Yagumi: Gimori Aku no...
Gimori: You know of me?
Yagumi: Who doesn't? You let the mages and managed to overthrow the sword saints hundreds of years ago, taking control of the entire world. You were then opposed by Titanus Kensei and sealed under the mountain of atonement. How the hell are you here?
Gimori giggles.
Gimori: It seems that you've done alot of research on me. Good, you should know at least a bit about you new ally.
Gimori snaps his fingers and two men in black suits, wearing oni masks step out of portals to the demon realm. Both have legendary blades and their eyes are glowing blue signaling that they might have Aku no eyes aswell. One is holding out a black suit, neatly folded and prepared for Yagumi, an oni mask is also prepared for him on the suit along with a book about seals so he can learn each spell/incantation. The other is holding out two identical legendary blades and an aku no eye.
Yagumi: What's going on?
Gimori: Nothing much... I'm only planning to build an army of swordsmen mages to overthrow the sword saints once more. I call it the Akuma clan... if it wasn't obvious enough already, I want you to join.
Yagumi: No thanks.
Gimori: Oh don't be like that, I take care of my subordinates... I swear.
Yagumi: I said no! Get lost!
Gimori: Think about it... think about him... Xzaivier...
Yagumi's eyes darken, his jaws clench, making Gimori smirk. Gimori uses his Aku no eye to force Yagumi to relive the humiliating battle. Yagumi walks up to Gimori, unsheathes his blade before spooning out his eye and implanting the Aku no eye before grabbing the legendary blades that the 2nd Akuma clan member was holding, before slightly unsheathing them to read the kanji.
Yagumi: Shinigami... Buredo... the grim reaper blades.
The blades surge with black energy. Yagumi sheathes them and mounts them onto his back.
Yagumi: Fine, i will join your cause Gimori. This world's newest death god has just been born.
Gimori: Excellent.
Gimori grabs his blade, sheathes it before tracing the kanji on his blade.
Gimori: Akuma Buredo.
Gimori cuts the air, opening a portal to his demon realm before entering with Yagumi, Yagumi's horse and his two other subordinates. The portal closes once all are inside.
Back at the academy:
Xzaivier has just received his uniform and is currently wearing it. Currently he's with Sensei Gara in Sensei Gara's classroom.
Sensei Gara: Alright Night scar—
Xzaivier: My name's Xzaivier, sorry for not informing you sooner.
Sensei Gara: Alright Xzaivier, first order of business, you are still quite unrefined even if you did beat Yagumi, twice... so the headmaster's authorized for you to spend 6 months in the forest to train your seal power and legendary blade mastery.
Xzaivier: Half a year?! Really. I listen to you, join sword saint academy and this is the first thing that I'm being called to do.
Xzaivier huffs.
Sensei Gara: Oh come on, don't be like that... think of it as your first mission as a sword saint.
Xzaivier: When am I expected to leave?
Sensei Gara: Right now actually.
Xzaivier huffs again as Sensei Gara walks with him to the horse stables where alot of supplies have been mounted onto the horse's back.
Sensei Gara: Make sure to follow the strict training regimen I've prepared for you.
Xzaivier rides out of the academy, heading to the forest but not the forest outside Sol, the forest that's 2 countries away. Xzaivier spends a month just riding to the forest.
The forest rose like a living wall at the edge of the second country, its towering trees forming a dense canopy that swallowed sunlight and replaced it with a dim, green-tinted gloom. Xzaivier guided his horse beneath the ancient branches, the sounds of civilization fading into nothing as insects, distant growls, and rustling leaves became the dominant chorus. The air felt heavier here, thick with moisture and something ancient that pressed against his lungs with every breath. His supplies were tied securely to the horse, though he already understood that most of them would not last long under the demands of his training. Every instinct in his body warned him that this place was not meant for comfort or survival, but for endurance and transformation. The ground beneath him shifted from firm soil to tangled roots and damp decay, forcing constant adjustment in his footing. He did not hesitate or turn back, his expression empty as he pressed deeper into the wilderness. The forest accepted him without welcome, swallowing him whole as if he had never existed outside of it.
