An Isekai Story

Buried deep within the Cradle’s core, the Hall of Quiet Blades stretches wider than a cathedral nave, its vaulted ceiling held aloft by pillars carved with the nameless faces of fallen warriors. Rows of weapon racks line the walls—blades, staves, axes, and spears—each dulled to prevent accidental triumph. None sing when swung. Every impact against training dummies or stone tiles is swallowed by enchantments designed to erase sound, creating a haunting space where combat occurs in total silence. Animated sparring constructs endlessly reenact the battle styles of long-dead champions, locked in mechanical duels with no victor and no end. There are no drills barked by captains, no encouragement, no sense of progress. The Unmaker has no need for inspiration—only precision. New recruits train here under the watch of flickering eye-crystals set into the walls. Those who fail simply leave… or vanish.

Pale lantern-light casts long, breathless shadows across a muted stone floor marred by shallow gouges and worn footpaths. Constructs of bone-white armor move in graceful, mechanical cadence, dueling phantom opponents without a sound. Weapons lie cradled in racks like relics, untouched and dustless. The air is heavy with unspoken discipline, as if the very room demands control. Everything gleams—but nothing shines.