The Vizard Swordsmen

For the second time in a week, Laskt found himself emerging from a Senkaimon, blinking at the harsh afternoon sun. He raised his right hand, shading his eyes as he looked out across the cityscape of Doha, the hyper advanced shining as if to shoot it’s own beams of brilliance back at the blazing sun above.

After his encounters at Minatumi Harbour, the former Knight knew that simply having one teacher would not be enough to raise him to the respectable level of power he wanted to reach. Ulv was relatively kind, and the warrior knew she meant well, but the woman simply did not fight like Laskt did, did not think like he did. Occasional encounters with the Vizard would do him good, but for Laskt to truly grow in the ways he wished, he needed to learn from someone that thought more along the same lines he did.

Laskt just wished he could have found someone less dangerous.

Stefan Soan, the God of the Sword. It was said that his skill with a blade was unmatched by anyone in history, and indeed there were few alive who could even confidently attest that fact to be true. On top of that legendary skill, his raw power and abilities made him almost invincible, a legend among legends, clothed in flesh. It made Laskt slightly annoyed that such a person was almost three centuries younger then him, as Stefan seemed to embody the very ideal that the warrior could have achieved, had hubris not sunk it’s fangs into his soul. The Shinigami could not even dream of a better teacher, except perhaps one that had a much less legendary temper.

Swallowing the intense desire to run in fear of being killed, Laskt made his way to the immense training hall within the capital, approached the door, and knocked.