Journey to Become the Zenith

A Blade Recognized

When Victor, Clara, and Lane left Fantom City, the sun was still high, casting long golden streaks over the stone roads behind them.

But far from the mountain paths they now walked—

Back in the Knight Academy, another story was unfolding.

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The training courtyard stood silent beneath a pale blue sky. Three Saint-ranked swordsmen sat upon elevated wooden chairs, their expressions unreadable, their presence heavy. Even the wind seemed reluctant to disturb the moment.

Before them stood Videl.

Her long blonde hair was tied neatly behind her, sapphire-blue eyes calm yet burning with quiet determination. The academy uniform fitted her well, but there was something different about her stance—something sharper than the average first-year student.

The test was simple.

Demonstrate one’s swordsmanship.

Three Saint-ranked swordsmen would observe. They would judge.

No applause. No dramatics.

Only truth.

Videl drew her sword.

The blade flashed under sunlight.

And she moved.

Her movements were not elegant. Not flowing in decorative arcs like traditional academy forms. There were no spinning flourishes or ornamental twirls meant to impress spectators.

Each motion was clean.

Precise.

Direct.

There was no wasted step. No hesitation.

To a lesser swordsman, her style might seem too simple—too straightforward. Even predictable.

But the three Saint-ranked observers leaned forward slightly.

They saw it.

Every cut was positioned at vital points. Every pivot aligned with a killing trajectory. Every withdrawal created space to strike again.

It was not art.

It was war.

The faint scrape of her boots against stone echoed with each controlled shift. Her final strike stopped just an inch before an invisible opponent’s throat.

Silence followed.

Videl lowered her blade and stood straight before the three judges.

Her heart beat steadily.

She waited.

One of the Saint-ranked swordsmen—an older man with a scar across his jaw—spoke first.

”Videl. First-year student of the Knight Academy.”

Another nodded.

”Your talent is nothing short of miraculous.”

The third’s voice carried quiet weight.

”We are proud to witness the birth of a future legendary sword maiden.”

The scarred man stood.

”From this day forth, you are ranked as a Master-ranked swordsman.”

A faint murmur rippled through the observing students at the courtyard’s edge.

First year.

Master rank.

Unheard of.

”Young sword maiden,” the Saint-ranked swordsman continued, his tone softer now, ”we hope your journey will be worthwhile.”

Videl bowed respectfully.

Inside her chest, warmth spread—not pride.

Gratitude.

Victor’s training echoed in her mind.

Every correction.

Every harsh strike.

Every calm explanation.

She tightened her grip slightly on her sword.

I won’t disappoint you.

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Far away from the academy walls, Victor and his party walked along the main road leaving Fantom City.

The stone-paved path gradually gave way to uneven earth. The steady rhythm of urban life faded behind them, replaced by wind through tall grass and distant bird calls.

Lane walked to Victor’s left.

Clara to his right.

Here, the air carried a sharper scent, somehow fresher. A chill ran through each breath.

Backs straightened, Victor let his fingers rise slow above him while steps carried them forward.

”Clara,” he said lazily, ”if this unknown monster turns out to be a rabbit, I’m blaming you.”

Her eyes snapped toward him.

”You’re the one who chose the quest.”

”Yes, but you explained it in a way that made it sound dramatic.”

Lane held back a grin.

Clara exhaled softly. ”If it’s a rabbit, I’ll personally cook it for you.”

His chin dipped slightly to one side.

”So confident.”

A small smile tugged at Clara’s mouth - then she stopped it cold.

Lane noticed.

A soft touch grazed Victor’s sleeve when she moved nearer. One foot followed the other, close enough now that space hardly stayed between them.

”You’re enjoying this too much,” Lane murmured.

His eyes flicked toward her.

”I enjoy walking with competent people.”

Lane’s heart skipped.

Her gaze shifted upward, slow. A breath escaped through slightly parted lips.

”Your compliments are suspicious.”

Victor smirked. ”Only when they’re true.”

A twist in the trail came as woods closed in on both sides. Up above, tree limbs wove together like threads pulled tight. Light slipped between gaps in the canopy, spilling in uneven patches below. The earth wore spots of brightness where rays landed.

Now and then, Victor shifted nearer to Clara, just enough to unsettle her calm. Every once in a while, he let his steps drag so Lane stumbled against his shoulder.

Clara maintained composure.

Mostly.

”Stay sharp,” she said under her breath that time he came near.

”Am I distracting you?” he asked lightly.

”You’re testing my patience.”

”And?”

”And I will win.”

Victor chuckled quietly.

Away beyond the trees, the trail turned into a rough track heading up between hills. Up there, the peaks stood waiting - huge, still, older than stories.

Footsteps slowed when the mountain’s shadow touched the first huts. Half a day melted behind them without notice.

Lane thought it would be smaller, but the village stretched farther than he imagined.

She slowed slightly.

”This isn’t like home,” she murmured.

A long line of homes sat where the land flattened below the peak. Built with wood held up by rock at their feet. From rooftops, thin trails of smoke rose into the air. People came, some stayed a while in small roadside shelters.

Beyond the valley lay silence, a pause just ahead of the peaks.

Not a remote, frightened settlement.

Children ran through open spaces laughing. Merchants displayed goods. A blacksmith hammered iron with steady rhythm.

Victor observed quietly.

Strange.

For a place reporting an unknown monster roaming nearby... there was no visible fear.

”Are you here for the quest the village chief posted?”

A man approached them, middle-aged, sun-weathered face, cautious but hopeful eyes.

Clara stepped forward smoothly before Victor could respond.

”Yes. We are adventurers from Fantom City.”

Her tone was professional yet calm.

”Can you please lead us to the village chief’s house?”

The man studied them briefly—his gaze lingering a moment on Victor’s silver armor, then Clara’s shield, then Lane’s bow.

”You arrived quickly,” he said.

”We don’t waste time,” Victor replied evenly.

The man nodded.

”Follow me.”

As they walked through the village, children approached with bright smiles.

”Are you really adventurers?” one boy asked Lane excitedly.

She gave a small nod.

Another child stared at Victor’s armor.

”You look like a hero!”

Victor blinked.

Clara smirked faintly at his subtle discomfort.

”He doesn’t like that word,” she murmured.

Victor sighed lightly.

”Heroes die first.”

The man leading them chuckled awkwardly.

”Our village has been fortunate so far,” he said as they walked. ”The creature hasn’t attacked directly. But we’ve heard sounds at night. Livestock missing. Strange tracks near the mountain’s edge.”

Victor’s eyes sharpened slightly.

”And no casualties?”

”None yet,” the man answered.

That explained the atmosphere.

Concern.

Not panic.

They stopped before a larger wooden house near the village center.

”This is the village chief’s residence.”

The man turned toward Clara.

”I’ll inform him you’ve arrived.”

Clara nodded respectfully.

Victor glanced briefly at the mountains rising beyond the rooftops.

The wind shifted slightly.

Carrying something faint.

Something not yet visible.

And somewhere far away, in the academy courtyard, Videl tightened her grip on her blade—unaware that the journey before all of them was just beginning.