Chapter 45 - Vixen’s Breath

The Elders Hall was ancient stone and shadow, high vaulted ceilings disappearing into darkness above while enchanted globes cast cold white light across a polished obsidian table. The air itself felt heavy—compressed by centuries of decisions, power, and the weight of those who wielded it.

Eleven council members sat in deliberate arrangement. Four women and seven men, all middle-aged or bearing the marks of advanced years, their eyes carrying the weight of authority and hard-won experience. At the head of the table sat Marcus Litherane, the headmaster—silver-white hair swept back elegantly, a distinguished moustache paired with a small, carefully groomed beard. His aura pressed down on the room like a physical force, oppressive and absolute.

At his right sat Kurt Javier, the vice headmaster. Brownish, unruly long hair framed a clean-shaven face that betrayed nothing. His presence was equally suffocating, a counterweight to Marcus’s gravity that created an almost unbearable pressure in the confined space.

The others were no less formidable. Each represented the apex of this kingdom’s strength—warriors, cultivators, administrators of considerable power who’d spent decades earning their seats at this table.

Dark grey-armored knights lined the edges of the great hall in perfect formation, silent sentinels whose presence reminded everyone present that what was discussed here could shape nations.

Knock knock.

Every eye shifted toward the door.

"Ahh... I’m not late, am I?"

Silvester entered casually, scratching the back of his neck with a wry smile that suggested he found the entire affair vaguely amusing. His posture was relaxed, almost dismissive—a sharp contrast to the rigid formality surrounding him.

’Ah, why do I have to attend these things,’ his expression seemed to say.

He took in the gathered assembly at a glance, letting his eyes sweep across each face, each aura, each carefully maintained facade of authority.

"As imposing as ever, I see. Heh."

The council members exchanged glances. They all knew—despite his weird attitude, despite his casual irreverence—that Silvester was the second strongest person in this room. After Marcus, he was unquestionably the most dangerous cultivator present.

Intelligence-wise? He might have even surpassed the headmaster, though none would say it aloud.

After taking in the scene, Silvester sighed and settled into his designated seat with deliberate slowness.

Marcus observed him for a moment, then turned his attention to the assembled council. His hand rose, fingers tapping against the polished table twice—a deliberate sound that commanded absolute silence.

"Let’s start the meeting today, shall we?"

***

On the other side of the academy, Cale—drenched in sweat after another three hours of intensive training—sat motionless on his bed, clad in nothing but his pants.

His chest heaved with controlled breathing, muscles still trembling with residual energy.

The system interface materialized before him:

[CLAIM SOUL BOUND SWORD?]

"Yes."

Excitement didn’t begin to describe what he felt. A soul-bound sword attuned to his newfound powers meant one thing: eventually, this blade could cut through mana and qi itself, completely unimpeded.

A weapon that could render defenses meaningless, something like anti-magic from games.

He stood.

The room’s bright light began to fade unnaturally, as if an unseen force was actively swallowing it whole. Shadows stretched across the floor in impossible directions, converging beneath his feet until they formed a pool of absolute darkness—a gateway to somewhere else entirely.

A ripple spread across his shadow.

His pupils contracted sharply.

Something was emerging.

The wrapped hilt of a sword rose slowly from the darkness. It was as if there was no proper hilt to it, just the metal edge wrapped by a cloth, his shadow itself becoming a gateway to another realm.

Wisps of violet-black energy spiraled around it, carrying an oppressive aura of chaos and raw power as the blade gradually forged itself into existence.

An elegant obsidian sword emerged inch by inch—the curve flawless, beyond mortal craftsmanship. The pitch-black metal devoured every trace of light, while faint violet currents flowed beneath its surface like imprisoned chaos given physical form. Two dark ribbons- from the cloth’s ends, hung from the pommel, drifting weightlessly despite the complete absence of wind.

The moment the blade fully manifested, Cale’s hand shot out instinctively.

BUZZ!

The sword trembled—a sound like a tuning fork struck at its deepest frequency.

Then, like a starving beast awakening after an eternity of slumber, the sword greedily devoured the qi within his body.

In the blink of an eye—nearly half his reserves vanished into the blade.

But instead of feeling heavier, the sword seemed... complete. Its once-dull surface shimmered with deep violet luminescence before falling silent once more, as if satisfied with its first taste of its master’s cultivation. The weapon felt almost alive in his grip, purring with barely restrained hunger.

[NOXIS – VIXEN’S BREATH]

[A Soulbound Primordial Sword forged from a fragment of the First Nine-Tailed Beast’s Core and blessed by the Lord of Eternal Darkness. Infused with the primordial attributes of Chaos, Darkness, Nihility, and Shadow, its obsidian blade devours light and rends both matter and spiritual essence with every strike.

However, Noxis bears the Curse of Genesis: preventing its wielder from retaining the same blade indefinitely. Once its existence stabilizes for too long, it begins consuming the host’s cultivation, forcing its master to disperse and reforge the sword anew, ensuring it forever remains in a state of perpetual genesis.]

Cale laughed—a delighted sound that echoed through his room.

"A greedy one, aren’t you? Well, given that you’re a woman, that’s to be expected, I guess. Hahah."

He examined the blade carefully, rotating it in the light. Yes,

’It’s fucking sexy.’

Just one look and he could tell this was the real deal. One of those sacred artifacts that transcended normal weapon classifications.

He turned the blade over, studying its curve. "But the curse, huh... well, I can simply form it again and again. How huge can the time gap be? So half my qi reserves are necessary for one full charge, and after which it will gradually diminish until I need to reform it."

His mind was already working through the strategic implications. He’d need to increase his qi reserves significantly. Otherwise, he’d be crippled in extended fights—half his power spent just summoning the blade, leaving him vulnerable.

"Well, good things come with a price, I guess. Let’s test you now, darling."

He said it with a wide grin, moving toward the open courtyard behind his dorm. The sword felt right in his hand—dangerous, hungry, and perfectly attuned to his will.