The Next Morning
Sunlight filtered gently through the panes, drawing golden lines across the tiles of the house. Bian stirred.
His hand—fully healed. Not even a scar remained. He clenched his fist and flexed the joints, watching how the light played across the skin. The regenerative capabilities of a demigod were truly something else.
But he didn't linger.
Intent.
That word burned in the back of his mind and it just wouldn't leave him alone.
By the time he stepped outside, the training field was already basked in morning light, dew steaming off the grass. The logs from yesterday lay scattered like fallen soldiers—each marked with flawed, lifeless grooves.
Bian picked one up.
Still no will in the cut. No danger. No pressure. Just wood... carved by a man trying too hard.
"I thought you'd be out here."
Han Yan's voice floated from behind. She wore a dark tunic, tied at the waist, simple but elegant, her hair drawn back into a tight braid. She carried two wooden swords.
"Tired of knives already?" he asked, cracking a weak smile.
"No," she replied, tossing one sword to him. "But you need to think like a swordsman. Not a carver."
He caught it effortlessly, pondering what she just said.
"I want you to attack me."
Bian blinked. "Seriously?"
"I won't counter. I won't move. Just strike. As many times as you want. Try to land a blow... and while you're at it, mean it."
She stood still—feet apart, body relaxed. No guard. No stance. Completely open.
It felt wrong. Like swinging at a statue of a goddess.
"I'm not sure I can—"
"That's the problem. You're trying to be sure of everything. Just do it."
Something stirred in his chest. Not rage. Not fear. But something deeper. A pressure in his ribs—like his blood was heating up.
'I'll just have to be careful.'
Their current fitness was worlds apart. Han Yan had gotten only two of her bronze self geno cores as well as some Ordinary gene points.
Bian, meanwhile, had generated all three of his self geno cores, one of which was silver, and he had maxed out his Ordinary and Primitive points.
Luckily, there was more to swordplay than brute strength. Bian wasn't trying to overpower her anyway.
He stepped forward and swung.
Wood cracked against wood. Han Yan didn't even blink as she parried it midair with a twitch of her blade, the wooden swords clacking together like snapping branches.
He swung again. Then again. Fast. Faster. A blur.
Each strike was met with perfect stillness. Not that she blocked them—she just wasn't there. Her body shifted so little that it almost seemed like Bian's attacks were missing by inches, not because she dodged, but because she knew exactly where not to be.
"Your body moves," she said, calmly, "but your blade is empty."
He gritted his teeth and stepped back. 'What does that even mean?'
Then Bian let out a sigh and responded, "I'm trying—"
"Don't try. Mean it."
Her tone was firm but not unkind.
Then she took a breath and raised her blade slowly.
"Let me show you what it feels like."
There was no battle cry. No charge.
Han Yan simply took a single step forward.
And the world seemed to tilt.
A chill ran down Bian's neck. His skin crawled. Every part of his body screamed at him to retreat. His instincts flared to life—the same instincts honed in hundreds of battles, the ones that told him when death was near.
It didn't forcefully activate the Soul Pillar to speed up his perception as it normally would, though. This at least meant he wasn't in extreme danger.
Because this wasn't death.
This was a threat of death. Promised death. Promised... intent.
Han Yan's sword didn't even touch him, but Bian found himself battle ready, his muscles tensing involuntarily.
It was as if the very air around her had sharpened.
She stopped, the blade lowering.
The tension vanished instantly.
"That," she said, "was killing intent."
Bian stood there, breath short. Not because he was tired, but because for a moment, he had felt it. A glimpse into what true intent looked like. It wasn't a technique. It wasn't force. It was a decision, carried through the body like fire through oil.
"So how do I do that?"
"You already know how," she said. "You've killed countless beasts. You've fought to survive. The intent is in you. You just haven't figured out how to summon it on purpose."
Bian glanced down at the wooden sword in his hand. It felt... heavier now.
He closed his eyes and thought back—when did he start doing that?
All the way back to the second sanctuary when he first got the Emperical Will. At first, Bian would activate it before the battle began, but it eventually reached a point where he would only activate it when the battle was about to end.
In all his recent battles, he only activated the Emperical Will the moment he knew his opponent was about to die.
How did he know they were about to die, though?
It was because he was ready to kill them.
He inhaled.
Then exhaled.
Encounter, fight, and when it was time to land the killing blow, activate the Emperical Will. Unknowingly, Bian had tied the Emperical Will to landing the killing blow.
'I've faced my opponent for long enough, it's time to end this.'
He activated the Emperical Will. A mystical hum permeated his body and rang softly in his ears.
His eyes opened, and this time when he swung—
The wooden blade hummed through the air like a whip.
Han Yan parried it again, but her eyes glinted.
Even with Bian matching her strength, she was pushed back and almost subconsciously summoned her geno core.
"There," she said. "You felt it, didn't you?"
Bian nodded. Once his blade carried killing intent, it was vastly different from what it was before. This difference was greater than the distance from the heavens to the earth.
It was his finishing blow, after all. Not to say that he was holding back before—it was more like he somehow managed to go over the limit for that last blow.
"That blow was unlike anything I've ever faced before. It's almost like you always use such dangerous intent; you just didn't know about it."
Bian nodded. He couldn't quite explain it, but it was a bit like gaining knowledge without understanding. Once understanding came, those points of knowledge would all be connected, creating an epiphany—or, in greater and the rarest of cases, enlightenment.
Han Yan, meanwhile, felt a bit aggrieved. Is this what a talented person looks like? she wondered.
"There isn't anything left for me to teach you regarding intent. Congratulations."
Although it only looked like it took him two days to master, Bian had actually already built up the foundation over the years.
And without Han Yan, who knows how long it would have taken him to gain an understanding. He was even thinking of using the Emperical Aura to bail him out, not knowing the answer lay with the Emperical Will.
"Truly, without an expert to show the way, one can only claw blindly in the dark." Bian muttered, then he faced her "Thank you."
Bian gave a heartfelt thanks and moved closer to Han Yan, ready to plant a kiss on her lips when they both heard a disturbance in the distance.
'Oh, I had forgotten about the eyes watching us.'
Naturally, as demigods, they could feel some eyes on them as they practiced.
Bian figured it was Han Yan's family, which he had helped sneak onto the planet, and didn't think much of it.
"That was a wonderful display."
A mature voice wafted into his ears, and the group of five people became clear to him. Three adults and two children.
"What!"
"What!"
Two voices sounded out at the same time. Bian turned to face Han Yan, only to see her also looking at him in shock.
'What are my mum, dad, and little sister doing here?' Bian wondered.