My Blood Legacy: Bloodlines

Rakshasa stopped in the center of the training field and remained silent for several seconds. The wind crossed the open courtyard, lightly stirring the loose parts of her hanfu as she raised her right hand in front of her body. Victor had seen many vampires shape weapons from blood, including himself, but the way Rakshasa did it was different. There was no waste and no unnecessary display. A small amount of blood emerged from the tips of her fingers, floated in the air, and began condensing into a thin, dark line. Within moments, that line lengthened, gained structure, and became a sword.

At first glance, the weapon did not look grand. It had no exaggerated guard, no flashy ornaments, and no monstrous blade designed to impress enemies. It was simple. Long, straight, elegant, and clean, as though every detail had been reduced to the essential. The blade’s surface carried a dark red tone that was almost black, and light reflected from it in a strange way, as though the metal were alive. The handle was firm and unadorned, designed to fit naturally in the hand. The entire sword conveyed a sense of absolute refinement, and yet Victor felt a chill when he looked at it.

That did not come from its appearance.

It came from instinct.

Lilith was powerful. His blood sword had already been bathed in Black Ice, White Fire, and Black Lightning. It had split enemies in half, opened ravines, and burned creatures until nothing remained. Even so, the instant Victor looked at Rakshasa’s weapon, he had the clear impression that he was standing before something at least one hundred times more dangerous than his own sword. Not because the blade was larger or more brutal, but because it seemed to have been made to cut through anything that existed between it and its target.

Rakshasa rotated the sword once and held it loosely beside her body.

"Her name is Asura."

Victor kept staring at the blade.

"It fits."

"Of course it fits." She raised her eyes toward him. "I created her."

Victor gave a faint smile but did not answer immediately. He was still trying to understand the bad feeling the weapon caused him. Asura did not look heavy, but the entire training field reacted to her presence. The air around the sword felt strange. Even Lilith, when mixed with all three energies, did not create that sense of an inevitable cut. With Asura, it felt as though Rakshasa only needed to decide, and something would be opened.

She noticed his silence.

"Are you afraid?"

"No," Victor answered without hesitation. "But my body is telling me not to get anywhere near that thing."

Rakshasa smiled, satisfied.

"Good. That means your instincts still work."

She walked slowly until she stood only a few steps away, still holding Asura with complete casualness, as though she were not carrying one of the most dangerous weapons Victor had ever seen.

"Before we begin, I want to understand something." Some of the teasing left her voice, and it became more serious. "Why are you pursuing so much power so quickly?"

Victor remained silent.

Rakshasa tilted her head, waiting for a real answer rather than some excuse.

"I saw you during the Ritual. I saw Bramford through the reports. And now I am seeing you here, training while your body is still exhausted, absorbing a refinement technique as though you want to skip stages of your own evolution." She raised Asura and lightly pointed it toward his chest without touching him. "You are always growing stronger, but it seems as though it is never enough."

Victor held her gaze for several seconds. His expression did not change much, but inside, the question struck exactly where she intended. There were many reasons for him to want strength. Survival. Protecting what was his. Dealing with the clan. Dealing with the world.

But deep down, there was something else.

A date.

A period.

A disaster that had not yet happened in this timeline, but one he knew far too well.

A year and a half.

Victor thought about the incident that would come.

He thought about the destruction it would bring.

He thought about how far he still was from being ready.

His fists closed.

"I have my own objectives."

Rakshasa observed the movement in silence. She did not press for details, but she noticed the change in his eyes. It was not empty ambition, nor the arrogant impulse of someone young who wanted to prove he was strong. There was urgency there. Memory. Calculation. Something resembling impatience with time itself.

Rakshasa rested Asura on her shoulder.

"Your arrogance is acceptable because of who you are and who created you. Serafall is no ordinary vampire. Chysis even less so. Both stand among the most absurd existences in the entire realm, and anyone shaped by monsters of that level will naturally grow up looking at the world as though they can bite it." She paused and examined him from head to toe. "So I understand your arrogance."

Victor did not take offense. Coming from her, it was not exactly an insult.

Rakshasa continued, now more firmly.

"But challenging time itself is not something you, a mortal, can force. It does not matter how much talent you possess. It does not matter how abnormal your blood is. If you try to seize everything at once, you will break yourself before reaching where you want to go."

Victor looked away for an instant and then returned his eyes to her. Not because he disagreed, but because that was exactly what he hated hearing most.

Being reminded that he still had limits.

Being reminded that no matter how quickly he grew, there was still a difference between advancing and being ready.

Rakshasa saw it and gave him her first piece of advice as his master.

"Do not rush to become stronger. Have a direction." She raised the sword, and Asura’s tip slowly descended until it nearly touched the ground. "Taking time is different from wasting it."

