Final Regression of The Legendary Swordmaster Chapter 74

Sara Vistro sat alone in her chambers as the late night light filtered gently through the tall windows. Then a soft knock broke through her thoughts, and a young maid entered carefully, carrying a silver tray with a cup of tea and a small plate of neatly arranged cake slices.

The maid’s uniform was different from what Sara was used to. She approached slowly, set the tray upon the small table beside Sara’s cushioned chair, and bowed her head respectfully. Sara gave her a faint nod and thanked her quietly. Her voice was gentle, but there was a trace of exhaustion beneath it. As the maid turned to leave, Sara hesitated, then called out softly, asking how Edward was doing since the staff must have seen him moving through the manor.

The maid paused near the door and bowed again before answering. She spoke carefully, choosing her words with caution. She said she had no definitive assessment of the Lord Marquis, as she had only begun working in the manor less than a week ago. She explained that most of her duties were limited to kitchen assistance, and she had not interacted with the Marquis directly. Sara studied her for a moment, noticing the subtle nervousness in the girl’s eyes. There was no hidden meaning in her response, only honesty. Sara nodded and dismissed her gently. The maid bowed once more and exited, closing the door quietly behind her, leaving the room in silence again.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Sara’s thoughts began to unravel. Less than a week ago. That meant she was new. Which meant she was one of the replacements. Her fingers tightened around the teacup as realization struck her with a cold sharpness. Most of the old staff had died. They had been caught in the clash between Edward, their father, and the Duke. The manor corridors had run with chaos and destruction. She had not been present. She had been at the royal palace under supervision, bound by her engagement and the political chains that came with it. If she had been here that night, would she have survived? Or would her body have been another casualty buried in the estate grounds? Her breathing grew shallow as images she had never witnessed formed vividly in her mind.

She rose abruptly from her seat, stumbling toward the side of her bed as nausea overcame her. The tea she had barely tasted burned in her throat as she bent forward, retching softly onto the floor beside the bed. It was not much, just bile and the bitterness of an empty stomach, but her body trembled as though she had witnessed the massacre herself. She pressed a trembling hand against the edge of the bed to steady herself. Her mind repeated a single thought again and again. If she had been here, she might have died. The realization was not comforting. It was horrifying. Her brother had admitted it without hesitation. He had killed their father. He had killed the Duke. Others had died in the crossfire. And yet he had spoken of it with calm acceptance, as though it were a necessary step on a larger path.

Sara slowly straightened herself and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Her reflection in the tall mirror across the room looked pale and shaken. She did not recognize the expression staring back at her. It was not only grief or fear. It was something deeper. It was the awareness that the world she thought she understood no longer existed. Edward’s eyes that morning had not been the eyes of a confused younger brother. They had been steady, calculating, and distant. When she had met his gaze, she felt something that unsettled her to her core. Her mana core had trembled. She had told him so. She was nearing the Adept stage, standing firmly at the seventh circle, at the late stage of the Apprentice rank. Few her age could claim such progress. Yet standing before him, she had felt small.

She walked to the center of her chamber and sat cross-legged on the soft carpet. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing.

Cultivation had never been her might. But it was necessary nonetheless. She placed her hands gently upon her knees and began to circulate mana towards her core. The seven inscribed circles within them glowed faintly. Each circle was stable, well formed, and balanced. Her early teachers had praised her for her efficiency and focus. They had told her she would likely break into the Adept stage before she reached 20 if she continued at this pace. Under normal circumstances, that would have satisfied her.

But normal circumstances no longer existed.

As she guided the flow of mana through her channels, she recalled Edward’s presence. The calm in his posture. The lack of visible strain. The way he spoke about survival and the future as though they were inevitable outcomes rather than uncertain possibilities.

The realization struck her with painful clarity. Edward may actually value strength above everything else. Strength determined survival. Strength allowed choices. Strength granted freedom. That was the belief she saw in his gaze. If she remained weak, she may lose her meaning to him. But was she overthinking everything?

Her jaw tightened as mana surged more intensely through her core. The seventh circle pulsed brightly in response to her will. If strength was the measure by which he judged the world, then she would rise to meet that measure. She would not remain someone he pushed aside for safety. She would not stand trembling while others dictated her future.

She adjusted her breathing and increased the intensity of her cultivation. Mana gathered from the surrounding air, drawn toward her core in thin streams. The circulation accelerated, pushing against the boundaries of her seventh circle. Breaking into the tenth circle would place her firmly at the threshold of the Apprentice stage. It would change how others perceived her. It would change how she perceived herself.

Her body trembled again, but this time not from fear or nausea. It was from strain. Sweat formed along her brow as she forced the mana to compress more tightly. The circles within her core glowed brighter, rotating faster. The pressure mounted steadily, like water building behind a dam.

Minutes passed in silence. The chamber felt charged with unseen energy. Finally, with a focused push of will, she guided the compressed mana into the edge of her seventh circle, reinforcing it, expanding it slightly. The structure stabilized once more, stronger than before. She did not break through yet, but she felt closer. Very close. She opened her eyes slowly, breathing heavily, but a faint determination had replaced the earlier shock in her expression.

Sara Vistro rose to her feet and looked toward the window, where the moonlight illuminated the distant estate grounds. Somewhere within those walls, Edward was already moving pieces on a board she had only begun to understand. If strength was the language he spoke, then she would learn to speak it fluently. She would cultivate without pause. She would sharpen her will. She would not allow herself to be a thrown easily.