Rivers of the Night-Chapter 330: Implications (2)

The image before them faded away, leaving a trio of heavy breaths hanging in the air. There was an oppressive atmosphere that hung in the air, and all of a sudden even Exsaa and Wren had no desire to joke around any longer.

SHIING.

A sword appeared in Wren's hand, swirling masses of Flux Mana twirling around it. It was only as his aura steadily climbed that he began to calm somewhat. His blade was like its own soothing call to him.

After a long while, he exhaled a breath and turned to leave.

"We should do this together," Vellan said.

"No," Wren said before vanishing.

Vellan didn't go after him. He knew why Wren made this choice; he wasn't following just any normal Flux Swordsman Path. Of them all, he had probably suffered at the hands of their Young Master the most.

There was a point in time when their Young Master was very much interested in the path of Weapon Resonance and its relation with Karma. There seemed to be a special sort of state Weapons Masters could tap into when they reached a certain level of talent that wasn't easy to understand.

A tie formed between blade and man that was hard to describe, almost as though they became one. This state seemed particularly potent in swordsmen for reasons that, once again, couldn't be explained.

Logically speaking, the fact Weapon Resonances existed at all was quite the confusing conundrum.

A Resonance was, at its core, an attunement with nature. Mana reflected life, the creation of the universe and the world. Weapons, though… were a distinctly human invention.

So where did the ability to resonate with them come from?

Many dismissed this as a unique quirk of Flux Mana, but many scholars weren't accepting of this answer—including their Young Master. He was of the opinion that it was linked to something else…

Karma.

Wren had been found by the family to be a rare talent of Flux Mana at quite a young age and had been given by their Young Master's father to their Young Master.

That was the start of Wren's cruel fate.

Using a special binding technique, a unique method of the Seijin, their Young Master tied Wren's life to his sword.

If Wren's sword ever broke, he would die.

But that was only the short of it. The sword was practically a scrap of metal, not even a Bronze Resonance item. It was forged through shoddy workmanship and could barely hold up.

Yet, not long after he grew to the First Bronze Resonance, Wren was thrown into the wilds to fend for himself with nothing more than his broken sword.

Every chip to the blade, every flake that fell off it, was like a stabbing wound to his soul. Every opponent he cut down was like suffering the baring of his own heart to the world—as though he walked around with his ribcage splayed open.

Wren had no choice but to grow stronger to protect his blade and his life, walking with it through life.

However, even an action as simple as sharpening its edge was agony to him. Battle, to him, was a state of pure and unbridled torture. Preparing for battle was the same. Waiting for battle was the same. Anticipating battle was the very same.

There was no escaping the pain. There was just him and his blade.

And yet, his blade was the only thing he trusted in this world.

When he pulled out his sword, he did so to kill. He believed himself to be the purest swordsman on the continent, and tonight he would prove that—and then break into the Gold Mancy.

If he died, so be it. He had grown tired of this life anyway.

In that case, he would do it on his own terms.

A tear fell from Exsaa's eye, one that very quickly flashed away into sparkling ashy wisps of violet and green.

**

The steady movement of warriors and platoons formed into neat rows and columns echoed through the streets of the Imperial Capital.

The irony of it all was that none of them seemed aware that their Imperial Palace had been attacked not long ago. Their Empress' neck now bled red, but they had set out in full force, marching toward the capture of a single young boy.

Amongst their number was General Pennel and the geniuses of the other Empires. However… this neatness didn't last long.

Flashing black came with chaos and blood quite quickly. freёnovelkiss.com

Figures leapt from building to building, weaving at the edges of the army and taking them out in small strips before rushing away.

It was fast and fluid, sharp and quick—an army of assassins only out for themselves erupting.

If it wasn't for the Soul Brands on their bodies, maybe they would have long since escaped. But since they knew they had no choice but to be loyal to Daggers of the Night, there was nothing else to consider.

They had no bottom line, no honor, no care for their faces.

They poured acid from rooftops, attacked from residential buildings, hid in sewer systems and pulled down unsuspecting victims toward them.

The army that thought they would only have one young boy to fight against found themselves taken off guard. They didn't even know what enemy they were facing right now, and they were quickly finding themselves ravaged.

General Pennel's eyes widened in shock, and Aetherion seemed quite dazed as well. There was no way that this was unrelated to Theron, but where did he get so much help from?

…

Standing on the roof of the Imperial Palace, the tallest point of the city, Theron stood with his robes fluttering. From this vantage, he could see everything—the chaos below unfolding as he thought it would. 2

This army was the strongest of the Sangun. Those were stationed at their borders like General Pennel usually was. However, they were convenient nonetheless. 1

As Emperor Sangun thought… Theron had no desire to cripple the Sangun. That wasn't to his benefit.

This chaos, however… was.

Theron's head slowly turned, feeling a sharpness pressing against his cheek that actually drew blood.

He reached a pair of fingers up, touching the sparkling red and looking at it for a long while.

A gaze did this to him?