The temple was still, but the silence was deceptive.
It was not the silence of emptiness—but of something watching.
Raiyo remained where he stood, his breath steady, his grip firm around the katana at his side. The blade had chosen him, and yet, he felt as if he had only begun to understand what that truly meant.
The weight of battle had not left him.
He could still feel the presence of the Nameless Sword lingering in the air, like a shadow burned into existence. The entity that had tested him had retreated, but its lesson remained.
His muscles ached from the strain of the duel. His body screamed for rest.
Yet, he could not bring himself to move.
Something had changed in him.
Something had awakened.
He exhaled.
And for the first time, he felt it.
The breath of steel.
Swords were not just weapons. They were extensions of will, vessels of intent.
But the Nameless Sword had been different.
It had never been wielded. Never belonged to anyone.
It had existed not to be controlled, but to be understood.
That was why his katana had refused to consume it.
Even a blade as cursed as his own had known its place.
He knelt, placing his fingers against the cracked stone of the temple floor. He could still feel the remnants of the battle—the weight of steel that had never been seen, the clash that had never truly existed.
"What was that sword?"
He thought back to the duel.
The guardian had not spoken, not in words.
But its movements had told a story.
Every strike had been precise, deliberate. Not seeking to kill—but to teach.
The moment he had begun to match its rhythm, to feel the presence between each swing, the battle had shifted.
That was when he had truly touched the breath of steel.
Not just the clash of swords, not just the movements of battle.
But the space between them.
The pause before a strike.
The moment before a blade met flesh.
That was where the real strength of the sword lay—not in its edge, but in the control of when it would be used.
And now, he understood.
The Nameless Sword had not been testing his strength.
It had been testing his awareness.
A breeze swept through the ruins, carrying the scent of old metal, dust, and something else—something ancient.
And in that wind, he heard it.Not a voice.Not a command.But a breath.A soft inhalation.A slow exhalation.The breath of steel.
His body tensed. His fingers instinctively tightened around his katana.
"Was it still here?"
He reached out with his senses, feeling the air, the vibrations in the ground, the pull of energy in the world around him.
Nothing.
No presence. No threat.
Yet the whisper remained.
Steel inhaling.
Steel exhaling.
Not the sound of metal clashing, not the scream of blades, but something deeper.
Something alive.
For the first time, he felt as if the sword in his hands was not just a weapon—but a living thing.
Not a tool. Not a burden.
But a breath within him.
He had always relied on instinct. On the way the blade moved in his hands, on the way his body adapted to every fight.
But now, he realized—he had never truly listened to his sword.
Not until now.
The realization settled into him like a weight he had not known he carried.
He had trained to be a warrior.
He had learned how to fight, how to kill.
But he had never learned how to listen.
"Is this why they abandoned me?"
The thought crept into his mind like a shadow.
Had his family seen his blindness as a weakness?
Had they believed he would never be able to understand the way of the sword?
Or had they feared what he might become if he did?
He shook the thoughts away.
He was no longer the abandoned child.
He was something else now.
Something more.
The temple's silence stretched before him, heavy with unseen echoes. He took one last breath, feeling the weight of his katana at his side.
"I am not the same as before."
And he would not leave this place unchanged.
The first step beyond the temple felt different.
Lighter.
The world stretched before him—an unknown path waiting to be carved.
The wind whispered through the broken stones, carrying the breath of steel into the endless sky.
He had survived the test.
But the true battle had yet to begin.
He knew now—the blade was not his to command.
He was its vessel.
And he would learn what it truly meant to wield it.
Even if it cost him everything.