As we passed through the doorway, the maze shimmered and dissolved around us as the keeper faded away but the weight of what we'd learned remained. The nightstone veined walls fractured into shards like broken mirrors. It felt like watching the world come undone. The fragments began to dissolve upward, like reverse rain made of liquid shadow.

"That was..." Tirion started.

"Strange?" Estella finished. She was still watching the space where the maze had been.

"I hope we never have to face anything like that again,'" Lysa murmured, clutching her staff. “ I’ve never seen anything that could twist reality like that.”

“First riddles, then a test than a maze that tests the mind. The First King was... thorough in his defenses.”

“Unfortunately, we still have one more trial ahead,” I said. “The trial of power.”

"Always saving the best for last," Estella sighed. "Think this one will just want to play cards?"

The look Tirion gave her could have withered plants.

We moved through the passage in silence, each lost in our own thoughts.The next chamber opened before us, and my breath caught. A lone figure sat in the chamber's center in perfect Seiza - knees bent beneath them, feet crossed with tops pressed against the floor, back straight as a steel blade. Their thighs rested on their heels in a way that would have left most people cramping in minutes, yet he held it with the ease of breathing.

His posture created a perfect line from the crown of his helmet to where he touched the floor while a sword lay across his lap, parallel to his thighs, his hands resting on either side of the blade with a formality that made every other way I'd ever held my own sword feel clumsy in comparison.

It was a position of both absolute stillness and complete readiness.

He should have looked vulnerable, being seated before armed opponents. Instead, there was something terrifying about that stillness, like a sheathed blade that could strike faster than the eye could follow.

The chamber started to change. The walls seemed to have dissolved into an infinite space of deep blue twilight, and floating through that twilight were thousands of pink petals. The transformation wasn't just visual - the air grew thick with ancient power, carrying the sweet perfume of flowers and something older, something that reminded me of shrine incense from a hundred different games. But this wasn't just atmospheric design - every petal felt charged with deadly purpose.

Sakura blossoms. I'd seen them in enough games to recognize them. They swirled around the seated guardian, who hadn't moved.

The blademaster wore traditional samurai garments, a dark hakama pooling around their knees, and a green kimono. The fabric wasn't ornate or flashy, but its quality was evident in how it moved with each breath. Small patterns of waves and clouds were subtly woven into the fabric, barely visible unless the light caught them just right. His katana, resting across his lap, bore no decorations save for a simple tsuba decorated with a pattern of intertwined branches, yet it radiated an aura of refined lethality that made my blade feel like a crude toy in comparison.

But what caught my attention wasn't their traditional garments or the sword on his lap - it was the blindfold wrapped around their eyes. The blindfold should have made them seem vulnerable. Instead, it added to their aura of deadly competence, like a master swordsman who no longer needed eyes to see their opponent's strikes. His head turned slightly as we entered, tracking our movements with an awareness that made me wonder what they were seeing - or sensing - behind that fold of darkness.

The infinite blue twilight coalesced around us, taking shape like watercolors bleeding across paper. Sakura trees materialized in a perfect circle. Their branches stretched overhead, creating a canopy.

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Beneath our feet, what had been stone shifted into soft grass. The air itself changed, carrying the sweet scent of blossoms.

When the guardian finally moved, his sword came up in one perfect arc, and I felt rather than heard the change in the air. This man was dangerous.

"Once, I wandered beneath an unbroken sky," he spoke. "A masterless swordsman, a seeker of truth through the edge of a blade. I crossed mountains and seas, through lands now lost to the light's dominion, searching for one who could show me the true meaning of the sword."

He tilted his head. "Many claimed mastery. Noble lords with jeweled blades, warriors with legendary names, those who thought technique alone made a master. But their swords spoke only of pride and ambition. Empty steel, ringing hollow with each strike."

A pause. "Then I met him. Our king. He did not draw his blade with pride or proclamations of skill. He fought not to prove his worth, but to protect what he believed in. In our duel, I learned that true mastery comes not from the sword, but from the soul that wields it."

The blademaster's hand rested on the katana's hilt, fingers curling it. "He defeated me, yes. In that moment, kneeling in the mud of that forgotten battlefield, I waited for the same end I had given countless others. I had lived by the sword - it was fitting to die by one."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "But the final blow never came. Instead, he knelt before me, his legendary blade planted in the earth between us. 'Stand,' he told me. 'There has been enough death in the name of pride.' In that moment, I saw what separated him from every other warrior I had faced. He fought not to prove his strength, but to protect what mattered."

The blademaster 's voice softened with memory. "Since that day, I served as his right hand. Not through obligation or sworn fealty, but through understanding. He showed me that true strength lies not in how many you can defeat, but in what you choose to protect."

His hand tightened almost imperceptibly on the katana's hilt. "Now, in his death..." Something changed in his voice, grief, perhaps, or something deeper. "I serve as his final guardian. The last soldier of a war most have forgotten, protecting the sanctity of not just his tomb, but everything he fought for."

He drew his blade, making a sound like the whisper of night wind through ancient trees. The blindfolded face turned toward us with preternatural accuracy.

"You who would disturb his rest. You who bear his sword, yes. You have seen his memories. But purpose without strength is merely wishful thinking." He raised his blade and settled into a battle stance. "Prove yourself worthy of the burden you claim to bear, or face the consequences of your presumption."

"Wait," Estella stepped forward, though I noticed she kept her chakrams ready. "You were there? When the night still existed?"

The blademaster nodded. "I walked beneath stars now forgotten."

"Then you could tell us-" I started, but Tirion cut me off.

"Noctus, careful. He's not here to give history lessons."

"The bunny-knight's right," Estella said, earning an irritated ear-twitch from Tirion. "Look at his stance - he's been waiting for this."

"We don't have to fight. If we just-" Lysa begged.

"Yes," the blademaster interrupted. "We do."

The sakura petals that had been drifting lazily through the air suddenly moved with purpose, swirling around us in a tightening spiral. A barrier formed, pink and deadly beautiful, cutting off any chance of retreat. In the background, the haunting sound of traditional wind instruments began to play a battle theme that made my heart race.

I barely had time to register Estella's sharp intake of breath or Lysa's muttered prayer before the guardian moved. One moment he was still as stone, the next he was pure motion, closing the distance between us with impossible speed.

“Senbonzakura, yoru ni magire,” he yelled.

Dance of a Thousand Night Blossoms

The words rang out like a death knell, and the petals responded, turning from soft pink to gleaming edges that flew at us like thousands of tiny blades.

Right hand of the king Level: 20 Threat Level: Lethal Class: Blademaster Elemental Affiliation:All A legendary blademaster who once served as the First King's most trusted warrior. His weathered samurai garments and blindfolded visage speak of countless battles, yet he moves with the deadly grace of one who has transcended mere physical combat.

"Spread out!" I shouted to my companions, already diving to the side as the first wave of petals carved through the space where I'd been standing. "Don't let him-"

The rest of my tactical advice was cut short as the blademaster's blade sang through the air, aimed straight for my throat.