After a warm, delicious lunch, with the afternoon sun like a lazy cat on the windowsill, Heartvoice broke down our earlier fight.

“First, praise where it’s due,” she said, her smile like a spring breeze. “It’s my first time seeing this level at your age—eye‑opening.”

She paused, then chuckled and shook her head, tea steam curling like mist. “Emperor isn’t just from the Mizumi Clan, he’s also Sir Xino’s disciple; and Lixue’s teacher is FrostyLily Dream, an Origin Realm master. No matter how dazzling your talent looks, it’s… expected.”

“Probably,” I said, the thought flat as a stone on water. “Out in the world, the only peer I met at my level was Lixue.”

Truth is, birth is a gate that opens or slams shut, like a mountain pass in snow. Lixue’s an orphan, but she’s gifted as a Sword Wielder and was adopted by FrostyLily Dream—enough to leave other prodigies eating dust like riders behind a storm.

“Same,” Lixue added, her tone cool as frost. “The Nine Cold Labyrinth’s been open for years, and only Emperor reached the ninth layer… though a lot of water was let through.”

I prayed she wouldn’t bring that up—being let through stains the banner, like mud on silk.

“Alright, no more chatter; let’s get to it,” Heartvoice said, her tone steady as a metronome.

She took a sip of black tea, the cup ringing soft as a bell. “From today’s battle, I found plenty of flaws in you two. First, foundations. You focus too much on sword arts and Sword Aura, and overlook the roots—basic swordsmanship.”

“But we rarely use basic swordsmanship in actual combat,” Lixue said, eyes like ice on a lake. “It’s less practical than techniques.”

“You’re not wrong,” Heartvoice said, voice gentle as rain on bamboo. “You don’t swing basic forms much in a fight, but their weight is deep. Today, both of you used techniques scattered, like beads unstrung, never chaining them into a storming offense. If you had, I wouldn’t have won so easily. Do you know why?”

“Now that you say it…” I frowned, feeling the rhythm trip like a runner on loose stones. “When I chain techniques, it never flows. Is it because our basics aren’t refined?”

I’d wondered if linking multiple sword arts could explode like lightning across dry grass, but the sparks wouldn’t catch.

“Exactly,” Heartvoice said, words clean as a blade’s reflection. “All sword arts extend from basic swordsmanship. If the basics aren’t mastered till they feel born‑natural, how can your techniques move like water? The simpler the root, the deeper the mystery. If you can sense that, your sword will rise like dawn over high peaks.”

We nodded, the room quiet as pine in fog, while she laid it out.

“Then why did my teacher rarely tell me this?” Lixue asked, doubt like a thin cloud. “She kept telling me to find my own way of fighting.”

Xinuo had told me to value basics too, but in battle they felt like stones under the river—present, yet rarely grasped.

“In the early stage of sword training, there are two pillars,” Heartvoice said, voice steady as temple drums. “Master the basics, and form your personal style. FrostyLily likely let you first walk your road, then return to reforging basics. Foundations don’t have to be flawless on day one; you can mend them as you go, like re‑tiling a roof between rains.”

She thought for a heartbeat, then her answer dropped sure as a plumb line. With that, our next focus was clear as a path after wind.

“As if to confirm your thought,” she added, smile bright as morning. “Emperor, Lixue—your top priority now is to thoroughly master basic swordsmanship. Only on that bedrock can you walk the road ahead.”

“Understood!” Our voices fell like iron nails.

“We’ll train by your plan,” Lixue said, calm as snow.

We had no objections; if we can’t fix the foundation, how do we touch the rafters? One knot at a time, like untying a sailor’s rope.

“Good response,” Heartvoice said, gaze firm as granite. “Starting this afternoon, I’ll assign basic drills. They’ll be dull, like rain on stone, but no laziness and no complaints. Push until you hit my benchmarks.”

“Of course! Please be strict,” I said, resolve lit like a lantern.

“Agreed. We’ll meet your standards,” Lixue added, eyes like clear glass.

We shared a look, our will set like kiln‑fired clay. Basics might be dry, but their weight is the riverbed; we understood.

“Good. Get ready. Training ground in ten minutes,” Heartvoice said, words crisp as a bell strike.

And so, our life of training in Crimson Dragon Valley began, like a new chapter inked under the crimson sky.

…

On the other side, in the east of the Dragon Realm, lay Sacred Spirit Isle. Sea on all sides like a silver mirror, scenery elegant as brushwork, air fresh as mountain dawn; laws and elements pooled thick as mist—an ideal sanctuary for magic training.

Many Dragon Kin trained there, along with travelers from distant lands, like birds drawn to a warm current. To keep the environment quiet as a temple court, Celia Maya brought Lingxiao and Lingsaki to the Sacred Spirit Hall—the island’s core, open only to select Dragon Kin elders and some recognized geniuses.

As Saint Cole’s wife, and a mid‑stage Law Realm powerhouse, Celia Maya’s status stood at the very peak, like a summit above clouds; entry for her was effortless.

“Welcome, Lady Celia Maya!” the guard said, his voice taut as a drawn bow. “And these two are?”

“They’re Yugami Rexiao and Yugami Rexi,” Celia Maya said, smiling like a crescent moon. “They’ll be my students for now.”

“Yugami…!!” The guard’s shock flickered like a lamp in wind, then settled into deeper respect. “I never thought the Mizumi Clan’s young ladies would come to train here. I’ll clear the hall immediately!”

Of course—when the Mizumi arrive, you sweep the floor like a courtyard before a festival. Inside, the young geniuses—mostly Dragon Kin—carry pride like armor, eyes high as spears. If some blind fool provoked the sisters, the aftermath would be… ugly as a storm-torn garden.

Lingxiao and Lingsaki’s looks and bearing drew attention like moonlight draws tide; even with Celia Maya there, a reckless pup might try to chat them up.

Celia Maya understood and didn’t stop him; even without the offer, she would have cleared the hall herself, like wind clearing fallen leaves.

The Mizumi name works everywhere, like a seal on silk. In barely over a minute, the Sacred Spirit Hall stood empty; even Dragon Kin geniuses and elders in seclusion filed out, their steps reluctant as winter geese.

In the Dragon Realm, no one’s foolish enough to slight the Mizumi Clan. Offend them, and Central Continent resources dry up like a river in drought; anger Xinuo, and the Dragon Realm’s good days end like a lantern snuffed at dusk.