Chapter 43: Past is meant to achieve Present

Scholar Dwayne's mind drifted back to his past, to the days when he was a young, aspiring swordsman in his dojo. At twenty-five years old, he wasn't the most talented among his peers, but his heart and determination set him apart.

Despite his lack of natural skill, he was cherished by his fellow martial brothers and sisters, who saw him as a beloved part of their family. They laughed together, trained together, and supported each other through every challenge.

His master, the previous Steel Arc Swordmaster, was a stern yet compassionate teacher who nurtured Dwayne's potential with care. Even though Dwayne struggled with the sword techniques, his master's patience never wavered.

When he was hurt, his senior sister, a kind and gentle soul, would tend to his wounds with a tender touch. Her soft encouragements and unwavering belief in him kept Dwayne's spirit alive.

One sunny afternoon, the entire dojo gathered in the courtyard. The master had called for a special lesson, one that would mark a significant moment in their training. The students sat in a semi-circle, their eyes fixed on their revered teacher.

"Today, I want to share with you the history of our dojo," the master began, his voice carrying a weight of pride and nostalgia. "Our school has been passed down for eight hundred years, spanning nine generations. You are the tenth generation, and it is a great honor and responsibility to carry this legacy forward."

The students listened intently, their hearts swelling with pride. Dwayne felt a surge of emotion, knowing that he was part of something so grand and enduring.

"There is, however, one regret that our dojo has carried through the centuries," the master continued, his tone somber. "We have never completed the fifth form of our Steel Arc Sword Technique. It remains unfinished, an elusive dream for our school."

A murmur ran through the crowd. One of the junior brothers, a spirited and confident boy, raised his hand. "Master, what is the fifth form like?"

The master's eyes sparkled with a mix of wistfulness and hope as he spoke. "The fifth form, when perfected, is imagined to be a sight of unparalleled beauty and power. It should be a graceful arc, where the sword cuts through the air with divine precision. A radiant beam of pure, condensed energy would erupt from the blade, parting the heavens themselves. A divine light would illuminate the surroundings, filling the air with a sense of awe and majesty."

The young boy, inspired by the vivid description, stood up and proclaimed, "Master, I will be the one to complete the fifth form!"

Laughter erupted from the crowd, and the students began teasing the boy good-naturedly. "Dream big, little brother!" one called out. "You'll need to grow a few feet taller first!" another joked. The courtyard buzzed with mirth and playful banter.

Amidst the laughter, Dwayne noticed a fleeting expression on his master's face—a sigh of dejection, a shadow of disappointment that seemed to reflect the unfulfilled dream of their school. It struck a chord deep within him, igniting a desire to prove himself and honor his master's legacy.

One fateful day, Dwayne and a few of his martial brothers were tasked with restocking supplies for the dojo. They descended the mountain with light hearts, enjoying the rare opportunity to visit the bustling village below. They chatted and joked as they made their way down, the bonds of brotherhood strengthening with every step.

Suddenly, a flare signal shot up from the mountain peak—a distress signal. The carefree atmosphere vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold dread. "Danger!" one of the senior brothers shouted. "We must return immediately."

The martial disciples turned to Dwayne, who was the least skilled among them but deeply trusted. "Dwayne, stay here and take care of the supplies. We'll handle this," they instructed, their faces grim with determination.

Dwayne nodded, though anxiety gnawed at his heart. He watched them sprint back up the mountain, their forms disappearing into the distance. He busied himself with the supplies, trying to shake off the growing sense of unease. Minutes felt like hours as he waited, each second filled with mounting dread.

Then, the sky above the mountain brightened for a fleeting moment. Dwayne's heart skipped a beat as he saw a brilliant light pierce the heavens, but it faded quickly, unable to cleave the sky.

He felt tears streaming down his face, unbidden and unexplained. A profound sorrow gripped him, an inexplicable sense of loss that he couldn't understand.

Unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, Dwayne abandoned the supplies and ran towards the mountain peak.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he pushed himself to the limit, desperation fueling his every step.

Tears blurred his vision, but he didn't care. He had to know what had happened to his brothers and sisters.

As he reached the mountain peak, a sense of foreboding settled over him. The scene before him was one of utter devastation. His martial brothers and sisters lay lifeless on the ground, their bodies soaked in blood. The vibrant courtyard, once filled with laughter and life, was now a graveyard of shattered dreams.

Dwayne's heart shattered as he ran from one body to the next, searching frantically for any sign of life. His hands shook, and his cries of anguish echoed through the desolate air. The faces of his friends, once so full of life, were now pale and still.