Victor remained silent.

The words affected him more than he wanted to admit.

Because they were true.

Ever since he had truly begun changing, much of what he did came from urgency. He trained, fought, pursued techniques, tested powers, and threw himself into increasingly dangerous situations because he knew he needed to rise above what he was now.

But too much urgency could become disorder.

Power accumulated without direction produced only an unstable monster or a talented corpse.

Rakshasa noticed that he had understood.

"Good. Now that you have listened, pay attention to the important part." She shifted her body slightly and settled into position with Asura in hand. "I will show you only the first technique of the Demonic Sword Dance."

Victor raised an eyebrow.

"Only one?"

"Only the first," she replied without changing her tone. "You will learn the next step only when your body refinement advances to the next level. I do not care how badly you want to progress. The Demonic Sword Dance was made for a body capable of surviving what the technique demands. If I give you everything now, you will try to reproduce it by force and end up tearing muscles, bursting blood vessels, or losing an arm."

Victor crossed his arms.

"It sounds like you know me well."

"I know enough to know you would do exactly that."

He did not answer, which Rakshasa took as confirmation.

Then her posture changed completely.

Until that moment, Rakshasa had been speaking like someone powerful, experienced, and slightly provocative.

Now she looked like a swordswoman.

Her body relaxed. Her shoulders lowered. Her feet settled into precise positions, and Asura was held in a simple line in front of her body. Nothing about the guard looked grand.

On the contrary.

It looked small, economical, and direct.

"This technique is not a beautiful dance. The name deceives idiots," Rakshasa said calmly. "The Demonic Sword Dance does not pursue style. It does not pursue spectacle. It exists to kill with total efficiency. Every movement removes an opening, shortens the path, and prepares the next cut. You do not swing the sword to test anything. You cut because you decided that something in front of you must cease to exist."

Victor straightened his posture without realizing it.

Rakshasa took one more step and positioned herself in front of him.

"The first technique is called the Executioner’s Step."

Victor repeated the name mentally.

Rakshasa raised Asura slightly higher.

"The most common mistake among sword users is thinking the cut comes only from the arms. The strike is born in the feet, rises through the legs, organizes the hips, crosses the spine, and only then reaches the hand. If the entire body does not participate, you are merely swinging metal." She pointed the sword toward the ground between them. "In the Executioner’s Step, you take a single step. Only one. In that step, the distance dies, your intention appears, and the strike happens before the enemy understands that you decided to kill."

Victor watched attentively.

Rakshasa did not demonstrate the entire technique immediately. First, she showed the position of the feet. Then the alignment of the hips. Next, the way the shoulder remained loose and how the elbow must not lead the cut. Every detail appeared simple when viewed alone, but Victor quickly realized that absurd precision was hidden inside that simplicity.

One foot placed at the wrong angle changed the center of gravity.

The strike lost pressure.

The next movement ceased to exist.

"Watch carefully," she said.

Rakshasa moved.

Victor saw the first step.

Nothing more.

She did not disappear, explode with speed, or perform any theatrical motion. She simply advanced one short step, and Asura passed through the air in a clean line.

A stone statue beside the field, nearly fifteen meters away, split in two.

There was no sound of cutting.

The upper half slid away and fell one second later.

Victor looked at the statue, then at Rakshasa.

"I did not even see you aim at it."

"Because I did not." She replied. "The target was not the statue. The target was the line."

He understood partially, but not completely.

Rakshasa noticed.

"The first technique does not teach only how to cut. It teaches how to enter killing distance using the smallest possible movement. If you understand that, the rest of the art begins to make sense."

Victor extended his hand, and Lilith appeared in the form of a blood sword.

Rakshasa looked at the weapon, then at him.

"Copy the stance."

Victor obeyed.

She immediately began correcting his position.

One finger against the shoulder.

Another against the hip.

A touch to the knee.

A small push against the wrist.

"Less tension."

Victor loosened his arm slightly.

"Less ego."

He looked at her.

Rakshasa smiled.

"The technique does not need to know you are special. It only needs to work."

Victor released a breath through his nose but adjusted his stance. Rakshasa then stood beside him, sword held in the same guard, and made both of them assume exactly the same position.

"Now feel the first stage of refinement. Use that invisible armor not as defense, but as structure. When you take the step, do not think about speed. Think about unity. Foot, leg, hip, spine, shoulder, arm, cut."

Victor took a deep breath.

Rakshasa continued looking at him.

"One more thing."

"What?"

"If you make it ugly, I will hit you with the flat of the sword."

Victor gave a faint smile.

"I was already expecting that part."

Rakshasa raised Asura and placed its tip along the imaginary line in front of them.

"Let us begin."