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[Ethan's Perspective] The weeks following my blade's awakening brought both hope and frustration in equal measure. While the manifestation of my weapon had provided undeniable proof of my magical capabilities, Brain's expectations far exceeded what I could currently achieve. Each training session became an exercise in managing his growing impatience with my apparent limitations. "Six months of intensive instruction," Brain observed during one particularly brutal session, his tone dripping with disdain. "Yet all you can accomplish is wielding that blade like any common swordsman might." I remained focused on deflecting his magical attacks, each impact sending tremors through my arms despite the blade's apparent eagerness to protect me. The weapon felt increasingly responsive to my intentions, though I sensed depths within it that remained frustratingly inaccessible. "Paradoxically," Brain continued, launching another barrage of destructive energy, "your raw magical power continues to expand at an unprecedented rate. You present a most unusual combination of overwhelming potential and seemingly limited application." His attacks grew more intense, forcing me to rely entirely on instinct rather than any formal training. My movements were crude approximations of proper swordsmanship, based on half-remembered observations and desperate improvisation. Yet somehow, the blade seemed to guide my responses, subtly adjusting my grip and stance to maximize defensive effectiveness. During these sessions, I occasionally experienced moments of perfect clarity - brief instances where the weapon's true capabilities seemed almost within reach. In those fleeting seconds, I could sense vast reserves of power waiting to be unlocked, if only I could discover the proper key. More intriguingly still, my dreams had begun to change. Where once I experienced only nightmares born of trauma and despair, now I found myself visiting strange landscapes filled with ethereal beauty. In these visions, a figure appeared repeatedly - a woman whose presence radiated both warmth and terrible power. She never spoke directly, yet I could sense her trying to communicate something of vital importance. Her eyes held knowledge that seemed older than the world itself, and when she looked at me, I felt recognition stirring in depths of my consciousness I had not known existed. Each time I approached the moment of understanding who she might be, consciousness would return, leaving me with only fragments of memory and a growing sense of anticipation. "Your magical reserves rival those of master-level practitioners," Brain noted, interrupting my thoughts with another devastating assault. "The ethernano responds to power, providing each individual with exactly what their potential can support. Weak souls receive weak magic - yet yours suggests capabilities that defy easy categorization." His next attack proved too large to avoid within the confines of our training space. Rather than attempt futile evasion, I raised my blade with both hands, channeling every fragment of will I could muster into a single desperate swing. The moment my weapon met his magical assault, something extraordinary occurred. The blade seemed to cut through the very essence of his attack, dividing it cleanly and harmlessly dispersing the energy around me. Brain's expression transformed into one of genuine excitement. "Magnificent! That particular spell was designed to be lethal - yet you neutralized it completely. Whatever form of sword magic you possess operates on principles I have not previously encountered." Exhaustion overwhelmed me, driving me to my knees as the aftereffects of channeling such power took their toll. Every muscle ached, and my vision blurred from the strain of maintaining focus under such extreme conditions. "Do not appear so distressed," Brain commanded, his voice carrying its usual cruel amusement. "This represents significant progress. You should express gratitude for the opportunity to discover your capabilities." The words tasted like poison, but survival demanded compliance. "Thank you," I forced myself to say. "For the training... for everything." "Excellent," he replied with obvious satisfaction. "Tomorrow's sessions will be twice as intensive. Rest well - you will need your strength." As I departed for my quarters, the blade pulsed with what I could only interpret as concern for my wellbeing. The emotional connection between us had deepened considerably, reaching a point where communication seemed possible despite the absence of words. "One day at a time," I murmured, collapsing into my simple accommodations. The weapon's response carried undertones of patient encouragement, as though it understood the temporary nature of our current circumstances and held absolute faith in eventual triumph. [The Royal Dimension] In a realm far removed from mortal concerns, where the very concept of distance held different meaning, two figures of immense power engaged in conversation that would have profound implications for events unfolding in distant worlds. Ōetsu Nimaiya, master craftsman whose creations had shaped the fundamental nature of spiritual combat, received an unexpected visit from his colleague in the Royal Guard. "Nimaiya," called Ichibe Hyōsube, his characteristically jovial manner concealing depths of power that few could truly comprehend. "I hope you have time for an unusual inquiry." "Always got time for you, man," Nimaiya replied with his typical casual enthusiasm. "What's on your mind?" Ichibe's expression grew thoughtful. "You recall that particular blade you created - the one you referred to as your masterpiece? The Asauchi you invested with such exceptional care?" "Course I remember!" Nimaiya's pride in his craftsmanship was unmistakable. "Put everything I had into that beauty. Never forget any of my children." "The situation has become... peculiar," Ichibe continued. "That specific blade no longer exists within our realm's boundaries." Nimaiya frowned, his casual demeanor shifting toward genuine concern. "That shouldn't be possible. The distribution protocols are absolute - only designated recipients should have access." "Indeed," Ichibe stroked his beard contemplatively. "The moment I attempted to invoke its true name, the weapon vanished entirely from my perception. It exists somewhere, but beyond the reach of my abilities." "You thinking the Soul King had something to do with this?" Nimaiya's tone grew serious. "Not directly," Ichibe replied. "But the circumstances suggest influences operating on levels that transcend normal causality." Nimaiya considered this revelation. "When I forged that particular blade, I felt... guided. Like something was directing my hands toward perfection beyond what I normally achieve." "I experienced something similar during the naming attempt," Ichibe confirmed. "As though the weapon possessed a destiny that superseded our immediate intentions." Both figures fell silent, contemplating the implications of a creation that had apparently transcended the boundaries of their understanding. "Well," Nimaiya finally said, "as long as my masterpiece ends up with someone worthy, I ain't complaining. Some things are bigger than our plans." Ichibe nodded slowly. "Indeed. We can only hope that when the time comes, both blade and wielder will be ready for whatever purpose they are meant to serve." In a world where a young man struggled against impossible odds with nothing but determination and a mysterious sword, forces beyond imagination were quietly arranging the pieces for a confrontation that would reshape the very foundations of reality.