Finally, he found his master, collapsed against a boulder, his arms severed and his body drenched in blood. The old man's eyes fluttered open, and a faint smile crossed his lips when he saw Dwayne.

"Dwayne," the master whispered, his voice weak but filled with warmth. "You came back."

Dwayne fell to his knees beside his master, tears streaming down his face. "Master, what happened? Who did this?"

The master's breath was shallow, and his words came out in a labored whisper. "An enemy… a powerful one. We tried to defend the dojo, but… we were overwhelmed. I… tried to use the fifth form… but I failed."

Dwayne's heart ached with sorrow and guilt. "Master, no… don't speak. We'll get help. You'll be okay."

The master shook his head slowly. "No, Dwayne. My time is over. But yours… yours is just beginning. Listen to me… you must carry on our legacy. Complete the fifth form. Make our school proud."

Dwayne sobbed, his heart breaking at the sight of his beloved master slipping away. "I promise, Master. I'll make you proud. I'll complete the fifth form, no matter what it takes."

The master's eyes softened with a final, fleeting warmth. "I know you will, my son. You have the heart of a true swordsman. Remember… the strength of a sword comes not from the blade, but from the soul that wields it."

With those final words, the master's eyes closed, and his body went still. Dwayne held his lifeless form, his heart heavy with grief and determination. The weight of his promise settled on his shoulders, a burden he would carry for the rest of his life.

Dwayne stayed by his master's side, the memories of their time together flooding his mind. He remembered the lessons, the laughter, and the unwavering support. The dojo had been more than just a place of training—it had been his home, his family. And now, it was gone.

As the sun set over the mountain peak, casting a warm glow over the tragic scene, Dwayne made a silent vow. He would honor his master's legacy. He would complete the fifth form of the Steel Arc Sword Technique. And he would ensure that the sacrifices of his brothers, sisters, and master were not in vain.

With a heavy heart and a newfound resolve, Dwayne rose from the ground. He wiped away his tears and looked towards the future, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The journey would be long and arduous, but he knew he would never be alone. The spirits of his loved ones would guide him, their strength living on in his heart.

The vivid memories of his past faded as Dwayne's vision returned to the present. The pain in his body was a stark reminder of the battle still raging. But the memory of his master's words gave him strength. He could feel the presence of his fallen comrades, their spirits urging him on.

He looked at Raynes, who was now struggling to comprehend why his wounds weren't healing. "This is for you, Master," Dwayne whispered, his voice filled with a steely resolve. "For our dojo. For our legacy."

Raynes's eyes widened in realization as he felt the energy shifting. Dwayne's life force was channeling through the sword, making the Steel Arc Sword Technique whole, finally unleashing its true potential.

"Steel Arc Sword Technique: Fifth Form - Heaven's Cleave!" Dwayne roared once more, pouring every ounce of his being into the attack.

The radiant beam of energy erupted from the blade, more powerful and majestic than ever before. The heavens parted, and a divine light illuminated the chamber, casting out the darkness. The sheer force of the attack was overwhelming, a testament to the combined will of the dojo's legacy.

Raynes's form was engulfed by the blinding light, his screams of defiance swallowed by the roar of the divine energy. The chamber shook with the intensity of the attack, the very fabric of reality seeming to tremble.

Dwayne spoke gently, "Master, the heavens must have been cleaved right. You all saw it right"

As the light faded and the dust settled, Dwayne collapsed to the ground, his body completely.

As Dwayne lay on the cold stone floor, his left arm a bloodied stump, his breath coming in shallow gasps, he saw the silhouettes of Ruchir, Alice, and Garret rushing toward him. They had come to support him, their faces etched with concern and determination.

Ruchir's eyes widened in shock as he took in the extent of Dwayne's injuries, while Alice knelt beside him, her healing magic already at work, trying to stabilize him. Garret, always the vigilant protector, stood guard, his gaze sweeping the area for any remaining threats.

"Master Dwayne, we've got you," Ruchir said, his voice trembling with a mix of relief and worry. "We'll get you out of here."

But before they could move, a chilling presence filled the chamber. From the shadows emerged Raynes, his body a mere ghostly apparition, yet his eyes burned with an unholy fury. His form was translucent, a last remnant of his soul clinging to existence.

"You think this is over?" Raynes hissed, his voice echoing with malevolent intent. "I will not be defeated so easily. If I must fall, I will take this entire city with me!"

His spectral hands began weaving complex patterns, gathering dark energy, preparing to unleash a catastrophic spell. Ruchir and the others braced themselves, their hearts pounding with dread. The power Raynes was summoning could obliterate everything in its path.

But then, a calm, resolute voice cut through the tension: "Knowledge Zero, end right here."