Chapter 247. The Signature Technique (2)
Azureocean Castle, now devoid of its main forces, felt quieter than ever. The city surrounding the stronghold still bustled with life, but within the castle walls, only a skeleton force remained to maintain basic security.
The first thing Caron did upon his return to Azureocean Castle was to personally visit the families of the knights who had fallen at the Imperial Palace and deliver the news of their deaths. It was a grim and painful task.
Caron and Leo had split up to meet the bereaved, and by the time they returned to Azureocean Castle, night already stretched deep across the sky.
"Caron," Leo called, his face stiff and expression grim. He had returned later than Caron, having spent the entire day watching grieving families break down in tears.
Caron handed him a bottle of liquor and asked, "Do you want a drink?"
Leo, who would normally have declined without hesitation, accepted the bottle silently this time. He took a long swig straight from it.
Only when half the bottle was empty did Leo pull it away from his lips. It was elven fruit wine—aromatic and rich—and its delicate scent did just enough to take the edge off his exhausted heart.
"Doesn't this bother you at all?" Leo asked, his voice low and flat.
Throughout the day, he had faced people shattered by loss. The suffocating weight of grief, the finality of death—losing someone was always unbearable.
"Of course it bothers me," Caron replied quietly. He took the bottle back and drank as well, then wiped his mouth lazily on his sleeve. "You never really get used to it. You just get used to enduring it."
Caron had felt this before—too many times to count in his previous life. There had been countless moments when comrades who once ate meals and trained beside him returned as cold, lifeless bodies.
Even during his days training at Azureocean Castle, many from the Oceanwolf Knight Order had likely met their end on the battlefield. But this time, it struck harder, because this time, he had been there—at their final moments.
The reason he'd deliberately made Leo meet the bereaved families wasn't anything noble or grand.
"You're going to be facing this kind of thing over and over again," Caron said.
The continent had already begun to spiral into chaos. The era of peace had ended, and rivers of blood were destined to flow across these lands.
"The Oceanwolf Knights died in the line of duty at the Imperial Palace. It was an honorable death," Caron said with a faint smile.
But Leo frowned deeply and snapped, "An honorable death? What meaning does that even have?"
It was just a different wrapping—in the end, people had still lost someone they loved.
Caron looked at him for a long, silent moment. It was a fascinating reaction, not at all like a typical noble's.
He really grew up right, Caron thought. That was the kind of attitude he wanted to see.
Becoming numb to someone's death was the most horrific thing of all. Death could not be forgotten. If someone failed to change even after witnessing the death of a comrade, then that person's sacrifice truly was in vain.
"Don't lose that mindset," Caron said firmly.
The road ahead of Leo would be paved with corpses. Perhaps some would be more Oceanwolf Knights, and others could even be his own family. Only by stepping over those deaths and continuing forward could he reach the place he aimed for.
Knights were, at their core, protectors. What they chose to protect could vary—whether it was honor, comrades, or beliefs.
Caron wanted Leo to learn something from death. And judging by the shift in the latter's expression, it seemed he had.
I'm sorry, Leo, Caron thought silently.
Some would have called his method cruel. But Caron believed—no, he knew—that Leo would come out of this stronger and more resolute.
"As you said, there's no such thing as an honorable death," Caron said quietly, this time with genuine conviction. "When you die, that's it. It's just the end."
It wasn't something he said lightly. He looked at Leo in the eyes and added, "So don't die, Leo. You can't. You have to keep fighting to the very end."
Leo let out a short breath and muttered, "You talk like someone who's already died once."
"You need to survive if you want to protect others. If you're dead, you can't protect anyone," Caron said.
Those weren't just words; they were born of experience. There had been a time when Caron had believed that death could be a kind of freedom. But in truth, it wasn't. Not for him.
To the ones left behind, death was nothing but abandonment. It was a cruel, selfish end. That was why, in this life, Caron had no intention of dying.
He had too much to protect this time—his family, his comrades, and all the bonds he had made. He wouldn't run away like a coward. He would survive, all the way to the end, and defend what mattered most.
"Let's rest for today," Caron said softly.
