The moon hung high over the plains of Sacae, casting long, haunting shadows that danced and flickered with the wind. Karel, known throughout the land as the Sword Demon, was a silhouette against the moonlight, standing alone amidst the desolation of a forgotten battlefield. This was his world: a realm of steel and blood, where the only language he knew was the song of clashing blades.

His home, once a haven of familial warmth, had been transformed into a training ground—a place to hone his deadly skills. The garden where he used to play with his sister was now a field of straw dummies, each bearing the scars of countless strikes. His father's study, once filled with books and scrolls, now housed an impressive array of swords, each a trophy from a fallen foe. Every corner of this place screamed of missed opportunities—of a life that could have been, had he not been consumed by his obsession.

Memories of his past were like spectres, always lurking in the corners of his mind. He saw himself as a child, training with his father; as a youth, dueling with his peers; and as a man, standing over the bodies of his family, the terrible price of the secret of the sword. Each memory was a haunting reminder of his relentless pursuit of power and the cost it had exacted.

Now, he stood amidst the ruins of what was once his family's living quarters, contemplating a renovation. Not out of nostalgia, but as a testament to his resolve—a physical manifestation of his commitment to the sword. He envisioned a grand dojo, a place where he could continue his relentless pursuit of power, where he could invite the strongest warriors from across the continent to test their mettle against the Sword Demon.