Lucien stood in the oceanic black water. No sword. No style. Just him, alone.
Across from him, the dark figure emerged once more. Same face. Same voice. Same eyes—only colder, older, like a reflection twisted by time.
The platform groaned beneath unseen pressure. Shadows pulsed with sentience.
"Where is your blade?" the reflection asked, and added "Where is your style, your pride?"
Lucien raised his hands, open his palms, steady breath. Then said "I don't need them."
The dark self laughed. "Then die empty." AndIt lunged.
A blur of black steel arced through the air, howling with deadly force. Lucien sidestepped. He weaved and ducked, movement raw and unrefined, survival etched into every motion.
Slash, miss. Kick, block. Elbow, clash.
Lucien's feet skidded across the dark stone. His breath was sharp. He moved not with form but with feeling. Flowing, falling, rising again. He fought like a man on the edge of something he couldn't name. And then it happened.
In the silence between attacks. In the space between thought and breath. The void whispered. Not in words. Not in technique. But in understanding.
Lucien closed his eyes.
His enemy charged once more, blade drawn back, aura flaring.
But Lucien… didn't move.
The blade struck, yet did not cut. It passed through empty air. The reflection froze.
Lucien stood behind him.
One hand rested where the sword should be. There was none.
Yet still, a cut appeared across the dark figure's chest. Thin. Clean. Silent.
The figure gasped. "What... was that?"
Lucien opened his eyes. They shimmered not with light, but with stillness.
"Nameless Drift. A style without a name, because it doesn't need one. I don't wield the sword. I become the sword itself." Lucien said like he just learned something.
The void trembled. The platform cracked.
The dark self dropped its weapon and knelt. "You are ready."The figure said in low voice.
And it dissolved, fading into dust and black wind.
The aura around Lucien no longer raged. It bowed. The Black Aura wrapped around him, no longer as a curse, but as an extension of self. It danced along his skin like shadowlight, quiet, obedient.
Lucien looked at his hands. Still empty. Yet somehow, more dangerous than any sword he had ever held.
Lucien was now back in his physical body, no longer adrift in the oceanic black-water void. Suddenly, he vomited a foul, black, sticky liquid—the impurities purged from his body. He stood up and looked at himself. His body was now the same one he had on Earth: the embodiment of perfection. His faced was now back to how it was supposed to be—majestic.
Lucien left his tent, and to his surprise, he saw Kalios holding a sword in his right hand and sweating as if he had come back from his training.
"Hmm? What are you doing there? Are you planning to kill me or attack me, Kalios?" Lucien said in his calm voice.
"Ahh... No, young master. I rushed here because I sensed something unusual, so I came to check. I thought you might be in danger," Kalios replied to Lucien. His expression shifted to shock as he saw energy radiating from Lucien, then turned to awe upon seeing Lucien's body—flawless and perfectly shaped.
"Okay," Lucien said simply to Kalios. Then he added, "Prepare my bath. I need to wash up." He spoke curtly, the foul stench clinging to his body making it unbearable to delay any longer.
"Yes, young master, I suppose so too," Kalios said, covering his nose from the foul smell coming from Lucien's body.
After a minutes. Lucien proceeded toward the bathhouse, but as he was walking, he suddenly stopped to gaze at the sunlight. He then took a deep breath of the fresh air.
After a few minutes of walking, Lucien finally reached the bathhouse. It stood nestled in the heart of the forest, partially concealed by thick trees and surrounded by the soft mist of steam rising from its vents. The bathhouse was a little far from the camp, about a ten-minute walk. However, if one used aura or magic to enhance their speed, they could reach it in just a minute.
Lucien entered the bathhouse and quietly removed his clothes before stepping into the warm water. As he began to bathe, his eyes wandered to every corner of the room, as if studying the design and layout. Soon, his gaze fell upon the fresh set of clothes prepared for him—similar to the ones he wore when he was rescued, but now in different colors. The top was black, and the pants were white—a simple yet elegant match. After taking in the interior design and the peaceful atmosphere, Lucien closed his eyes and let himself relax.
After an hour of bathing, letting the remnants of filth and impurity wash away, Lucien suddenly stood up. A thought comes in his mind—sharp, sudden, irresistible.
"What if I tried using it again…?" Lucien whispered to his self.
The Nameless Drift. That strange, formless art. The style that required no blade, no stance, no name. It wasn't a technique learned—it was a realization. A stillness he had touched in the void. Lucien stepped out into the clearing behind the old stone bath. The wind was quiet with only a towel that was covering his 'SIGMA', the trees holding their breath. He raised his hand. No sword in sight. No aura flared. He moved. Like mist drifting over a pond. Like time pausing between heartbeats. Each motion—unreadable, soft, yet laden with death.
(AN: Sigma = Bird)
A leaf fell from a branch above. Lucien passed by it. The leaf split in half without sound. He exhaled slowly. Nameless Drift. No weapon. No style. Only intention. And now—it answered his call.
"This thing is too overpowered... I need to learn a proper sword style I can actually use," Lucien muttered to himself, planning to check the sword style Kalios had given him.
Lucien quickly returned to the bathhouse, slipped into his clothes, and tied his hair neatly. As he glanced at the mirror, he paused. The reflection staring back wasn't the thin boy he once knew. His body was now lean, well-built, and refined. The clothes fit him perfectly, highlighting his clean features and composed aura. With his hair tied back, he looked striking—sharp, calm, almost regal.
He looked… majestic. Not just stronger, but more noble, more elegant. Like someone others would admire at a glance without knowing why. Lucien gave a small, amused smile.
"Guess I clean up well." Lucien said in a proud tone, and he added. "Maybe, i should go back now"
And then suddenly...