Chapter 5 – Echoes of the Sword Emperor
The room was quiet, still soaked in the warmth of afternoon light. Chris sat upright now, supported by pillows, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as he continued his breathing training.
He wasn't merely resting. He was recalibrating.
This wasn't just any breathing technique.It was the one used by The Sword Emperor, the strongest knight of the Southern Kingdom.A man who was once Chris's closest comrade in his previous life.
In that old life, the Sword Emperor had been born a commoner, forbidden from learning swordsmanship or magic due to his status. He had lived in the slums—ignored, unremarkable, and unloved by the world.
But when the war against the Outer Gods began, even the poor were dragged into battle. It was then he picked up a sword—not by choice, but to survive.
The technique he used was something he developed on the battlefield.Crude. Incomplete. But rooted in instinct and life-or-death struggle.
And despite his limitations, he rose—through pain, through blood, through impossibility.Until one day, he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with kings and legends.The world called him Sword Emperor.
And now, Chris, reborn with knowledge and experience, had the chance to train from the very beginning… using his friend's technique, refined and perfected with everything he had learned.
He inhaled again—deeply, rhythmically.Held it. Let it settle.
Then exhaled in a slow, controlled stream.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.Draw the breath into your navel.Guide it with will. Enforce it with discipline.
He repeated the cycle, and with each breath, something changed.
A warmth began to stir in his lower abdomen, faint but alive. The aura, long dormant in this damaged body, flickered like an ember finding dry kindling.
And then—Boom.
Not a sound, but a feeling. A pulse.His aura channel responded. For the first time since his awakening… it responded.
His eyes snapped open.
It's working.
This breathing method—this Sword Emperor's Rhythm—was far more effective than anything he had ever used before, even in his past life. There was something raw, something primal about it. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't sophisticated like the noble breathing forms.
But it worked.
It bypassed the usual rigidities, flowing with the body instead of against it. It was forged through experience, not theory—designed not for the elite, but for survival.
And in this body, which was both noble and broken… it was perfect.
Chris clenched his fist slowly. The soreness still gripped his muscles. His magic core was still a ruin. But the first building block had been laid.
I will walk both paths again. And this time, I will walk further than anyone ever has.
He smiled slightly, the corner of his lips curving upward.
"Thank you, old friend," he whispered to the air, thinking of the Sword Emperor."Even in this life... you're helping me rise."
Outside, the sun was beginning to set. A crimson hue washed over the skies.
The Age of Destruction was five years away.
But tonight marked the rebirth of a warrior destined to defy it.