The first task began immediately upon arrival, as Xzaivier dismounted and released the horse to roam within a limited radius while he assessed his surroundings. He chose no shelter, no elevated ground, and no defensive position, instead opting for the most unstable clearing he could find. The earth there was uneven, littered with stones, roots, and patches of mud that shifted under pressure. He planted his feet and began practicing basic sword swings, forcing precision despite the treacherous terrain beneath him. Each misstep threatened to twist his ankle or send him crashing into the ground, yet he refused to slow down or correct the environment. Sweat formed quickly under the oppressive humidity, soaking into his uniform as his muscles strained to maintain balance and control. Hours passed with no break, his breathing growing heavier as his strikes became less consistent. Every flaw in his technique was exposed and punished by the terrain itself. The forest offered no forgiveness, and neither did he.
As the day wore on, he intensified the regimen by incorporating movement into his drills, sprinting across the unstable clearing while executing precise strikes at invisible targets. His footing slipped repeatedly, sending him crashing into the dirt and forcing him to rise again with minimal delay. Bruises formed rapidly along his legs and arms, accompanied by cuts from jagged rocks and splintered wood. He did not clean the wounds or slow his pace, allowing the pain to remain as a constant distraction he needed to overcome. His grip on the darkness blade tightened with each repetition, his muscles screaming as fatigue began to set in. He adjusted his breathing instinctively, forcing rhythm into chaos as he continued his relentless assault against nothing. The lack of an opponent did not diminish the intensity of his effort, as he imagined every strike as a life-or-death exchange. By the time the sun dipped below the canopy, he had already exceeded the limits of what his body could comfortably endure. Still, he refused to stop.
Night fell quickly within the forest, plunging the surroundings into near-complete darkness broken only by faint moonlight filtering through gaps in the canopy. Xzaivier transitioned his training into blind combat drills, closing his eyes entirely and relying solely on sound and instinct to guide his movements. The forest came alive with nocturnal activity, each rustle and distant movement becoming a potential threat in his perception. He swung his blade in response to these stimuli, adjusting his stance and direction with every sound. The unpredictability of the environment forced his mind into a heightened state of awareness, though it also increased the likelihood of error. Several times, his blade struck solid wood or stone, sending vibrations up his arms and threatening to loosen his grip. He adapted quickly, refining his movements to minimize wasted energy and maximize precision. His breathing grew ragged as exhaustion compounded, yet he maintained his focus through sheer force of will. Sleep did not come, as he denied his body even the thought of rest.
The second day began without ceremony, marked only by the gradual return of dim light through the canopy. Xzaivier's body felt heavier, his muscles stiff and unresponsive from the previous day's exertion. He ignored the fatigue and resumed his drills immediately, pushing himself into motion before his body could fully register its condition. This time, he added speed as a variable, forcing himself to move faster than his current limits allowed. His strikes became sharper but less controlled, leading to mistakes that resulted in self-inflicted cuts and further instability. Blood mixed with sweat as it ran down his arms, staining his grip on the blade and making it more difficult to maintain control. He adjusted his hold without hesitation, refusing to pause even as the risk of losing his weapon increased. The forest floor claimed him repeatedly, each fall more punishing than the last as his body weakened. He rose each time with less stability but greater determination. The cycle continued without interruption.
By midday, he introduced seal training into the regimen, attempting to recreate the seal of hypmob from memory. His hands moved through the air, tracing patterns that he recalled imperfectly, each attempt ending in failure. The frustration built quickly, though he suppressed it and continued without outward reaction. His understanding of the seal was incomplete, and the forest offered no guidance or correction. He forced repetition, drawing the seal again and again until his arms trembled from fatigue. Each failure reinforced the gap between knowledge and execution, a gap he needed to close through sheer persistence. His breathing became uneven as mental strain compounded physical exhaustion, creating a pressure that threatened to break his concentration. He adjusted his stance and tried again, focusing on precision rather than speed. The seal remained unresponsive, a silent rejection of his efforts. Still, he did not stop.
As days passed, the regimen evolved into a brutal cycle of physical exertion and mental strain, each feeding into the other. Xzaivier reduced his reliance on food, consuming only the bare minimum required to prevent collapse. Hunger became another obstacle to overcome, its constant presence sharpening his focus while weakening his body. Water was gathered sparingly, often from questionable sources that introduced further risk. His condition deteriorated visibly, his once-lean frame becoming more defined as fat reserves diminished. Muscles tightened and hardened under continuous strain, though they operated under constant fatigue. Injuries accumulated without proper treatment, forming a network of scars and bruises across his body. Infection threatened some of the deeper wounds, though his body resisted through sheer resilience. The forest observed his struggle without interference, a silent witness to his transformation. He continued forward, driven by something deeper than survival.