The master spun full circle, sword blurring into eight phantom paths—Hachi Do inspired, adapted for Murim supremacy—each stroke layering qi until the air fractured like glass. A dome of golden light expanded, compressing then shattering outward; chamber walls groaned, fissures healing via residual imperial script. "This ends bloodlines," he intoned, sheathing the blade with finality. "Swear it leaves only with your blood—or its restorer." Kneeling, Abraham pledged, the art searing into muscle memory via qi imprint, his body adapting instantly from the machine's forge.��The transmission complete, the master exhaled, qi dissipating. "Practice in isolation; it devours the unworthy." Abraham rose, forms echoing in his mind, the sword art now his burden—and weapon.