Sera stepped onto the crimson carpet, each footfall echoing with divine resonance through his soulscape. The path stretched before him like spilled blood against pristine white stone, leading directly to the magnificent dojo that dominated this ethereal realm. Traditional paper lanterns swayed gently despite the absence of wind, casting dancing shadows that seemed alive with ancient purpose.
The dojo itself was a masterwork of classical Japanese architecture—seven meters of polished dark wood and rice paper screens that glowed with inner light. Curved eaves swept upward like the wings of a great crane, while intricate carvings of dragons and phoenixes adorned every beam and post. The structure radiated an aura of countless battles fought and won, of disciplines mastered through centuries of dedication.
As Sera approached the entrance, the sliding doors parted silently, revealing an interior that took his breath away. The floor was composed of flawless tatami mats arranged in perfect symmetry, their golden surfaces seeming to pulse with spiritual energy. Wooden pillars rose like ancient trees, supporting a ceiling painted with constellations that slowly wheeled through their celestial dance. At the far end of the vast space, a single figure knelt in seiza position before an altar adorned with burning incense and ceremonial katanas.
The man was poetry made flesh—tall and lean with the refined musculature of a master swordsman who had trained for millennia. His hair fell like black silk to his shoulders, framing features that could have been carved by the gods themselves: high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and eyes that held the depth of volcanic fire. He wore a pristine white kimono that seemed to glow with its own inner light, the fabric flowing around him like liquid moonbeams. Traditional hakama trousers completed his ensemble, and his bare feet rested gracefully on the tatami.
But it was his presence that truly commanded attention—an aura of barely contained violence wrapped in the elegant restraint of a master warrior. This was no mere spirit weapon; this was the Allborn in its truest form, and every fiber of its being radiated lethal precision.
The figure's eyes snapped open, revealing irises like molten steel that immediately fixed upon Sera with undisguised hostility. When he spoke, his voice carried the ring of temple bells mixed with the whisper of steel through silk.
"So... the pretender finally arrives."
The Allborn rose in one fluid motion, his movements possessing the liquid grace of a hunting cat. "You dare enter my domain? You, who cannot even unlock my most basic techniques? You, who swings me like a common blade rather than the divine instrument I am?"
Sera felt the crushing weight of the Allborn's spiritual pressure slam into him like a physical blow. Even in his own soulscape, the weapon's ego radiated power that made his knees buckle. "I came here to—"
"SILENCE!"
The word exploded from the Allborn's lips as he drew a katana identical to Sera's physical blade from thin air. The weapon sang as it cleared its ethereal sheath, the sound like a dragon's roar mixed with the laughter of wind through mountain peaks.
"You will not speak until you have proven yourself worthy of my acknowledgment!"
Without warning, the Allborn launched himself across the dojo with inhuman speed. To Sera's enhanced senses, the attack seemed to unfold in slow motion—a perfect iaijutsu draw that combined the initial unsheathing with a lethal horizontal slash aimed directly at his throat. The technique was flawless, executed with the precision of ten thousand years of practice.
Sera barely managed to summon his own blade and raise it in a desperate block. The impact sent shockwaves through his entire body, rattling his bones and driving him backward across the tatami mats. The Allborn's strength was overwhelming—like trying to stop an avalanche with bare hands.
"Pathetic!" the Allborn snarled, following up with a rapid series of cuts that forced Sera into full retreat. "This is the wielder I am bound to? This weak, stumbling child who cannot even maintain proper stance?"
Each strike came with crushing force that drove Sera further back. The Allborn moved like living lightning—his white kimono flowing around him as he delivered a masterclass in swordsmanship that left Sera scrambling just to survive. A diagonal cut transitioned seamlessly into an upward thrust, which flowed into a spinning horizontal slice that nearly took Sera's head off.
"You understand nothing!" the Allborn continued his verbal assault even as his blade sought Sera's life. "I am not merely a weapon to be swung—I am the culmination of divine craftsmanship, forged from the essence of all elements! Yet you treat me like common steel!"
Sera found himself pressed against the altar at the far end of the dojo, gasping for breath as the Allborn's relentless assault continued. Every parry sent jolts of agony up his arms, and he could feel his strength ebbing with each exchange. In raw skill and power, the Allborn was utterly superior in every way.
But then, as the weapon spirit raised his blade for what would surely be the finishing blow, realization struck Sera like divine lightning.
This is my soulscape.
The understanding cascaded through his consciousness with the force of revelation. Here, in this realm born from his own spirit, his will was ultimate law. The Allborn might possess superior technique and overwhelming power, but this domain belonged to Sera alone.
As the killing stroke descended, Sera didn't try to block or dodge. Instead, he reached out with his spiritual energy and simply... denied the attack. The Allborn's blade stopped as if it had struck an invisible wall, held motionless by Sera's absolute authority within his own soul.
The weapon spirit's eyes widened in shock as Sera rose to his feet, no longer the desperate, retreating figure of moments before. Here, in his own spiritual domain, Sera stood as lord and master.
"Now I understand," Sera said quietly, his voice carrying new confidence. "Sirius brought me here not because I was strong enough to match you in combat, but because this is the only place where I could face you as an equal."
The Allborn's expression shifted from shock to grudging respect as he lowered his frozen blade. "So... the pretender finally grasps the truth. Yes, boy—in the physical realm, I would have cut you down in the first exchange. Your spiritual energy is still too weak, your understanding too shallow." His volcanic eyes studied Sera with new interest. "But here, where your soul reigns supreme, you have proven something important."
"What?" Sera asked, genuinely curious.
A smile like the edge of a razor crossed the Allborn's perfect features. "That you are not a complete fool. You understood the fundamental rule of this realm and adapted accordingly. Perhaps... perhaps there is hope for us yet."
The hostility in the Allborn's presence didn't disappear entirely, but it shifted into something more akin to grudging acknowledgment. Like a master swordsman recognizing potential in a raw apprentice.
"Very well, Sera," the Allborn said, speaking his name for the first time. "You have passed the first test. Now comes the real work—learning to wield me as I was meant to be wielded. But know this: I will accept nothing less than perfection. Half-measures and sloppy technique will earn you nothing but my contempt."
Sera nodded solemnly, understanding that this was just the beginning of a very long and difficult partnership. But for the first time since awakening in the white void, he felt genuine hope kindling in his chest.
The real training was about to begin.