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Volume 3, Chapter 64: Settlement

His blade had no original inscription.

Perhaps, he didn’t have any in the first place. An inscription meant much more than just carved words on the blades. Many heroes had swords and bladed weapons engraved with inscriptions from past owners. After fulfilling their roles, the former heroes would pass their swords to their apprentices. Thus, creating new inscriptions on the swords. Yet, this man possessed no such inscription.

The swords who crossed through the hands of countless heroes that were carved with several inscriptions were special and legendary. Sometimes, those swords were glory itself. Luck charms for wars. Others called those weapons, victory swords.

It felt as if God had decided to bless the sword that would eventually touch the hand of a hero. It meant that the heroes could play their roles because of their glorified swords. Some of them rose up in status from their home country. Others became the conquerors of a continent. Regardless of their victorious act, their swords weren’t lost neither after their retirement nor after their glorious demise. After the swords fulfilled their previous designation, they awaited for the next owner to arrive.

Yet, even without the traditional inscriptions, his blade was extraordinarily proficient and resilient. It was a strange occurrence. That blade was supposed to be meaningless. It didn’t have any kind of godly inscription. That blade wasn’t blessed from the heavens, yet it felt as if it was engraved with his own body. As if it became part of his blood and flesh, as if it were under a powerful enchantment.

Only mystical and powerful swords were supposed to have been built with the strong magical powers of old. Such swords were transcendental. They crossed over the history and its transition for many years. Still, this happening was the first evidence I’ve witnessed on meaningless blades.

“…I wish for…”

The voice of a person with real magical powers shook the space as it transmitted a special blessing to the blade of this opponent. The blade heated up as if the body of the person holding it had assimilated a fiery emotion. His heavy eyelids began to shine as scorched flames. This scene resembled the fierce process of melting iron.

However, his body had not yet been glorified with inscriptions. Without said inscriptions, that blade was just dull. Despite his awakening, no matter how long he waited for his glory, God would never allow him to have a pen to write his heavenly grandeur. The world won’t bless him unless God gave him a chance.

That blade slightly vibrated. Maybe this person was not the person who should be the owner of that newly magic-invoked blade. This was the first experience for the weapon, as well as for the owner. This meant that a person with no qualities shouldn’t be given a chance at redemption. A chance to twist his destiny. He was to become just himself and nothing more. A man unworthy of glory. I didn’t understand very well, but this person tried to assimilate the impossible into his own body.

Well, he wasn’t the real owner, or the successor of the real owner. He tried to reach the depths of the realm of magnificence by pursuing the path of a hero. Yes, a hero whatever the form. Paradoxically, this man could become a hero if this pursuit ended up successful.

However, that would be impossible, wouldn’t it? A paradox indeed. After all, the inscription was not engraved on his soul through the form of his blade. He wasn’t the real owner. Yet, it wasn’t entirely impossible for him to engrave inscriptions after the semi-assimilation of magical powers.

His blade began to pulsate as if it were connected with his whole body. It seemed that blood went through his veins and crossed through to the iron of his remaining blade. What kind of person was he? What kind of life did he live? What kind of path did he choose? Why was he trying so hard to be someone relevant even though he lacked such inscriptions?

If this person was not worthy of such godly possession, then he shall be finished here and now. Yes, just like that. A quick ending.

Nonetheless, it felt like a totally different moment. It was a natural occurrence. Nothing seemed fake about it. His blade wasn’t just a tool. His blade became the flesh and bones that supported his body.

His name was Lugis. His birth status and bloodline were not fortunate. He wasn’t talent, he did have good natural gifts. He wasn’t a genius. His hero affinity was at a low quality. One could say that he lacked greatness. He wasn’t strong as well. He simply wasn’t enough. Worthless.

Therefore, his blade kept vibrating involuntarily probably due to his spirituality. How could I describe it? It was such a large complexity that couldn’t be expressed with mere words. If I had to describe immediately, I would say that his spirituality was comprised of his inner feelings and resolve.

Maybe he gave up once. Or he let go of everything in the past. He probably surrendered and succumbed to his harsh fate. He recognized himself as mediocre and thought that he couldn’t reach any better future.

Actually, I thought that there was nothing wrong with ordinary people living their lives like that. Since they didn’t know any better, those people had their happy way of living. Fate could harm those people if they tried to extend their hands in order to grab the impossible.

Yet, this man tried to reach the impossible once again. Whether fate tried to block his path, and even if his flesh and blood was torn apart, he didn’t give up. Why would he go to such lengths to reach mere ideals?

In addition, he seemed to be unable to live quick-wittedly because of his bad nature. He was arrogant and tenacious. He refused to talk or back away. He threw himself into the sea of death without any hesitation.

He was a clumsy and ridiculous man. I couldn’t bear to witness the appearance of such man trying to reach out to something unsuitable. This ugly sight was unbelievable. Everyone would cover their eyes in order to abandon their stupid way of life.

Ah, but it felt unusual. His body was not worthy of being called the body of a hero. Yet, his spirited mind, which never gave up regardless of his torn path, was worthy of his own possession. Yes, worthy of being called something more.

If so, he wanted to get himself an inscription. The blade finally formed its shape. Once again, the magic got refined and blended with the owner to give him an appropriate shape. A worthy shape from his owner.

