The Anomaly's Path

The cold grip of Tempest’s hilt grounded me.

I stood still in the middle of the training room. I didn’t widen my stance. I didn’t shift my weight. I just looked at the empty air thirty feet in front of me.

My mind locked onto that single point. I didn’t think about drawing the blade or the motion my arm would make. I didn’t think about the distance. I simply decided, with everything I had, that the space in front of me was already cut.

I drew the sword.

There was no sound of steel against the scabbard. No bright flash. For a moment, the light in the room just died, swallowed by a dark emptiness.

Then, reality tore open.

A thin, jagged line of black light flickered in the air. It wasn’t a flying slash of energy. It was a literal tear in the space of the room, crackling with black lightning and carrying the silent heat of the Soul Flame. It existed for only a split second, but in that moment, the air inside the room was completely erased.

Boom!

The empty space suddenly caved in on itself. A powerful blast of air shot outward in every direction, slamming against the walls. The walls groaned under the force, and the silver runes along them flared brightly as they struggled to absorb the shock.

The strain of the technique snapped back onto me like a rubber band.

My knees buckled. Before I could stop myself, I hit the floor. Tempest slipped from my grip, clattering loudly against the floor.

I lay flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, my chest heaving.

”Ah...”

A dry, breathless laugh escaped my throat.

My whole body was shaking. Every drop of mana in my core felt like it had been squeezed out, leaving me completely empty. My muscles throbbed with deep exhaustion, making even blinking feel hard.

But I couldn’t stop staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t stop the grin that was slowly spreading across my face.

”I actually did it...” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

I looked at the spot where the cut had appeared. The wall had cracks on it, small but deep, spreading out like spiderwebs. The runes had held and absorbed most of the force. But the air there still felt thin, cold, and strange.

It wasn’t a perfect strike. Just a glimpse — a rough first try. The cut only lasted a moment before falling apart, and it nearly knocked me out. But it was there. I didn’t even swing the sword completely.

I lay there listening to my own ragged breathing. Now that the energy was fading, I could feel how stupid and huge what I had just tried really was. My body didn’t have a scratch on it, thanks to my healing, but my insides felt like dry, cracked ground.

Running three powers at once and forcing them into one point wasn’t like a normal strike. It was like trying to push a wild river through a tiny hole.

I couldn’t hold it, I thought, analyzing the feeling of the strike. Why?

The realization came to me slowly as the exhaustion began to fade.

Will.

Intent was the decision — the sharp edge of the action. I had that down.

But Will was the ability to impose my reality on the world, to force the laws of nature to obey my command. I had accepted myself, locking my soul space into a solid fortress, but my current rank was holding me back.

My core and soul weren’t strong enough yet to sustain that level of pressure.

To freely unleash my Will on the world, to make the Third Form stable without destroying my body, I needed to reach Grandmaster rank.

Without that level, my soul didn’t have the weight required to tell the universe how to behave. Right now, using the Third Form was like a child trying to swing a massive hammer. I could lift it, and I could swing it once if I threw my whole body into it, but the momentum would always drag me down.

It was a matter of capacity. Grandmaster rank wasn’t just a title or a bigger pool of mana — it was the point where a fighter’s soul became heavy enough to anchor their intent into the world permanently.

I let out another slow breath, watching the silver runes on the wall dim back to idle.

But I was an anomaly. The rules of this world didn’t apply to me the same way they did to others. If I couldn’t freely impose my Will yet, I would just have to force it.

I would carry it out through sheer grit and adaptability, even if it cost me ten times the mana and left me completely spent after a single strike. If I could master this form, even in its unrefined state, it would become a terrifying trump card.

If I was forced into a corner where I had to protect someone, a single strike would be enough. I didn’t need a long fight if I could just decide that the threat was already gone.

The thoughts drifted naturally to the sword art itself. Each form of Eclipse of the Singularity wasn’t just a combat technique — they represented the purpose of my sword.

The First Form was about survival, desperately fighting to keep everything from falling apart when I was broken. The Second Form was about focus, cutting down obstacles threatening the path forward.

And the Third Form... the Third Form was about absolute protection.

Deciding that the threat was already gone, erasing it from existence before it could reach the people behind me.

It was funny. I had spent so much time trying to make my sword style faster, sharper, more lethal, thinking that was the only way to survive. But the deeper I went into my own soul, the more I realized that my sword wasn’t built for slaughter.

It was built to keep things standing. Every form was a milestone of how I had kept myself alive, and how I intended to keep the people around me alive.

I smiled quietly, the exhaustion finally turning into a comfortable warmth.

A genuine, soft smile appeared on my face in the dim training room. I really missed them.

”Soon... I will master it,” I muttered to myself.

Tomorrow, the Academy Festival would officially begin, and I had work to do. I needed to go with Caster and find him.

I closed my eyes, recalling the details from the game.

Right now, that guy was just a slave — a brilliant information expert, a master trickster, and a nightmare in the criminal world. In the original timeline, he would eventually become a villain, a ruler of the underworld who met his end at Arthur’s hands.

But I didn’t care about his destined villainy. I cared about his unique power and his mind.

In the game, players who cared about trade knew his name well. He didn’t fight. Instead, he controlled markets, stole secret messages, and ran tricks so good they could bring down whole groups in one night.

If I could get to him before the underworld broke him completely, I could change his path. He wouldn’t have to become the desperate villain who died under Arthur’s sword. Instead, he could be the brain behind our team.

With his skills, we could build a massive intelligence network.

He was a genius when it came to reading information and making money. With his help, I would have an unstoppable earning source. I wouldn’t have to worry about funding my plans, or gathering intelligence. He would be our hidden advantage.

...And then there was the festival itself.

It was a five-day event. The first two days were for students for understanding the festival and do their work. The real, events would start on the third day. And on the final day, the grand banquet would be held.

But more importantly, the third day was when the academy gates would open to the public.

And I mean for everyone...

I let out a soft sigh, pushing the heavy thoughts aside. I would think about the political headaches and security risks later. Right now, a warmer thought surfaced.

Knowing my mother, she wouldn’t miss an event at the academy for anything. She would definitely come. And she would bring little Mia with her.

A genuine, soft smile appeared on my face in the dim training room. I really missed them.

The thought of Mia running around the festival grounds, probably begging for sweets while my mother chased after her with a tired smile, was enough to make the ache in my muscles vanish. It was a strange feeling.

Amidst all the training, the constant threat of death, and the weight of the future, there were still these small, normal things that made everything worth it.

That was exactly what the Third Form was for. It wasn’t for big battles or the praise of the empire. It was to make sure that everyone I care about could walk through a festival crowd without ever having to look over their shoulders in fear.

With a slow, deep breath, I sat up, the exhaustion finally clearing enough for me to move.

It was about time to check where I stood.

”Status,” I murmured.