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After living alone in the jungle for seventeen years, Asari steps into the world for the first time. Quiet, mysterious, and carrying only a letter of recommendation, he enters Dawnspire Academy—a school known for raising heroes and monsters alike.

He doesn’t speak much. He doesn’t care to fit in.

But when he meets Aicha, a stuttering girl in a wheelchair who’s used to being ignored, something changes.

In a world where strength decides everything, can a silent boy and a broken girl find their place?

The Ruthless Sword

Asari stood in the center of a broken battlefield, his cloak torn and stained with blood. In his left arm, the Black Tortoise egg pulsed with a faint warmth. In his mind, the memories of the ancient beast still echoed—its wisdom, its sorrow, its unyielding strength.

Before him, shadows took form. The figures—robed in obsidian and twisted metal—emerged with inhuman grace. The Entities of the Veiled Order. Each bore a different weapon: spears that whispered curses, blades that wept, and staffs that shimmered with malicious Eather.

"He carries the last shell," one of them hissed.

Another laughed, broken and hollow. "Let's carve him open."

Asari said nothing. He stepped forward slowly. Each movement carried the weight of the tortoise's memories, the lessons of defense not as retreat—but as indomitable presence.

One of the figures lunged. A curved blade sought Asari's throat. But his foot shifted—Ghost Walking—and the strike passed through nothing but smoke.

With his hand free, Asari drew the void-hued blade from his back. Its surface glinted—Devil Cry: Step Two – Severance. The world distorted for a moment, and the attacker fell, cleaved into silence.

They encircled him, their chants distorting the air. Eather twisted, coiled, became a chain of illusions. The battlefield bled into another realm—black skies, crimson sands, pillars of bone.

Asari's breathing slowed. He bent one knee, placed the egg gently behind him.

"I won't fall. Not while it watches."

The ground cracked. Aether surged through his limbs. And with it—the inheritance stirred.

A shell-shaped barrier formed behind Asari, nearly invisible save for the flicker of water-like patterns in the air. The moment a figure's cursed spear collided with it—it shattered, not the shell, but the spear.

Asari stood. Silent. His eyes now shimmered like obsidian oceans.

Shadow Break – Moonlit Collapse.

He became a blur of shadows. His sword didn't swing—it screamed. Every slash carved not flesh, but soul. Figures crumbled like paper swallowed by flame.

The leader. Masked in gold, body cloaked in serpents.

"You shouldn't exist," it said. "You are not the chosen."

Asari grinned, blood trailing from his lips. "I am not. But I still breathe."

Their clash shook the distorted realm. Blade against serpent-fangs. Shell against cursed storms. Asari's technique evolved with every heartbeat. The tortoise's essence flowed through him—guiding, refining.

He invoked it mid-strike. A dome of dark Eather expanded outward, suppressing enemy Eather. The leader staggered, its body trembling as its magic failed to respond.

Asari didn't let him finish. Devil Cry: Domain Open. The space itself cried out as Asari cleaved through the leader's chest.

The figures dissolved like smoke in wind. Only dust remained.

Asari turned. Picked up the egg. It pulsed again. Warm. Safe.

He fell to one knee, gasping. The memory of the tortoise surged—its final breath, its choice to entrust its legacy.

Aicha's voice echoed faintly in the distance, growing closer. She'd been tracking him.

He looked at the skies above. "Will I ever become more than this?"

Even if it meant carrying the world's last defense on his back.

"Some beasts die to be forgotten. Others die so that someone may remember. I will not let your memory vanish, old one."

Chapter 65 : Legacy of the Black Shell