I returned to training the next morning like nothing had changed.
That was a lie.
Everything had changed.
But the world didn't care. The sun still rose. The academy bells still rang on schedule. Students still rushed past me with half-awake faces and half-formed ambitions.
And my body still needed to move.
I woke up before dawn, as usual. The room was quiet, faint blue light creeping through the window. I sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment, elbows resting on my knees, fingers loosely clasped.
No headache.
No panic.
Just… emptiness.
Not the painful kind. Not the suffocating kind.
The kind you feel after something ends cleanly, without screaming or breaking.
"…Guess that's it," I murmured.
The original Rias's emotions stirred faintly again, but this time they weren't chaotic. They didn't surge or claw at my chest.
They felt… settled.
Thank you, that faint presence seemed to say again.
I didn't answer out loud.
I stood up, dressed, and stepped outside.
The training ground was empty.
That was intentional.
I didn't want witnesses today.
The grass was damp with morning dew, the air cold enough to sharpen my breath. I drew my sword slowly, letting the familiar weight settle into my palm.
Steel always told the truth.
Unlike people.
I took a stance.
Not the academy's standard form.
Not the noble sword style drilled into my muscles since childhood.
I shifted my feet slightly. Lowered my center of gravity. Adjusted my grip—not tighter, but cleaner. No wasted tension.
Judgement of Heaven wasn't a technique.
It was a concept.
A way of holding the blade that demanded honesty from its wielder.
"…Let's start from zero," I said quietly.
I inhaled.
And moved.
The first swing was clumsy.
Not because my body forgot how to move, but because it refused to pretend.
The blade cut through the air in a clean arc, but something was missing. No authority. No finality.
I frowned.
Again.
Second swing. Third.
I wasn't trying to go fast. I wasn't trying to go hard.
I was trying to go true.
Judgement of Heaven, according to the manual, was a sword art that rejected excess. No flourish. No ego. No emotional indulgence.
The sword did not exist to express the wielder.
The wielder existed to carry out the sword's decision.
"Yeah," I muttered after a few minutes, lowering the blade. "Sounds arrogant enough to be written by a Sword Sovereign."
I wiped sweat from my forehead and sat on the grass, sword resting across my knees.
Mana circulation came next.
I closed my eyes.
The rune of Mana Comprehension activated quietly, like a lens sliding into place. My perception deepened—not sharper, but broader. I could feel mana flow around me, thin and lazy in the early morning air.
I guided my own mana slowly.
Not forcing it.
Not compressing it aggressively.
Just… aligning it.
Judgement of Heaven required order.
And order wasn't something you imposed violently. It was something you maintained.
The manual's words echoed in my mind.
Heaven does not shout when it passes judgement.
It simply proceeds.
I exhaled.
Mana flowed from my core, through my arms, into my grip. It didn't coat the blade. It didn't flare.
It listened.
"…Good," I murmured.
For the first time, the sword felt lighter.
Not physically.
Conceptually.
Hours passed like that.
Swing. Adjust. Breathe. Circulate mana.
Sometimes I stopped and corrected my posture. Sometimes I closed my eyes and replayed the movement in my head before trying again.
There was no rush.
Judgement of Heaven wasn't a race.
At some point, my arms started to shake—not from exhaustion, but from restraint. My body wanted to revert to familiar styles, to rely on strength and speed.
I refused.
"No shortcuts," I said aloud. "You've had enough of those."
The original Rias's emotions surfaced faintly again.
I always tried to be enough.
This time… let's be correct instead.
I nodded unconsciously.
By midday, my clothes were soaked with sweat, and my breath came heavier.
I stood still, blade lowered, mana circulating steadily.
Then something… shifted.
It wasn't dramatic.
No explosion.
No glow.
Just a response.
The air around the blade felt… aligned.
Not pressured.
Not cut.
Aligned.
I froze.
"…Don't tell me," I whispered.
I moved the sword slowly, deliberately.
The faintest spark—barely more than a sensation—ran along the blade's edge. Not visible. Not measurable.
But real.
Sword aura?
No.
Not yet.
This wasn't power.
This was permission.
The blade accepted the path I was trying to walk.
I let out a quiet laugh.
"…So that's how it starts."
I didn't chase it.
I didn't push.
I lowered the sword and sat down again, heart steady but heavy.
Judgement of Heaven wasn't something you forced open.
You waited until it judged you worthy to proceed.
In the afternoon, I trained mana separately.
Pure circulation.
Compression.
Release.
I practiced controlling output without increasing volume. Letting mana move like a river instead of a flood.
Order of Lightning lingered in the back of my mind—not as something I could use, but as a distant mountain.
One step at a time.
"I'm not touching you yet," I said quietly. "You'd kill me."
The rune pulsed faintly in agreement.
As the sun began to dip, I sheathed my sword and leaned back against a tree near the training ground.
My body ached.
My mind felt… clear.
For the first time since the engagement ended, I allowed myself to think about it properly.
Viola.
No anger.
No resentment.
Just understanding.
"She chose her path," I said softly. "And I chose mine."
The original Rias's emotions didn't resist this time.
They flowed.
Accepted.
Settled.
I closed my eyes.
"…We'll be fine," I murmured—to him, or to myself, I wasn't sure.