Journey to Become the Zenith

A Swordswoman’s Humble Request

To know how a single strike could reach such a terrifying height.

Evelyne remained kneeling in the cold earth, her fingers pressed against the ground as the last traces of that overwhelming sword intent slowly faded from the cave.

The silence afterward was almost unbearable.

Only a faint wind passed through the mouth of the cave, carrying the scent of stone and dust. Somewhere outside, leaves rustled softly, completely unaware that within this secluded place, a swordswoman’s entire understanding of the sword had just been overturned.

Her voice finally broke through the silence.

”Please teach me your way of the sword!”

There was no arrogance in those words.

No calculation.

No hidden motive.

Only sincerity.

Evelyne’s head remained lowered as she waited.

She had never imagined herself asking another person to become her teacher.

In her previous life, she had walked her own path with pride. She had fought countless opponents, overcome countless obstacles, and built her swordsmanship through blood, hardship, and years of stubborn persistence.

She had always believed that if she continued forward, eventually she would reach the summit.

Then she met Victor.

And everything she believed about the sword had been shattered in a single moment.

Not because Victor had overwhelmed her through brute force.

Not because he had defeated her with some complicated technique.

It was because of that final sword strike.

One movement.

One slash.

Yet within that single motion was something Evelyne had spent her entire life searching for.

Perfect control.

Perfect timing.

Perfect intent.

It was as though the sword itself had become the law of the world for that brief instant.

Evelyne could still remember the sensation.

Her skin had gone cold when she witnessed it.

Her breathing had stopped.

For the first time in her life, she had understood just how vast the distance between herself and a true master could be.

She lifted her eyes slightly.

Victor’s back was facing her.

He stood there calmly, completely relaxed, as though the battle that had just occurred was nothing worth remembering.

That sight caused another thought to surface.

Why?

Why would he show her his back?

Evelyne stared at him for several seconds.

There was no defensive posture.

No hesitation.

No sign that he feared she might attack.

The answer gradually became obvious.

It wasn’t that Victor trusted her.

It wasn’t even that he believed she was honorable.

He simply didn’t care.

If she attacked him now, the result would not change.

It would be like an ant trying to bite down on a mountain.

No matter how much strength the ant possessed, the mountain would remain a mountain.

Evelyne’s lips tightened.

Once upon a time, back in her past life, she had acted the same way.

She had carried that same confidence.

That same pride.

She had believed that the stronger she became, the more she could stand above others.

But Victor’s attitude was different.

His confidence wasn’t arrogance born from ignorance.

He knew exactly how powerful he was.

And because he knew, he didn’t need to prove anything.

Evelyne respected that.

She respected his strength.

She respected his pride.

But above everything else...

She respected his sword.

The way Victor had fought at the beginning was already beyond Evelyne’s understanding. Every movement had seemed simple, yet there had been no wasted motion.

Still, that wasn’t what truly captivated her.

It was the sword swing at the end.

That single slash had been the very definition of a perfect sword strike.

A sword capable of slicing everything.

Anything.

Evelyne wanted that sword.

She wanted to understand it.

She wanted to know what kind of realm could produce such a terrifying strike.

She knew she might never reach the same height.

She knew she might spend the rest of her life chasing something she could never grasp.

But she didn’t care.

For a swordsman, discovering a mountain higher than the one they had already climbed wasn’t despair.

It was hope.

Evelyne swallowed whatever remained of her pride.

Then she asked him to teach her.

There was another reason she wasn’t as troubled by lowering her head as she once would have been.

Victor’s presence itself was strangely compelling.

He was a very handsome man, with sharp, well-defined features, long black hair, and golden eyes that seemed to possess a quiet depth of their own. His black shirt and leather pants gave him a severe, almost dangerous appearance, while the golden jacket over them added an effortless touch of grandeur.

Yet Evelyne wasn’t kneeling because of his appearance.

She was kneeling because of his sword.

Still...

Victor glanced back at her.

For the briefest moment, he noticed how striking she looked.

Evelyne’s long black-green hair fell around her shoulders, contrasting beautifully with her purple eyes. Even after everything that had happened, there was a certain determination in her expression that Victor found interesting.

She was beautiful.

More importantly, she liked strong people.

Victor had always had a particular weakness for women who possessed their own strength and ambition.

He didn’t dislike the idea of a woman becoming stronger than him.

If anything, he found it interesting.

If Evelyne eventually became powerful enough to stand beside him—or even surpass him someday—it wouldn’t disappoint him.

Quite the opposite.

His lips curved faintly.

If she became stronger, then perhaps he would have gained one more woman of his taste.

The thought passed through his mind so naturally that he almost smiled.

But Victor quickly returned his attention to the matter before him.

He looked down at the kneeling Evelyne.

He hadn’t expected this.

An arrogant transmigrator asking him to become her master?

That was certainly unexpected.

”You want me to be your master, and teach you the ways of the sword?”

Victor’s voice was calm.

Evelyne immediately raised her head.

Her purple eyes were firm.

”Yes!”

There wasn’t even a trace of hesitation.

Victor studied her for a moment.

”But you already have your own way of the sword. Are you willing to discard all that to learn my own way of the sword?”

The question wasn’t merely about technique.