Chapter 16

A heavy silence fell over the scene.

Eliot, looking down at his hands, grew more perplexed, and his breathing became even more erratic. His feet felt as if they were sewn to the ground, and when he opened his mouth, only ragged breaths escaped, unable to form words.

Lloyd also remained frozen in place, unable to move. The scene before him, which he had never imagined until yesterday, left him at a loss.

The only relief was that only Eliot, Lloyd, and Powell were present. If there had been more people, a great commotion would have ensued.

The silence was broken by the voice of Priest Powell, addressing Lloyd.

"You... your name is Lloyd, correct?"

"...Yes."

Seeing the two of them, Powell must have sensed what had happened. He was looking in the same direction as Lloyd.

"Let me ask you one thing... do you have any idea why this happened?"

Lloyd finally came to his senses at the sound of Powell's calm voice, but he could only shake his head.

"Hmm. It would be better if the king, or anyone else, did not realize this yet. You wouldn't be able to answer their questions if you don't know the reason yourself."

"Yes... that's true."

Lloyd, squeezing out a low voice, answered and turned his gaze back to Eliot. Eliot still stood there, his face pale and confused.

"You two stay here for a moment. I'll send the others back with a suitable excuse."

With that, Powell, showing no sign of his age, nimbly mounted his horse and galloped towards the luxurious carriage where the king and the prime minister were.

Left behind, Lloyd sat Eliot down on a nearby rock. Eliot was in a daze, and even when spoken to, he showed no reaction.

Lloyd tried to sheathe the holy sword that Eliot was still gripping, but he frowned again.

—It's light...?

When Eliot had obtained the holy sword on the battlefield, it had been so heavy that no one else could lift it. Now, it felt no different from an ordinary sword. The implications of this made his spine chill.

Lloyd, too, had felt inferior and jealous in the past about why Eliot, and not himself, had been chosen to wield the holy sword. But now, there was no joy in being able to lift it; instead, he felt an indescribable fear.

The blade, as it was sheathed, seemed to make the ivy relief on the scabbard fade. He tried to maintain his composure, pretending not to notice.

—What happened? Why...?

Even if he wanted to ask aloud, it was clear from Eliot's state that he, too, was confused and did not understand what was happening.

After a while, the sound of hooves approached, and Priest Powell returned.

"I told them that cleanup and investigation are necessary. Well, it's true that some investigation is needed."

Powell glanced at the remains of the half-formed undead beast they had defeated earlier, resting his chin in his hand, deep in thought.

"...Did the king say anything?"

"No. Neither the king nor anyone else noticed. They were quite far away, and they seemed to think the reflection on the water was the light of the holy sword, so I left it at that."

Powell smiled wryly, the wrinkles on his face deepening.

Thanks to his experience, Powell had quickly assessed the situation and used his position to manage the immediate aftermath. Lloyd, feeling a mix of relief and desperation, looked up at him.

"Thank you, Sir Powell. And... do you know anything about this?"

Powell returned a troubled smile, lowering his eyebrows, and shook his head slowly.

"Unfortunately, no. The last time the holy sword appeared was 118 years ago, in my grandfather's time. And it wasn't even in this country, but in a small southern kingdom. To make matters worse, such events are often kept secret unless they are auspicious. It won't be easy to find a precedent..."

Lloyd hung his head, and Powell looked at him with pity.

After a moment of deep thought, he folded his arms and sighed.

"...Perhaps the steel vessel could no longer bear the great blessing, or the blessing has been stripped away. If it's the former, there might still be hope..."

At Powell's words, Lloyd's face lifted slightly, as if he had found a glimmer of hope.

"It's just a guess, don't get your hopes up. But if you understand that... there is an old weapon merchant who has been in service to the royal family for generations, near the west gate of the castle. His name is Goliath. Take the sword to him and ask. He might have some leads."

"Yes...!"

Behind Lloyd, who seemed to have seen a ray of light, Eliot, who had been looking down in silence, finally raised his head.

The two young men, mounting their horses in a hurry, began their journey back to the castle. Powell watched them ride away, sighing deeply.

"...I'm not entirely clueless. There is one thing I am certain of, though. But..."

He recalled Eliot's face, which had left without a word, still in a state of confusion.

"If the person himself cannot even realize it, the holy sword will never return to his hands."

Powell's whisper dissolved into the wind, unheard by anyone.