As soon as Nova left the Commander's tent, he saw bursts of Aura erupting from within. Moments later, several knights rushed inside.

'Trying to uncover information on his own? He's not as foolish as the others... but it doesn't matter. Once the knights see two kingdoms' armies meeting with a third, combined with my report of a rebellion, it won't take long for them to reach the same conclusion,' Nova thought, casting one last glance at Senna's tent before strolling through the camp.

He looked around in awe at the hundreds, if not thousands, of tents. 'I didn't notice it before but this place must be as large as a medium-sized town, and every one of them is an elite knight. No wonder even kings have to bow before the empire's knights.' He sighed in amazement before forcing his thoughts back into focus. 'Now that I know Senna is most likely at the fifth stage, I need to be more careful and find a remote place to train, or I risk blowing my cover.'

With renewed determination, his figure flickered, and in moments he was already outside the army camp, continuing onward. He had no idea that because of him, Osvald was about to endure an excruciating amount of pain. To Nova, the second prince wasn't even an afterthought by now.

"Here is far enough."

Finding a small clearing flanked by trees, he stopped, flipped open the booklet Senna had given him, and began to read.

"Sever the Head, Sever the Heart, Sever the Soul. Three swords… no, they can't truly be called sword techniques, since their form can be altered through the use of Aura. This booklet should be considered an Aura technique, the first I've ever found," Nova muttered, reading the text several more times until he was certain he had memorized its contents.

He nodded to himself. "To think one could use Aura to mimic magic… perhaps even surpass it and turn it into a full-fledged art, no less powerful, maybe even stronger. I'd love to see the mages' faces if they came across this booklet." He chuckled at the thought. Knowing how disdainful mages were of knights, if they learned that knights might be even stronger than them, they wouldn't take it kindly at all.

'I shouldn't get ahead of myself, though. I'm comparing a possible stage-five knight to rank sevens and eights among the mages… and I don't even know if a rank nine mage exists.' He sank into deep thought for a moment before shaking his head and beginning to practice the First Sword: Sever the Head.

This was the simplest form and the entry point of Senna's Art. It was a technique any knight at the third stage could wield without suffering collateral effects. The drawback, however, was that its power was leagues beneath that of the second sword.

For hours, the Aura around Nova swirled in strange patterns as he worked to unravel the art's mysteries. At last, an ethereal, blood-red, blade-like form condensed in his hand.

He stared at the blade, a few beads of sweat forming on his forehead, and swung it at a nearby tree. Without a sound, the trunk split cleanly in half. A moment later, the tree toppled with a loud crash, revealing a deep gash that stretched several meters beyond it.

'Incredible… that was only my first successful attempt, and with the weakest sword,' Nova thought. Excitement surged through him as he condensed blade after blade of Aura in his hand, swinging them recklessly without regard for his stamina. But soon, exhaustion took its toll and, an hour later, he stood gasping for breath, clothes drenched in sweat.

Brushing the hair from his eyes, he slumped against a tree and closed them, too weary to remain awake. Yet it wasn't long before his body recovered, as if fatigue had been nothing more than an illusion. Rising to his feet again, he repeated the process until he could summon the First Sword with relative ease. Only then did he move on to the Second Sword.

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'I shouldn't face too much trouble with this… but I'll be careful not to overdo it. The thrill of learning something new almost made me forget a very important thing, I'm still in enemy territory,' he reminded himself, steadying his breathing as he guided his Aura according to the booklet's instructions.

Hours slipped into days. By the second, the air itself seemed to scream as if in agony, torn apart by a crescent-shaped Aura blade that shimmered in Nova's hand, the very same technique Tairo had once unleashed on him. Only, now an ominous aura radiated from Nova's blade, heavier, with a blood-red tint that made it far more scary.

"My arm is shaking… I'll lose control if I don't swing soon," he muttered as veins bulged across his forearm. Gritting his teeth, he unleashed the crescent sword at another tree.

The Second Sword tore through the trunk, obliterating the section it touched. The top half of the tree crashed down onto the remaining stump before collapsing heavily onto the ground.

Nova stared at the fallen timber in silence for several moments.

"If Sever the Head can be said to cut, then Sever the Heart is pure destruction. No wonder Tairo's strike took so long to heal… even with my regeneration and both wood and water elements," he murmured, now fully grasping the devastation this art could unleash.

A daring thought crept into his mind. 'Should I go back…' But he quickly dismissed it. 'No. Only when I reach the fourth stage and master the Third Sword will it be time to face the bloodstripe. Until then, I'll train for three more days. After that, I'll return to the camp and reforge Dreadscape, I can't remain without it for too long.'

With his plan set, Nova rested for a dozen minutes. Once his Aura and body had recovered, he rose again and swung another crescent sword. Soon, the once clean clearing was filled with fallen trees and uprooted stumps.

Three days later, Nova stepped back into the army camp. He scanned the surroundings and muttered, "This place has become so chaotic. Did Senna find out something or are they just preparing?" Knights, figures rare even in cities, were everywhere, moving like ants across the camp, their faces grim. The steady rhythm of boots striking solid ground filled the air, the only sound in the tense atmosphere.

Nova pushed his way through the throng, searching for the forge. Half an hour later, his efforts remained fruitless.

'If I ask someone, will they grow suspicious? A knight not knowing where the forge is in his own camp… that would raise questions.' He frowned. 'I can't gamble, I need to keep Tairo's identity hidden.'

With a sharp turn, he slipped into the nearest tent. His eyes narrowed, ears straining trying to listen for any sound. Seconds passed in silence as Nova stood still and held his breath.

When he was sure there wasn't anyone he exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. 'I'll keep this in my Inventory for now,' Nova thought as he removed the Mask of Three Faces and stored it. His body shifted, his features reverting to their original place. Then, stepping back outside, he grabbed the first knight he saw, putting on a panicked expression.

The knight recoiled, struggling to shake free. "What are you doing?" he said.

Clutching tighter, Nova pleaded, "I'm new here, and I broke my weapon during training. Can you tell me where the forge is?"

"Ask someone else, and let go of me, now," the knight snapped, Aura flaring faintly from his body. But in a camp overflowing with knights, it drew no real attention, especially given the current chaos.

Nova's grip only tightened. He yanked the knight's face close, their noses only centimeters apart as Nova stared straight into the knight's eyes. "I need to know where the forge is. Will you tell me now… or do I need to break your arms first?"

The knight froze, his bravado evaporating under Nova's pressure. "G-Go north-west from here," he stammered, "you'll see a black tent… that's the camp's smithy."

Nova gave him a light pat on the shoulder. "Was that so hard?" Before the knight could answer, Nova shook his head and darted off toward the northwest side of camp.

"Who the hell is he? I've never seen him before," the knight spat, still reeling from the encounter.

'That was a third-stage knight and he felt as helpless as a child.' Nova's eyes narrowed as he wove through the camp. 'Once I reforge Dreadscape, even fourth-stage knights won't be a problem. By then, only Senna will remain a true concern… before I finally conquer this place.'

At last, he spotted it: a black tent with smoke curling skyward, a few knights standing around its entrance seemingly in a waiting line. Their weapons were drawn but, instead of fighting, they were simply showing them to the other knights in an attempt to combat the boredom of waiting.

This was the camp's smithy.

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