⚔️ **CHAPTER 82 — The Whispered Technique**
Mist hung low over the ruins, clinging to broken stone and scorched timber. Kael's body ached, muscles trembling from constant exertion, hunger gnawed deep—but Centering and Iron Mind kept him upright. The cursed sword pulsed in his grip, whispering again, dark and alive.
*"Kael… clever, persistent… weak in body, yet strong in mind. I will make you stronger… if you dare learn."*
Kael narrowed his eyes. *I need every edge I can get. Teach me—but I control how I use it.*
*"Control… yes… but know this: this technique is sharp, precise, and deadly. It will cut paths, disrupt enemies, dominate battle… but it feeds on hesitation, doubt, and fear. Hesitate, and it will cut you instead."*
The sword's runes glowed brighter. Kael felt a surge of energy, cold and sharp, crawling up his arm and into his muscles.
*"Focus. Center your body. Thread your mind. Feel the rhythm of battle… and let me guide your hand. The shadows, the chaos, the enemy's fear—they will bend to this technique."*
Kael took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and the sword whispered instructions like a teacher and a temptress at once:
*"Step with intent… strike with flow… rotate, pivot, twist… let every movement follow the pulse of your opponent… your body… the battlefield itself. Let the steel guide your mind, and your mind guide the steel."*
He moved experimentally. The cursed sword sliced through empty air, cutting in arcs and spirals more precise than he thought possible. It corrected his stance, whispered timing, and teased openings invisible to the eye.
*"Yes… feel it! Your strength… your weakness… everything is yours to exploit. Perfect the flow, Kael… perfect it… and the battlefield will obey."*
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Hours passed as Kael practiced, sweating, bleeding, muscles trembling—but the sword's whispers guided him. Each swing became sharper, faster, more fluid. The combination of Centering, Iron Mind, and the cursed blade's instruction elevated him beyond normal skill—but not beyond danger. Every strike demanded concentration, every move a balance between power and survival.
*"Ah… finally… obedience, resistance, and… perhaps attachment,"* the sword hissed, a dark satisfaction in its voice. *"I begin to care for your persistence… and I will push you further… until the Council fears the name Kael."*
Kael opened his eyes, gripping the sword tightly. Flames from Caelin's blade lit the ruined courtyard. Mireya adjusted her shield, watching silently. Tomas's shadowed form slipped between fallen timber, waiting for the Council's next strike.
*"We are ready,"* Kael whispered. *"Together—but I decide the fight."*
*"Yes… together… my clever, persistent, fragile boy,"* the sword whispered, almost fondly. *"And now… you are sharper than before. Let us carve chaos… carefully… deliciously."*
The mist swirled, shadows shifting, and Kael felt a **new precision in his movements**. The cursed sword had taught him a technique deadly, efficient, and darkly elegant. It was now **a weapon in body, mind, and soul**, guided by whispers that were still evil—but slowly, almost imperceptibly… attached.
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