Chapter 65

The sword originally had no inscription.

To be precise, it would be more accurate to say that its inscription had been changed many times. It changed its name and form with each wielder, fulfilling its role before losing its inscription once again. That is why it has no inscription now.

It passed through the hands of countless heroes, bearing many inscriptions. Sometimes it was called the embodiment of glory, and at other times, the sword of victory.

It seemed as if the sword touching the hands of heroes was a destiny set by the gods. When the hero fulfilled their role, some founded nations, while others became rulers of the continent, and the sword would then be lost to the world, falling into a deep sleep as it awaited its next owner.

The sword is now beginning to open its heavy eyes. However, it was strange that the inscription, which should have been engraved as if descending from the heavens, was not inscribed on it.

Moreover, the sword, which was supposed to be woven with magic in ancient times, was now integrated into the flesh of its owner. Although the sword had a long history and had undergone many changes, this was the first time such a thing had happened.

——May it be so——

The voice of someone close to magic resonated through the space, and the sword's blade felt the vibration. Despite not having eyes, the sword seemed to finally begin to open its heavy lids, heating up within the body of its half-integrated owner.

However, it still had no inscription. Without an inscription, the sword was just a dull blade. Even though it had awakened, the gods did not take up their pens, and the world did not bestow its blessings.

The sword began to vibrate slightly. Perhaps the person it was now embedded in was not the rightful owner. This was also a first for the sword. A person without the necessary qualities should not have been able to reach it, even if they twisted fate. Moreover, this person had somehow swallowed the sword and achieved a half-integration.

So, this person must be the rightful owner. After all, every person who had wielded the sword had been a hero in some form. Paradoxically, this person, who now possessed the sword, must be a hero.

However, the inscription was not engraved. If so, it should engrave an inscription suitable for the owner. Normally, this would be impossible, but in its current state of half-integration, it might not be.

The sword began to pulse, gathering information from the blood and flesh of its new body. It wanted to know what kind of person this was, what kind of life they had lived, what path they had chosen, and what inscription would be appropriate.

If, after all this, the person was still unworthy, the sword could simply go back to sleep. That was all it needed to do.

This happened in an instant. Of course, the sword was now part of his surging blood, the flesh and bones that supported his body.

His name was Ruis. He was born into a humble family and had no noble blood. His talents were far from those of a prodigy, and he lacked the qualities of a hero. He was not strong, and he was far from being a suitable candidate.

That was why the sword had noticed his spirit. How could it be described? It was far more complex than simply being stubborn.

He had once given up, let go of everything, and submitted. He had acknowledged his ordinariness and accepted that he could not reach his goals.

It was common, and in fact, living as an ordinary person was not bad. That was a happy way to live, and reaching out would only invite the backlash of fate.

But he said he would reach out again. Even if his flesh and blood were torn, even if fate trampled him, it would not be a reason for him not to reach for his ideals.

Moreover, he could not even live skillfully. If he had trampled on others, he might have lived better, but he had rejected that and thrown himself into the sea of death.

He was a clumsy and foolish man. His attempts to reach for what was beyond him were ugly and desperate, and everyone would cover their eyes and scorn his foolish way of life.

Ah, but it was wonderful. His body was far from that of a hero, but his spirit, which refused to give up and sought a path where there was none, was worthy of the sword.

Therefore, the sword would engrave an inscription. It began to take shape, refining its magic to form a shape suitable for its owner.

An ordinary person who had overcome despair and reached out for the neck of a hero, if that was the case, then its inscription would be——.

*

It was a scene that was not supposed to happen.

His left wrist was broken, he had lost his two knives, and he had no weapon left. The strategy he had prepared had been defeated by the genius's skill, and he had no means of retreat. All that was left was to wait for Helt Stanley's blade to split his skull. That was how it was supposed to be.

Suddenly, abruptly, a sword appeared in his right hand as if it had been born from the surrounding space. Could it be that my wish had pierced the heavens? No, that was too ridiculous.

The sword that appeared in his hand was breathtakingly beautiful. A silver blade with a deep purple line. The purple was more like a lightning bolt than a poisonous color.

There was no time to wonder why. Helt's eyes, like his, were filled with shock, but his powerful blade was still being swung down. He could dodge or intercept it, knowing the risks.

If he dodged, he could create a moment of time. However, before he could strike back, Helt's second blow would likely be faster. A moment of extended life followed by a clear death. If so, what should he do? Was he supposed to intercept Helt's blade head-on?

It was strange. It was a strange feeling. Normally, it should not have been possible. The choice to intercept Helt's blow and aim for his neck. There was no way this sword could cut through Helt's powerful blade.

However, a clear trajectory was clearly visible in his eyes. Ah, fine, it didn't matter. It was better than a moment of extended life followed by death. He was fine with that. His folded arm unfolded like a backhand punch, swinging the blade with the intention of intercepting the white blade.

The white blade, accompanied by great speed, cut through the air and was swung down. It was impossible to win. It was impossible to win. But at this moment, he had to win. His will, that of an ordinary person, chose to confront the white blade head-on.

The white blade descended from above, and the purple-tinged blade, drawing in the air, prepared to intercept it from below.

——This is a family treasure. According to legend, it was called a mystery or a miracle.

Karia's words, which he had heard before, echoed in his mind.

He couldn't help but doubt his own eyes.

At the moment their blades should have met and clashed, the sword in his hand cut through Helt's two-handed sword without resistance. It was impossible. A two-handed sword designed to crush opponents should not break, bend, or be cut in two.

The strike, which had been aimed at Helt, now that his defenses were gone, struck him.

It was undoubtedly a moment. Had he seen it wrong? It seemed to him that Helt's cheek had a slight smile as he received the blow.

——The final blow did not strike Helt's neck but gouged out his left eye, the golden one.

Blood spurted around, and the sensation was different from cutting flesh. It was a strange, soft feeling. Whether it was due to Helt's talent or the trajectory of the sword, it was unclear.

But in his hand, the feeling of cutting down the hero Helt Stanley remained, tingling.

The moment he realized this, his brain shook, and his body, as if remembering, was filled with intense pain and fatigue, reaching even his fingertips. He clenched his teeth and avoided collapsing.

The loud voices of the emblem believers and the guards split his ears.

——"The gods have granted us our destiny! Raise the anchor! Everyone, charge!"

This voice belonged to Saint Mathia. Despite looking like she was about to die, she was a lively one.

Even Helt, with that amount of bleeding, wouldn't be able to move immediately. He could see him leaning on the shoulders of the guards. And I, too, can no longer move.

Ah, please don't die. Whether this whisper was directed at me or my enemy, I couldn't tell. In any case, there was a rare sense of fulfillment in my heart, so it was fine.

——A blue light flashed at the corner of his eye. The color of the guards' sabers.

It was as if it had been waiting for this moment, aiming at my chest, which could barely stand.

Ah, it's you. I see, well done. I can empathize with your determination. It seems we are of the same kind, lizard.

The reptilian eyes, bloodshot, were aimed at me.