Chapter – 25

Hyacinth looked at the man holding a sword that seemed to emit a dazzling light inside the dark cavern.

Dazzling, she thought—but in truth, it was nothing more than a lump of metal that let in no light at all.

Was it an illusion?

She rubbed her eyes, but nothing changed.

She did not yet know that what the blade contained was the subtle essence of swordsmanship,
nor that this world could summon phenomena with such precarious causes.

She wondered, What is he trying to do?
But the thought lasted only a moment.

A man holding a sword has only one thing he can do.

Which meant he intended to split the test subject apart again.

Just like what had been written in the logs—what the researchers of Remidia had done again and again.

Why? Of course the question surfaced in her mind, but she chose to believe.

She decided to trust him.

Because…

He was someone she felt she could trust.

Barely a week. If she counted the time they had actually interacted, it wouldn’t even amount to several hours.

She didn’t even know his name yet, and she trusted him.

Even to her, it felt strange.

Before the “Relocation,” after it, throughout her entire life, there had only ever been one person who had inspired such wordless trust—her master, Lizewyn.
Aside from him, this man was the only one.

He said he had a way.

And so she believed.

It felt unfamiliar—
But not bad.

A voice cut through her thoughts.

It was Callam Castruna.

The woman glanced at Lizewyn, then Hyacinth, then the man, before finally curling her mouth into a blackened smile.

“You really think that man is going to accomplish something?”

Ridiculous.

To her, it wasn’t even a joke worth making.

Even she had only stumbled upon what lay hidden here by coincidence, and even then she had not figured out how to use it, merely allowing the foul energy to accumulate.

There was no way she could imagine that a mere human swordsman, clutching a single blade, would be able to achieve anything at all.

If she had sensed even a hint of special power from him, she might have reconsidered.

Special power—something like…

The blessing of the World Tree,
the bloodline of a dragon,
a contract with a high-ranking ancient demon—
Something in that category.

If he had possessed something of that magnitude, she would have been willing to force her way through, stop him, and ultimately kill him.

The head of the Eight-Winged Phoenix Order, Lizewyn, would interfere, but he didn’t have the strength to completely defeat her.

That wasn’t arrogance. Simply a fact.

But the man possessed nothing of the sort.

So she left him alone.

Lizewyn was bothersome enough that she couldn’t ignore him, but she had no reason to kill the man.

There are people who believe obstinacy and stubborn will can solve anything.

And then, naturally, they fail, feel embarrassed, and give up or lash out.

Most end up drowning in despair until they finally sink and disappear.

Pitiful, selfish creatures.

This man would be the same.

She allowed herself a brief moment of leisure.

The man would try something out of pure confidence,
then, embarrassed, lower his sword…

Then she’d simply get rid of all three.

The head of the Phoenix Order, Lizewyn, would be a bit bothersome, but hardly impossible to handle.

Such were her thoughts.

I imbued my blade with the aspiration that split the stars,
and in the world that felt frozen, slowed, I unraveled my tangled thoughts.

I did not believe in myself.

More precisely, not in my skill.

The intricacies contained in my swordsmanship were nowhere near the level of performing miracles.

I couldn’t help but think of the old Sword Saint again.

That old man could probably do it.

He could destroy the concept of immortality contained within the child.

But for me? Absolutely impossible.

I was reminded how far I had to go.

It was still early in the story—before even the first calamity—and yet here I was, already struggling like this.
Saving the world at this rate was going to be a distant dream.

I needed to grow stronger.

But first, I needed to survive this place.

I wasn’t lying when I said I had a method.

I recalled the origin of the blade I was gripping and wondered if what I intended would be acceptable to it.

It should be fine.

A childish stroke of luck, easily framed as coincidence.

For it, which longed for a hero, this would make a decent tale.

My thoughts had gone on long enough.

Without hesitation, I drew the blade upward.

Beginning precisely at the groin, the single stroke cleaved the child cleanly in half.

The blade passed through the crown of the head.

But I didn’t stop there.

Only then did I seize control of my qi and wrap it around the sword.

A blade of energy extended a full handspan.

The aura blade absorbed the power rising from the child.

Dark, yet immense.

Gritting my teeth against the torrent of pitch-black emotion that surged into the blade and down into me, I braced myself.

