Chapter 38: Black Market {1}
Clara wiped the sweat off her flawless, porcelain forehead as she stood in the training grounds. The sun cast golden rays over her lithe frame, illuminating the sheen of exertion on her skin.
She wore a snug blue crop top and dark leggings that accentuated her youthful but already captivating figure—elegant yet unassuming, with the effortless grace of someone born to move like flowing water.
Before her stood a row of reinforced training dummies, already mangled by her relentless assault. With one final breath, she stepped forward and unleashed a sweeping flurry of sword strikes—each slash flowing into the next, faster than the eye could follow.
"Twelve Blooming Sword Dance... Second Form."
The air trembled. The final slash was so fast that a lingering arc shimmered in the air for a heartbeat, like the trailing light of a falling star. The dummy before her didn’t just split—it was cleaved so cleanly that the top half slid off silently before crashing to the ground.
That sword dance wasn’t just a technique. It was the pride of her family—the signature style passed down by her father, an S ranked swordsman renowned across several districts. He had mastered the first ten forms but had struggled to complete the eleventh. The twelfth? It was still incomplete...
it’s Flaw was not even Bad but rather Good The More one used it The More the User Skin would be Flawless.
But Clara.
Talent was immense and could almost use the 4th Form at her age it should be impossible but her Talent was no joke.
Her breathing slowed. She let her sword fall from her hand and collapsed backwards onto the cold marble floor, arms sprawled, legs splayed in exhaustion. The chill seeped into her skin, soothing the burning ache in her muscles.
"Should I even go to school tomorrow?" she muttered, gazing up at the artificial lights embedded in the dome ceiling.