If an owner was mediocre, but relentless and reckless to the point of trying to reach for the hero’s neck, the inscription would be …

—

It was an occurrence beyond the intention of my actions.

I ended up breaking my left wrist. My second knife was lost. I had no additional weapons besides the right-handed knife. The genius defeated my less-than-prepared strategy. I didn’t even have time to retreat. Therefore, I was waiting for Helot Stanley’s white blade to crush my skull. This was the likely scenario.

Everything happened so suddenly. Something special engulfed my right hand and my remaining blade. It gained a godly movement. It was something out of this world. I felt as if it swallowed the entire space, the entire surroundings. Was it true that my wish was heard by the heavens? No way, that was too ridiculous.

The blade that was born on my hand was a breathtakingly beautiful sword. The silver blade had a dark purple line. Yet, this purple shade was more reminiscent of lightning than poison itself.

I had no time to ask about this odd occurrence in my heart. Helot’s eyes were confused at what happened just now. I was as startled as well. Did I just have to accept this unreasonableness? Should I receive this calling and use it to deflect and intercept the attack?

I could have a chance if I tried to deflect his sword with mine. However, before I could make a follow-up swing, his second swing could still be faster. After a short moment of hope and glory, my life would meet a dead end. Yes, a clear death awaited me. But, what if I did it otherwise? Could I intercept his blade? I wondered.

Strange. It was a strange feeling. Originally, this shouldn’t be possible. The option of intercepting Helot’s strike while aiming at his neck. Impossible. There was no way that I could overcome the quickness and strength of his white sword.

However, there was certainly one clear trajectory in my eyes. Yeah, fine. No problem. I’d rather die quickly than prolong my life for a very short moment. It would be much better. I didn’t care. Either way, my arm gave one last swing with this purple blade, all for the goal of intercepting the white blade.

At the same time, the white blade was shaken off as if it slashed through the space with lightning speed. I couldn’t win. Yes, I won’t be able to win against this strike. Yet, I only thought about winning, since it was the only way for me to survive this ordeal. I won’t let anybody choose my own path. I shall be the only one to forge my way and to command my will. On this very moment, I put all of these thoughts onto the direct opposition of the white blade.

The white blade approached me from the sky, and the newly blade containing purple hue engulfed the air when I intercepted the white blade from the ground. This clash roared through the skies.

“…This sword is an important family heirloom. According to tradition, this precious piece is called either “mystic” or “miracle”.”

Somehow, Caria’s words echoed inside of my brain.

I doubted my own eyes.

A strong impact. The moment when both blades joined and clashed with one another was a moment of out this world. My sword at hand kept its momentum and cut off Helot’s double-edged sword. The white blade didn’t even resist to the impact of my sword. It was impossible. His double-edged sword was famous. His strong and legendary sword was supposed to beat any enemy. His sword was known for being unbreakable.

A single blow. Yes, that blow crawled on the ground and went up to the sky, and pushed the unprotected Helot away from where he was standing.

It was an unmistakable moment. Did this happen for real? Actually, I felt like Helot’s cheek showed a little smile after he received my blow.

…At the end of my blow, I noticed that Helot got injured. One of his golden shining eyes was hurt and his left eyeball was dug out.

It wasn’t just blood that spilled from his face. Everything looked surreal to me. An impossible scenario just happened in front of me. I felt a strange softness when I cut his flesh. How odd it was. His blood covered his face and neck. I wasn’t sure if my sword cut his neck as well. I was uncertain since it happened so fast. Yet, the reality proved otherwise. I inflicted severe damage on Helot’s body.

I truly felt it on my hand. I really did cut his flesh. I really managed to overcome the strength of the mighty hero, Helot Stanley.

The moment I realized everything that happened, my brain quivered and my body brought severe pain and fatigue onto my fingertips. This pain was unbearable, yet it made my head clear again. I inadvertently gritted my teeth and managed to avoid from falling down.

I finally heard the loud voices from the guards of the city-state and from the soldiers of the Heraldic Order.

「…God has given us his will! All of my men! Be prepared! Charge now! 」

Was this voice the voice of Saint Matia? Despite everything, my surroundings were still unclear.

As expected, Helot was bleeding profusely. Yet, I saw he moved. With those injuries, he wouldn’t be able to move on his own straightaway. Actually, his guards held him on their shoulders. I saw them carrying him away from the battlefield. I knew it. He wasn’t capable of moving by himself given those conditions.

Ah, please, just succumb now. I couldn’t understand if my desire to see him die was the involuntarily emotion for winning against an opponent of war, or if it was because of my grudge. Anyway, these feelings weren’t unusual to me. I knew them very well for a very long time. I felt them in my chest for too long now. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

…On this precise moment, a blue flash ran on the edge of my eyes. It was the known color of a guardsman’s saber.

That saber aimed directly at me. It was as if this person was waiting for this moment to happen. Yes, to happen at last. I stared at this person, who kept looking at me with hostile eyes.

Ah, it was that man. I see. It made sense. I sympathized with that kind of obsession and hatred. Apparently, I was similar to this man, and this man was similar to me. That Lizard bastard.

His blood was boiling with anger, while his reptile eyes aimed directly at me with a murderous animal intent.