Ignoring the pain tearing through his body, Reon opened his system inventory, his resolve as hard as iron. With a steadying breath, he pulled out the Sword Aura Comprehension Card.
The card itself seemed unassuming—a simple bronze surface adorned with a small, intricate sword etched in its center and a single star marking one corner.
He had no idea how to activate it. Trying to tear it, he felt the resistance of some unknown force, as if the card was bound by more than just material.
His frustration built as he fumbled, trying every method he could think of. Had the system tricked him? No, it had always provided him with exactly what he needed, however strange or grueling the tasks it set for him.
Desperation mounting and hope fading, Reon felt the weight of finality pressing down on him. In a last, desperate act, he pressed his palm—and the card within it—against his forehead.
The moment the sword symbol touched his forehead, a searing warmth flooded Reon's veins, igniting his mind and body. His vision blurred, then sharpened with startling clarity as a primal, ancient instinct awoke, stirring something vast and powerful deep within.
It was the Sword Aura.
The energy pulsed within him, raw and unrefined, a force as primal as the mountain and as wild as the wind.
Though his body was battered and bruised, it resonated with this newfound power. A basic mastery of the way the sword began to take root within him, as if an innate part of him had surfaced, transforming him with each heartbeat.
The energy intensified, strengthening like a roaring flame as he felt it draw him into the next level. The air around him thrummed with energy, every leaf and branch seeming to bow beneath the invisible weight of this refined power.
The Sword Aura rippled through him, each breath deepening its hold, each movement guiding him toward a raw control that felt ancient and untamed yet somehow entirely his.
He could feel the aura pulsating with every breath, filling him with strength and purpose, his spirit brimming with an undeniable power.
Then, the energy surged, building and multiplying like a storm breaking upon cliffs. The Sword Aura flooded his veins, bending to his will, each movement of his body guided by an innate understanding, as though he were wielding the power of his own.
It felt uncanny, as though he had earned this power through years of training rather than receiving it through the system.
Even as his bones throbbed with strain, he felt the energy merge with his very soul, steady and unwavering, as if it had become a heartbeat of its own.
Yet it did not stop. The aura climbed once more, swelling to an intensity that sent shockwaves through his being, as if his spirit had been stretched to contain something far greater.
His awareness expanded, his spirit infused with a power that stretched beyond his limits. With each pulse, his mastery of the sword deepened.
The sky above seemed to respond, parting as a piercing ray of dark fire shot through the clouds, casting shadows that draped over the forest like a shroud.
Every creatures nearby felt it—the presence, powerful and undeniable, pulsing through the woods, and even the shadows themselves seemed to still in reverence.
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In a secluded mountain of the sect, two elderly men sat across from each other, deep in a game of chess, the quiet between them punctuated only by the soft clinks of wooden pieces.
Suddenly, one of them paused, his fingers brushing through his beard thoughtfully.
"It seems someone has awakened Sword Aura," he remarked, eyes flickering to the distant sky.
The other man, frowning, waved a dismissive hand. "Sword Aura? Anyone with above average talent can awaken it—why are you making a fuss?"
The first man raised an eyebrow, gesturing subtly toward the sky. "Look at the color radiating from the clouds, you fool. The Aura's color during an awakening reflects a cultivator's potential. Silver is the weakest, showing little promise in weapon mastery. But the strongest..."
He paused, his voice lowering. "The strongest is golden—a sign of a destined path in weapon cultivation."
The second elder rolled his eyes but followed the man's gaze. "I know that much even if I am not a weapon cultivator, old bone," he huffed, but then his eyes widened, a flash of astonishment crossing his face as he observed the aura spilling from the heavens.
"It's... black," he whispered, now riveted.
"Precisely," the first elder replied, his voice laced with intrigue. "In a thousand years, I've never seen—nor even heard of—a black aura awakening."
"Nor have I," murmured the other elder.
"Hoho! It seems this generation will be... interesting," the first elder murmured, his eyes narrowing, a spark of excitement glinting within them.
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Meanwhile, in the depths of the forest, Reon was oblivious to the elders' astonishment or the commotion his awakening stirred.
All he felt was the deep sense of familiarity, as if he had spent a lifetime training, thousands of hours with a sword burned into his very bones.
"Why? Why does this power feel so familiar?" Reon wondered, but no answer came.
The aura enveloped him like a second soul, merging body and spirit into pure unity. This was no mere Awakening Stage of Sword Aura—he knew it was far beyond that.
This was undoubtedly the Mastery Stage—or perhaps even the Pinnacle Stage—of Sword Aura.