The sword felt wrong in Kael's hands.
Not heavier.
Not sharper.
Just… resistant.
As if it refused to move the way he wanted.
Kael stood alone in a secluded clearing beyond the academy grounds, surrounded by broken trees and cracked earth—the aftermath of his earlier attempts to practice the Crimson Sovereign Art.
He exhaled slowly, sweat dripping down his chin.
"Again," he muttered.
He raised his sword.
And stopped.
His arms trembled—not from exhaustion alone, but from the pressure that seeped out the moment he tried to channel the bloodline technique. His heartbeat quickened, vision darkening at the edges.
> This isn't like normal swordsmanship…
Kael clenched his teeth and stepped forward anyway.
---
FAILED DECLARATION
He swung.
The motion was sloppy.
The blade cut through the air—but the pressure collapsed halfway, dispersing like mist. The ground didn't crack. The air didn't tremble.
Kael staggered back, coughing as bloodline heat surged painfully through his chest.
> SYSTEM WARNING:
Crimson Sovereign Art — Form Instability
Synchronization Rate: Insufficient
Emotional Output: Excessive
Kael dropped to one knee, gasping.
"So that's it…?" he whispered hoarsely. "You want everything… or nothing?"
The bloodline didn't respond.
No roar.
No surge.
Only a dull, oppressive weight pressing down on his heart.
---
THE PROBLEM
Kael finally understood.
The Crimson Sovereign Art wasn't activated by rage alone.
It demanded conviction.
Not desperation.
Not envy.
But the will to stand above—without hesitation.
And Kael…
Kael still doubted himself.
That doubt fractured the technique.
---
SLOW, PAINFUL PRACTICE
He didn't quit.
Instead, Kael changed his approach.
He stopped trying to unleash the full form.
Instead, he practiced micro-movements.
One step forward, sword half-raised
A single downward motion without power
Controlled breathing while suppressing emotional spikes
Each attempt burned his muscles and tore at his mind.
> SYSTEM NOTICE:
Partial Familiarity Gained
Crimson Sovereign Art — 1% Stabilization
Kael laughed bitterly.
"One percent…?"
His arms shook violently as he stood again.
"Fine. I'll earn every fraction."
---
THE PRICE OF CONTROL
Hours passed.
Then days.
Kael trained in isolation, refusing help, refusing rest. Each session ended the same way—collapsed, bruised, bleeding lightly from the nose as the bloodline rejected imperfect execution.
Sometimes, when he pushed too far—
He heard whispers.
> Advance.
Crush.
Do not retreat.
Kael slammed his sword into the ground during those moments, forcing himself to stop.
"No," he growled. "I won't lose myself."
That resistance made progress slower.
But safer.
> SYSTEM NOTICE:
Mental Stability Maintained
Bloodline Synchronization: Slow but Stable
---
FIRST REAL SUCCESS
It happened on the seventh night.
Kael stood still beneath the moonlight, sword lowered, breathing steady.
He didn't think of Lucien.
Didn't think of rivals.
Didn't think of being left behind.
He thought of one thing only:
> I will stand.
He stepped forward.
And swung.
The air bent.
Not violently.
Not explosively.
But heavily—as if the world acknowledged the strike.
The ground cracked in a straight line.
Kael froze.
Then laughed softly.
> SYSTEM NOTICE:
Crimson Sovereign Art
First Form — Crimson Declaration (Incomplete)
Execution Success Rate: Low
Control: Minimal
His knees buckled and he collapsed backward, staring at the sky.
"It worked…" he whispered.
Barely.
But it worked.
---
REALIZATION
As Kael lay there, chest rising and falling, clarity settled in.
This style wasn't something he could rush.
It wasn't meant to be spammed.
It was a crown—and crowns were heavy.
> If I force it, it will break me.
If I respect it… it might let me grow.
Kael closed his eyes.
Slow progress.
Painful progress.
But progress nonetheless.
And somewhere deep within his bloodline, the ancient sovereign watched—
Not displeased.
---