5
1683 Words
The small, lightweight sword felt unfamiliar in my grip, its cold steel a stark contrast to the warmth of my small palm. I held it tightly, my knuckles turning white. Even though this was my first time ever wielding a real blade, I didn't let the daunting nature of the task discourage me. As the creator of this world, I knew that mastery wasn't just about muscle memory; it was about the soul. I was weak now, barely able to keep the sword level, but I would grow. I had to—without compromising my physical development at such a tender age.
Recalling the rhythmic verses of the 'Sword Maniac's Ritual', I sat down cross-legged on the cold floor. I unsheathed the blade with a slow, deliberate motion. The metallic ring echoed through the silent room. I placed the scabbard before me like a fallen foe and rested the blade across my knees. Closing my eyes, I began to chant the ancient words I had once written in a dark room, never imagining I would one day speak them into existence:
"Sword way hold no Secrets—"
"Sword is Me, and I am the Sword—"
"Scabbard is the enemy—"
"Here I hold myself, and fight my enemy—"
As the final syllable left my lips, a strange resonance thrummed through the air. I rose, my small frame moving with a sudden, unnatural fluidity. I lashed out, the blade whistling as it slashed the air above the scabbard twice. I repeated the cycle—chant, s***h, breathe—ten times. Then, I began the true labor: twenty-five vertical and horizontal slashes, with exactly thirty seconds of meditative silence between each.
The ritual wasn't just a path to an inheritance; it was a sensory overhaul. It was designed to help a swordsman perceive the 'Aura' and achieve a state of 'One with the Blade'. By the time I finished, forty-five minutes later, the sword felt remarkably lighter. I wasn't physically stronger yet, but the weapon no longer felt like a foreign object. It felt like an extension of my own arm.
Exhaustion washed over me like a tide. I returned the sword to my system inventory and stumbled toward the bed. The moment my head hit the pillow, my mind went blank, and I plummeted into a dreamless sleep.
***
The golden rays of the morning sun were peeking through the curtains when I finally stirred. I felt a soft, warm weight pressing against my side. I turned my head to see Kurma, the nine-tailed fox, curled into a ball and snoring softly. I nudged him playfully, trying to rouse the legendary divine beast.
"Hey, wake up, you are little sleeping bag! Is this how a divine beast spends his morning?"
Kurma didn't even flinch. He remained perfectly still, as if he were a stuffed toy rather than a creature of myth. "What a lazy fox," I muttered with a smile.
I hopped off the bed and reached for the silver bell on the bedside table. A sharp ring echoed through the hall, and within moments, the door creaked open. A maid entered, her posture lazy and her expression dripping with an annoyance she barely tried to hide.
"Your Highness," she droned, her voice flat. "Did you call for me?"
I sat on the edge of the bed, maintaining my 'blind' gaze at a point slightly above her head. "I wish to bathe and change my clothes before breakfast. Please, assist me."
The maid let out a sharp, mocking huff. She looked at my small, disheveled form with pure disdain. "There is no need for such theatrics, Your Highness. You look perfectly fine as you are. I will lead the way to the hall; just follow the sound of my footsteps."
I felt a spark of fury ignite in my chest. This woman was a mere servant, yet she dared to mock a prince of the empire. I was about to snap back at her, but the door opened again, and Old Zhu stepped into the room.
His eyes immediately fell on the maid, and his face twisted into a mask of righteous anger. "Insolent peasant! How dare you speak to His Highness, the Ninth Prince of the Vermilion Empire, with such disrespect? Do you think being in the Secluded State makes you an equal to royalty? Go and do as he commands, before I have your tongue!"
The maid's face drained of all color. She dropped to her knees, trembling. "Please forgive me, Lord Zhu! I... I meant no harm! Your Highness, please follow me to the bath immediately!"
'Lord Zhu?' I thought, my mind sharpening. 'You've certainly moved up in the world, haven't you, old man?'
I knew the history of the Zhu clan. They were nothing but a family of merchants, barely scraping the bottom of the social ladder. They weren't nobles. For him to be called "Lord" meant he had already begun usurping my authority, using my name to claim a barony for himself. As the Prince and Governor, I was the only one with the power to grant such titles, and he was clearly treating my "blindness" as a blank check.
