Chapter 15: Carving the Blade’s Path

Chapter 15: Carving the Blade's Path

The trek back to their hideout was slow, deliberate. The labyrinth's shifting corridors pulsed with an eerie glow, as though aware of their presence. Each step echoed faintly, swallowed by the damp air. Ray clutched the soul fragment tightly in his palm, its cool, glass-like surface smooth against his skin. A dormant beast's soul, now nothing more than crystallized essence.

Alkan walked ahead, his footsteps measured and silent. He had led Ray through these paths enough times that he seemed almost one with the labyrinth. Ray, on the other hand, still felt like an intruder. Every creak in the walls, every flickering shadow, sent his senses on edge.

They reached their shelter, a small alcove hidden behind a collapsed passage. The space was barely wide enough to fit the two of them, but it provided cover from wandering creatures. The ground was layered with cloth and makeshift bedding—comfort was a luxury neither could afford, but it was better than the cold stone.

Alkan gestured for Ray to sit. "Break it."

Ray hesitated, staring at the soul fragment in his hand. It was faintly transparent, the trapped essence inside shifting like smoke sealed in glass. The mere sight of it sent a shiver down his spine. He had seen Alkan absorb these before, had heard him talk about how necessary they were to survival. But now that he was the one holding it, he found himself reluctant.

Alkan noticed his hesitation. "It's just a fragment. The moment you shatter it, the essence will flow into you. It won't change you instantly. But it's the first step."

Ray exhaled sharply, nodding. He tightened his grip and crushed the fragment between his fingers. The crystal cracked with a sharp snap, dissolving into a faint mist. The soul essence surged out, rushing into his body like a tide seeking refuge. For a fleeting moment, he felt it—an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his veins, an echo of something primal. Then it faded, vanishing as if it had never been there.

His body tensed for something more. A rush of power? A transformation? But there was only silence. His breathing steadied, his senses returning to normal.

Alkan smirked. "Disappointed?"

Ray flexed his fingers, frowning. "I barely felt anything."

"That's how it starts." Alkan leaned against the wall, watching him. "Absorbing one fragment means nothing. Dozens, maybe. Hundreds, certainly. But feeling it is just a fleeting thing until you reach saturation."

Ray stared at his hand, frustration stirring in his chest. He had expected… something more. But Alkan had warned him—it would take time. A path carved through countless battles. He clenched his fist, determination settling in his gut.

"I need more," he muttered.

Alkan chuckled. "Greedy already? Good. That hunger will keep you alive." His expression sobered. "But don't get reckless. Come." He pushed himself up, retrieving his sword. "We train."

Ray stood, reaching for the chokutō at his side. The blade was a relic of Alkan's, merely lent to him for now. Its makeshift appearance was deceiving—the edge never dulled, always sharp, despite the crude craftsmanship of its hilt. It had seen battles beyond Ray's comprehension, and yet, it endured.

They stepped into the clearing outside their shelter. The dim bioluminescence of the labyrinth barely provided enough light, but Ray had trained in worse conditions. Alkan raised his blade, his stance relaxed yet unreadable.

"Show me your stance," Alkan ordered.

Ray adjusted his footing, bringing his chokutō up in a ready position. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. He steadied his breathing, recalling every lesson drilled into him over the past month.

Alkan circled him, eyes scanning for flaws. "Lower your center of gravity. Your grip—relax it slightly. If you're too tense, your reactions will slow."

Ray adjusted, feeling the shift in weight. Alkan didn't wait for him to settle. He struck, a swift diagonal slash aimed at Ray's shoulder.

Ray reacted, bringing his sword up in a desperate parry. The impact jolted through his arms, forcing him back a step.

"Too slow," Alkan chided. "Again."

Ray gritted his teeth. He stepped forward, attempting a counter-slash. Alkan sidestepped with ease, his blade flicking out toward Ray's ribs. Ray barely managed to twist away, the steel whispering past his side.

Alkan didn't let up. His strikes were precise, controlled—never overextending, never wasted. Every movement was calculated. Ray struggled to keep up, his feet stumbling as he barely deflected another blow.

He was losing.

And he hated it.

Move better. Read the flow. Don't react—anticipate.

Ray steadied his breathing. He shifted his stance mid-step, recalling the drills Alkan had beaten into him. He parried the next strike, but instead of retreating, he pressed forward. His chokutō scraped against Alkan's blade, sliding past in a quick disengage.

Alkan's brows lifted slightly. Ray felt a surge of satisfaction. He almost had him. But the moment lingered too long. Alkan reversed his grip and flicked his wrist, slamming the flat of his blade against Ray's wrist. Pain flared as his chokutō flew from his hand.

Ray clenched his jaw, forcing down a curse.

Alkan sheathed his blade, nodding. "Better. You're starting to move with the flow instead of against it."

Ray picked up his sword, exhaling. Sweat dripped down his brow. He knew what Alkan meant—there was no winning yet. But there was progress.

"Again," Ray said, adjusting his stance.

Alkan grinned. "Good. Now, let's see if you can actually hit me this time."

As they resumed their sparring, Ray's grip tightened around the weapon. He would get stronger. His path was still being carved, but each swing of his blade etched it deeper into the stone.

One step at a time.