MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Warlord Raelith; the Human Warlord, moved with an indifferent countenance. His composed bearing exuded the quiet, commanding authority befitting a Warlord, while his cape billowed gracefully with each deliberate step. Piercing blue eyes remained fixed forward, focused in their gaze.

Yet beneath that calm facade, turmoil churned. For the soldier trailing silently behind him was no ordinary Lieutenant subordinate, he was the son of their Supreme Monarch.

'I wonder if he finds anything dissatisfactory.'

Raelith thought as he moved in measured strides.

Mitchelle had already issued a stern directive to every Warlord stationed at Military Base Alpha-9: should Anthony ever set foot within its walls, he was to be treated like the most fragile of treasures, like an egg. Carefully. Gently.

It all began the day Anthony made the decision to enlist in the military as a soldier.

Mitchelle and Michael had engaged in a prolonged back-and-forth, each vying for him to be stationed at their own respective military base. In the end, the matter was left to chance, settled by the drawing of lots.

Nine slips of paper were prepared, each bearing a number from one to nine. When the draw was made, fate dealt an unexpected hand: they picked number six, a base that lay entirely beyond their sphere of influence.

Now, however, Mitchelle had returned, only to hear, during a briefing with the three Warlords, that her son was present at the base.

The revelation struck her like lightning.

Her first instinct was to rush to his side, but she sensed he was with his companions. She couldn't simply barge in unannounced. So, she sent Raelith in her stead.

Raelith's mind raced, thoughts spiraling as if gripped by quiet panic. Each step betrayed none of it, yet behind him, Anthony walked in silence, calm, composed, but perceptive.

His All Seeing Eyes could sense the tension radiating from the Warlord. Buried beneath that veneer of discipline was a flicker of fear, faint, but unmistakable.

'Is he afraid of the Supreme Monarch?'

Anthony couldn't help but wonder. Though his parents had always shown him love and warmth, he was well aware, they were entirely different people to others.

Unforgiving. Commanding. Absolute.

'Besides, why is he walking so slowly? We could fly there... or teleport.'

His thoughts wandered, tinged with quiet amusement at the Warlord's unnecessarily cautious pace.

As Anthony drifted through his thoughts, Raelith's voice cut through the silence, calm, yet unmistakably commanding.

"What do you think of the military base?"

The question came without pause or glance, spoken as he continued walking.

Anthony's mind flickered with curiosity. Was there an underlying reason for the question? Yet, rather than overthink, he responded with a composed smile.

"It's perfect, Warlord."

A clear, concise reply, measured and respectful.

Raelith continued, his voice as composed as ever, yet carrying a trace of subtle intrigue.

"It seems we both love the katana... share the same eye color... even a similar build. Oddly familiar."

Anthony's thoughts came to a halt at the Warlord's words.

He wasn't wrong. Both bore katanas at their left sides, possessed piercing blue eyes, and shared the same lean, agile physique. At a glance, one might easily mistake Raelith for Anthony's father.

Their only distinctions lay in the contrast of their hair, Raelith's black against Anthony's white, and, of course, Anthony's ethereal, striking handsomeness and Raelith's average in comparison.

But such comparisons, harmless as they seemed, could become dangerous, especially if overheard by the Sword Saint himself, the Seventh Supreme Monarch.

Raelith parted his lips, about to offer a suggestion, that he could personally guide Anthony in the way of the katana. But the words caught in his throat, refusing to form.

After all, Anthony was no ordinary soldier, he was the son of the Sword Saint.

Could he, Raelith, a mere Warlord, presume to guide the heir of a man who stood at the pinnacle of swordsmanship?

No. Best to remain silent.

Even well-intentioned words could spark dangerous misunderstandings.

"It seems so, Warlord. Perhaps one day, we could spar, test ourselves in the way of the katana."

Anthony replied, his smile calm and composed.

He could sense it clearly, the Warlord was attempting to initiate conversation… a connection. Likely because one of Anthony's parents held the title of Supreme Monarch within this military base.

After all, under normal circumstances, would a Warlord even spare a glance at a mere Lieutenant?

Still, Anthony genuinely looked forward to the prospect of a duel. It wasn't every day one encountered a katana-wielder skilled enough to stand at a Warlord's level.

Raelith understood the meaning behind Anthony's words.

A spar in the true way of the katana.

No techniques.

No arts.

No elemental enhancements.

No supernatural crutches.

Just pure, unadulterated katanamanship.

The thought resonated within him, stirring something old and familiar. A small smile tugged at his lips as he looked ahead, already anticipating the clash.

Of course, he would have to suppress his cultivation to match Anthony's, balancing the physical disparity between them.

Raelith held no doubt in his mind. He had walked the path of the katana for over two millennia, his blade sharpened through wars, duels, blood and discipline.

Victory, to him, was not just possible, it was inevitable.

And Anthony?

Merely nineteen. Barely a decade of experience, even if he had begun training with the katana at the age of ten. Not even a decade under the tutelage of the Sword Saint could truly bridge the chasm that separated him from someone like Raelith, a man forged by millennia of discipline.

Yet, excitement flickered in Raelith's eyes as he finally spoke,

"I look forward to our spar, then."

Anthony caught the subtle shift in his tone, the restrained eagerness barely veiled behind his composed demeanor.

'A katana fanatic, Anthony mused, the corners of his lips curling ever so slightly.

He too looked forward to the spar.

After all, the last time he had faced someone in a battle of pure swordsmanship was against Kush, an elf who had appeared during the second attack on Omni Peak Academy.

Kush had fought for the sword… and died by it with a smile gracing his lips.

There had been no tricks, no underhanded tactics, just two blades, two wills, and the quiet understanding that honor would decide the outcome.

During and after that battle, something within Anthony had stirred, a quiet fire, an awakening only true swordplay could ignite.

He hoped Raelith might stir it once more.

Suddenly, Anthony noticed a subtle distortion ripple through the space around Raelith, brief, almost imperceptible.

"We'll be teleporting now, Lieutenant Anthony."

Raelith said calmly as a portal shimmered into existence before them.

"Yes, Warlord."

Anthony replied with a nod.

But he knew, Raelith hadn't opened this portal.

He didn't need confirmation. He had already guessed the source.

'Mom.'

A faint smile touched his lips. It had been over a year since they last saw each other. Even reaching her through her phone had proven impossible.

'Looks like she got tired of us walking and opened the portal herself.'

Anthony mused as he followed Raelith.

'I really should get her military phone line after this. Not even the Authority Of Information could retrieve it, she's simply ranked too high.'

With that, he stepped through the portal, vanishing into the light.