The moonlight spilled like silver oil over the Arkanveil estate, and in the training grounds' deepest chamber, silence reigned.
Lucien knelt before six perfectly shaped stones—unmarked, unnamed. Not graves. Not memorials. But something more sacred: acknowledgments.
He didn't come to mourn.
He came to forge.
Each stone stood for a life he had taken. Six enemies, each powerful in their own right. Kingslayers, traitors, assassins—warriors who had carved fear into the world. Men and women whose strength, in another life, would have turned nations to ash.
And now…
They were his.
Lucien stood and closed his eyes. The Devour Trait stirred, humming deep within his soul like a sleeping beast. Around him, shadows thickened. Not from magic. From will.
With a single breath, he activated it.
> Devour: Shadow Extraction Initiated
Parameters: Six Targets – Pre-stored Residue – Compatible Souls Confirmed
Initiating Shadow Soldier Creation…
Integrating Combat Data…
Customizing Core Personality Retention…
Process: 72%... 88%... 100%.
Summon: Complete. Shadow Blade Variant – Elite Class
The ground cracked in six places, wisps of dark mist rising like smoke from the underworld. From each fissure, a figure emerged—clad in blackened armor, faces masked, but not hollow.
Each one knelt.
Lucien opened his eyes.
Six shadows.
Six blades.
And none of them bowed to him.
Instead, they turned—together—and dropped to one knee before Elric.
---
Elric stood frozen at the edge of the chamber, breath caught in his throat.
"Wh—what are they?" he asked.
Lucien's voice was calm. Reverent.
"They were enemies. I defeated them. I remembered them. I gave them purpose."
"You brought them back?"
"No. I reforged them."
Lucien walked forward and placed a hand on Elric's shoulder.
"They are yours now."
Elric staggered. "Mine?"
"They'll serve the one I trust to lead them," Lucien said. "You've earned that trust."
The six shadows didn't speak. They didn't need to.
They radiated loyalty—not with words, but posture. Energy. Intent.
Lucien gestured to each.
"Their names are gone. But their blades remain." He pointed one by one.
"That one was once called the Thunder Fang of Vhal. Assassin of kings. Now—your left flank."
"This one—she ended an entire guild by herself. She guards your rear."
"Him? A spearman who pierced dragons. Now, he answers your signal."
Each was an echo of a former terror. But now, they were more. Honed by Lucien's eye, stripped of malice, and bound by a singular rule:
Serve the bond. Not the blade.
---
Later that night, Elric sat before them, sharpening his sword. His own.
One of the shadows—tall, slim, moved like water—knelt beside him without a sound. She didn't speak. Just… mirrored him.
Sharpened her phantom blade in sync.
Elric chuckled. "You're more human than I thought."
The shadow tilted her head.
He whispered, "Do you remember who you were?"
No answer. But she raised her blade—and mimicked the stance Elric had used in training earlier that week.
Not a memory.
A recognition.
He looked around. All six were watching. Patient. Alert. Loyal.
"I don't know if I deserve you," he said softly.
Behind him, Lucien's voice echoed, "That's why you do."
---
The next morning, the training field was no longer a place of lessons.
It was a forge of war.
Lucien stood atop the balcony above the grounds, watching Elric spar—not alone, but with six specters weaving between him, striking and vanishing, reforming and defending.
Each movement flowed with Shadow Sword Form I, II, and even glimmers of Form III.
Lucien's Proficiency Panel blinked:
> Shadow Blade Command Protocol: 43% Integrated
Adaptive Sync with Subordinates: Optimized
Leadership Trait Bonus: +11%
He smiled.
"Good," he murmured. "Now we stop training."
The wind whispered through the Arkanveil banners.
Because from this point on—
They would begin preparing for war.