It was like a fuse drenched in oil catching fire—the energy rushed into me in an instant.

Even though it wasn’t directly touching my body, the force threatened to overwhelm me.

Something shot up from my palms to my skull, searing my brainstem.

Was this what being struck by lightning felt like?

My vision blurred and drifted, and I barely managed to pull it back.

Fainting was not an option.

I clenched the sword until the veins in my hand bulged fit to burst,
and forced the raging whirlwind of energy into submission.

The result itself wasn’t anything visually unprecedented.

The aura blade I had barely extended half a handspan earlier now grew—
and grew.

To put it simply:

It extended far past the length of the blade,
long enough that my tilted sword, from the center of the cavern, swept all the way to the wall.

By eye alone, it must have exceeded ten meters.

I exhaled deeply.

Only then did I realize everyone’s eyes were fixed on me.

Well, it was quite the sight.

But there was no time for distraction.

Quickly—
before Callam Castruna could act—
I struck.

I bent back and swung the elongated aura blade toward the ceiling.

A clean arc carved across the black ceiling, leaving behind a pale fracture.

Then everything changed.

All the energy coating the ceiling was drawn into the blade.

Slowly at first—
then like a whale pulling in the surrounding sea to swallow its prey.

The sword gave off a ravenous, distorted roar as it devoured everything.

The enormous reservoir of power gathered in the cavern flooded into the Soul in an instant.

Success.

I could no longer hold the sword and let it fall.

My arms simply gave out.

Barely clinging to consciousness, I thought:

The ceiling’s energy…
They said it was strong enough to blow away a city if used properly.

In the story, it nearly annihilates Keindea.

And I had just stuffed all of that into a single sword.

Utter madness.

The blade hummed, trembling like it was giving a content sigh—
its entire body dyed a perfect black.

And it was possible only because—

The weapon had always been meant for this.

『Load.

A blade that devours the unjust.

It is said the “Ascended One” split his soul and body into two vessels for the sake of immortality.

The blade you possess is the vessel that holds his soul—
and his greatest masterpiece.

A being of his caliber would never store his soul in anything lesser.

Though you acted without knowing, the soul possesses the power to absorb all that is impure.

This sword was crafted so that the Ascended One would ultimately devour even his own death.

The attempt appears to have ended poorly for him, however.

In any case, the Soul is extremely satisfied after consuming such vast mana and thoughtforms.

It acknowledges that choosing not to turn you into its puppet was a wise decision.

And with this feast, the sword recalls the name it had long forgotten through the erosion of ages.

Lacrimosa.

That is the name of the blade.』

『Load.

A requiem for the undying.

Through Lacrimosa—the blade that devours impurity—the experiment subject has lost its immortality.

Now, stripped of its cursed power, it lies within the reach of the Reaper’s scythe.

The entity beyond the Black Gate has not yet realized this,
so the experiment subject’s life continues for the moment.

Half a body, yet alive.

A creature that can neither live nor die, feeling only unbearable pain—
soon it will cross beyond the veil and suffer eternally for breaking the order.

By then, it will desperately long for the pain it feels now, limited only to its physical body.

As the saying goes: even rolling in dung is better than the afterlife.

…The Soul within Lacrimosa, having understood your compassion for the child, grants it a single mercy.

This is possible only because it has consumed an outrageous quantity of mana.

A miracle unfolds.

The bisected body stops bleeding,
and begins to regenerate.

Is it healing? Regeneration? Resurrection?
Only Lacrimosa knows.』

A hazy light flickered—

And just as the message foretold, the child’s severed body was restored.

The body that had been split perfectly in half was engulfed in dark light and regenerated in an instant.

I had not intended this.

But the stranger thing was:

There was not one restored body.

Each half had regenerated its missing half.

There were now two children.

Utterly absurd.

“……”

I couldn’t find any words.
I simply picked up the sword I had dropped.

Two pairs of blue eyes—deep, sunken like shards of the abyssal sea—followed my movements in unison.

The two children.

Just standing there, staring at me, was strangely burdensome.

As if they wanted something.
Like newborn chicks.

What am I, their mother?

The absurd thought flashed by, and I shook it off.

Callam Castruna was still here.

The woman was already staring at me, her smile completely gone.

I tightened my grip on the sword I had let slip.