Old Zhu turned to me, his voice softening into that oily, fake concern I had grown to loathe. "You fool," he hissed at the maid, "he can't see anything! He is blind and helpless! If I ever see you idling again while the Prince needs aid, I will sell your entire family into s*****y!"
I could see it clearly through my mask—the smirk on Zhu's face and the hidden smile on the maid's. It was a performance. A carefully staged show to make me feel like Zhu was my only protector.
I lowered my head, making my voice sound small and vulnerable. "Grandpa Zhu... thank you for helping me. You are the only person who is good to me. Liam loves Grandpa Zhu."
I raised my head, staring blankly at a random spot on the wall, offering him a wide, innocent smile.
Zhu looked genuinely surprised. In the original story, Liam was a silent, sullen child, often mistaken for a mute. Hearing me call him "Grandpa" sent him into a fit of gleeful triumph. "Yes, yes... don't worry, Your Highness. Grandpa Zhu will take care of everything. You just trust me with all the state affairs, alright? By the way..." His eyes suddenly narrowed, gleaming with a sharp, hungry greed. "Where did you get that mask? It looks... quite valuable."
's**t!' I cursed inwardly. I had forgotten to come up with an excuse for the Golden Mask. It was too late to hide it now.
I searched my memories, looking for a shield. Suddenly, I remembered the Empress Dowager. She had been the only person in the capital who showed Liam a shred of kindness.
"Grandma Empress Dowager gave it to me," I chirped, my voice full of childish pride. "She gave it to me so I would always remember her. She told me it looks wonderful on me. Does it, Grandpa Zhu? Do I look like a real prince?"
The moment the words "Empress Dowager" left my lips, I saw a cold sweat break out on Zhu's forehead. He knew the stories. The Empress Dowager was a woman of terrifying power; in the past, anyone who dared to "misplace" a gift she had bestowed had vanished without a trace.
"It... it looks magnificent, Your Highness," Zhu stammered, his greed replaced by a sudden, frantic urge to be elsewhere. "Truly a royal treasure. Please, excuse me... I have urgent matters to attend to in the city. I will see you at breakfast!"
He practically fled the room. I let out a silent laugh as the maid scurried after him to prepare my bath.
***
After a quiet breakfast, I returned to my chambers and locked the door. It was time for the real work to begin. I sat cross-legged on the floor, focusing my mind on the "Ultimate Sky Foundation" method.
For most children, cultivation began at six. Starting earlier could ruin a child's meridians. But the Ultimate Sky Foundation was different. It didn't focus on gathering Qi; it focused on refining the very essence of the body, turning a "talentless" frame into a vessel capable of holding divine power.
I closed my eyes, chanting the mysterious, ancient syllables. I felt a surge of energy ignite in my gut. Slowly, a dual sensation began to spread through my limbs—searing heat on my left side and a bone-chilling cold on my right. They traveled toward my center, clashing and merging, slowly burning away the impurities in my blood and bones.
An hour passed. The heat finally dissipated, and I opened my eyes, only to be hit by a stench so foul it made my stomach churn. I was covered in a thick, black, oily sweat.
"Ugh, I smell like a rotting sewer," I muttered, wiping my forehead.
I looked to my side and saw Kurma sitting there. He wasn't sleeping anymore. Instead, he was guarding a table piled high with steaming dishes—roasted meats, fresh bread, and exotic fruits.
"You little thief," I said, patting his soft head. "Where did you get all this?"
Kurma's tails wagged proudly, his eyes shining with mischief. "Kurma went on a hunt! These are Kurma's war spoils, Lord! I had to fight those ugly, long-limbed monkeys in the kitchen to secure these provisions for the Ruler!"
I burst out laughing. The "ugly monkeys" were clearly the palace chefs. "Good job, Kurma! You truly are the best warrior. Now, let's feast on your spoils."
After a massive meal that left me feeling more energized than ever, I washed the grime from my skin and returned to my training. Like this, my first week in the Secluded State continued—a cycle of rituals, secret cultivation, and the quiet gathering of strength. The world thought I was a blind child waiting for death, but in the silence of my room, a monster was being born.
- Writer