Leo needed time too—time to sit with the emotions that had gripped him as he faced the grieving families. He needed time to take that pain and shape it into something solid, a conviction of his own. That conviction would turn Leo into someone stronger, someone unshakable.
Leo exhaled slowly, nodding, then replied, "Alright."
"But starting tomorrow," Caron added with a sly grin, "You'd better be ready. I'm going to train you so hard you'll think we're back in the old days."
"You always have to ruin the moment," Leo grumbled.
Caron, now satisfied that Leo was back on track, tilted the bottle again—only to find it empty. He called out, "Urhan!"
A moment later, a towering man stepped into the room. It was Caron's butler, Urhan. He answered, "You called, Young Master?!"
"You remember those bottles I stashed in the storage room? Bring all of them," Caron ordered.
"I figured you might, so I already brought them ahead of time!" Urhan replied.
Caron's eyes lit up with delight, then said, "Finally, you're starting to act like a proper butler. Well done."
Starting tomorrow, the hellish training would resume.
And this time, there was only one goal: Mastering his signature technique.
That was the kind of skill that could decide the outcome of a battle. The stronger it was, the better.
"But tonight," Caron said, raising the fresh bottle, "We drink."
He turned his gaze toward the window.
The moon was especially bright tonight. It was a perfect night to rest, even if only for a little while.
***
Training began in earnest the next morning.
Within the cultivation chamber nestled deep inside Azureocean Castle—an area brimming with Azure Mana—Caron stood in silence, gripping Guillotine tightly in his hand.
"So, what kind of technique are you trying to create?" Guillotine asked.
"I'll figure that out as I go," Caron replied. "Starting today, I'm going to run through the forms in these sword manuals and keep only the ones that I like."
He had gathered a total of fourteen sword manuals, carefully selected from the royal treasury and the archive of Azureocean Castle.
Mastering even a single style in a day would normally be impossible. Each sword art had its own distinct method of mana control and philosophical direction. But Caron was confident, because he had the gift Rael Leston had given him.
"Guillotine, let's get started," Caron said.
"You might get a little dizzy. You're alright with that, right?" Guillotine asked.
"Yes, I'm fine," Caron answered.
Whoosh.
The moment Caron gave his consent, a dark blue glow surged from Guillotine.
At that moment...
Whoosh.
That same light enveloped Caron entirely. A strange sensation swept over him, as if he was being pulled somewhere else.
He blinked a few times. When his vision cleared, the familiar training chamber was gone.
Caron exhaled slowly.
The air was cold. Above him stretched a crimson sky. All around lay scattered bones, rusted armor, and broken weapons. It was a grotesque landscape—like the word death given form.
Unlike the winter-like mindscape that Rigor, now Leo's sword, had once created, this world chilled the spine just by standing in it. It was a world made of bloodlust.
This was the mindscape of Guillotine the Execution Sword, unsealed during Caron's Coming of Age Ceremony.
"One day in here is only eight hours outside. But bending time like this consumes a massive amount of mana," Guillotine explained.
Even with focused mana breathing techniques, the depletion rate was brutal. If Caron had attempted this anywhere other than Azureocean Castle, he would have collapsed from mana exhaustion within minutes.
"Can we twist time even further?" Caron asked. "Like... making a single day in here equal to a year out there?"
"Are you kidding? Even cutting it to one-third of real time is barely sustainable. We're only pushing it this far because you're on a deadline, but it's putting serious strain on your body. Besides, if it weren't for Rael's mana, this would've been impossible from the start," Guillotine said.
Rael Leston's gift from the Coming of Age Ceremony was this very mindscape—where time flowed differently. When Rael awakened Guillotine's true potential, he had also stirred his own slumbering mana within the blade, leaving behind this realm for his successor. It was his preparation for the future.
"How long can I maintain this again?" Caron asked.
"One month, in outside-world time," Guillotine answered.
"So I've got three months in here... That's enough," Caron replied.
It wasn't much time—barely enough to master even a single sword art—but Caron wasn't worried.
The latter half of any sword style always contained the essence of the whole. Rushed training had its limits, but with the right teacher, efficient progress was possible.
Whoosh.
Once again, that dark blue light surged from the ground and began to coalesce, taking shape.
The figure that emerged was familiar. It was the founder of the Ducal Family of Leston, Rael Leston himself. Or rather, the projection he had left behind. Even this had been planned in advance.
"I didn't expect our great ancestor to be so thorough," Caron said with a grin. "He even left behind a clone to make training easier for his descendants."
He drew Guillotine with a smile.
A warped realm of twisted time, and Rael Leston's clone–Rael Leston's foresight far exceeded anything Caron had imagined.
"Truly considerate of him," Caron murmured.
It made him wonder what kind of preparations had the Holy Kingdom made for their own heirs. Whatever it was, he doubted it would fall short.
"Guillotine," Caron said.
"Yes?" Guillotine replied.
"Do you think you could increase the number of the ancestor's clones?" Caron asked.
"It's possible... but why?" Guillotine returned a question.
"If we're going to do this, we have to do it properly," Caron answered.
Shhhh.
One by one, duplicates of Caron began to emerge around him until there were ten in total.
Each clone shared much with the original. As befitting the power of the Doppelganger Lord, any experience gained by the copies would transfer back to Caron himself.
Of course, this meant his mana consumption would spike drastically, but he had come prepared. He had raided the royal treasury for potions, and had also taken every last elixir stored in Azureocean Castle before entering the training chamber.
Caron's preparations were flawless.
"I'll have the clones analyze the sword styles," he explained, "then filter out the ones worth using in real combat."
Caron had to analyze techniques, reconstruct them, and refine them. It was a daunting task.
"What's with all the brooding?" Rael Leston, who stood before him, asked.
This version of Rael had a personality embedded within him. It wasn't just a mindless image—it was a conscious fragment of the legendary founder.
Rael Leston was the one who had mastered every known sword art. His guidance would be valuable in crafting a unique, personal technique.
But of course, that consciousness wouldn't last forever. When this artificial mindscape dissolved, so would the projection. But a month was more than enough.
"You're going to help me create my signature technique, right?" Caron asked Rael.
"Wasn't that the whole point of modifying Guillotine's mindscape like this?" Rael replied with a grin, twiddling his finger playfully. "In this world, even if you suffer a fatal wound, you'll resurrect. It's not real, after all. So go wild."
"Now that's the kind of news I like to hear. Just don't expect me to show any elder respect, though. So watch your neck," Caron said.
"I'm just a thought-form. Not like I'm afraid of dying," Rael replied.
"Well, I've died once before, so I'm not too scared either," Caron said.
"You're a descendant after my own heart," Rael said.
Caron gave a sharp grin.
This life was nothing like his previous one. In Caron's previous life, he had lived as a slave, tainted by dark mana. But this time, countless people were offering him their help, lifting him up at every step.
With all this support, failure would be nothing short of disgraceful.
Caron already had a clear goal. There was no need to waste time overthinking it. Thus, he said, "Let's begin."
"Come at me," Rael said with a nod.
Flash!
Caron and his clones charged all at once.
Thus began a hellish training session—brutal, unrelenting, and oddly exhilarating.
***
Time passed, and one month went by. In that month, the empire changed a lot.
Revelio, the Sixth Prince who had once been far from the line of succession, was named Crown Prince—and immediately after, he was crowned emperor.
The former emperor passed away shortly after the coronation, prompting a massive state funeral.
Condolence envoys rushed in from neighboring nations like the Pajar Sultanate. Even the elves of the Southern Great Forest, the giants, and the beastkin sent representatives to pay their respects.
An era ended, and a new one began. Across the empire, mourning mingled with a strange sense of anticipation.
Amid the turbulent mood, the great catastrophe that had been sealed away in Azureocean Castle for a whole month was finally unleashed.
"Shall we get moving, Leo? You ready?" Caron asked cheerfully.
"Screw off," Leo muttered.
"Come on, let's get back to the capital. We've got so much to do," Caron said.
"...Screw off, you bastard," Leo said.
"Hey, Leo? Did someone beat you up? What's with your face?" Caron asked.
"It was you, you little bastard!" Leo shouted.
"Aha," Caron responded.
...It was a terribly unfortunate turn of events.