Chapter 49: The Crucible Swords

Elias walked toward the silver sword resting against the wooden stand, and with every step he took, Erick’s excitement seemed to grow.

The armory master leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on Elias with an anticipation that looked completely different from his usual lazy expression, while Belthon remained beside him with his arms folded, watching the young nobleman approach the weapon.

Belthon noticed Erick’s expression and frowned.

"What is so special about that sword?" he asked.

Erick clicked his tongue and looked toward The Lastbane with an almost devoted expression.

"You really know nothing, huh?" he asked.

Belthon’s eyebrows furrowed.

"Tell me then," he said.

Erick sighed and rubbed his beard.

"Have you heard of the Crucible Swords?" he asked.

Belthon’s expression immediately became more serious.

"Of course, I have."

"The Crucible Swords are the seven swords used by the last Sword Transcendent to kill seven Grade-Four rift guardians," Erick explained, his voice carrying considerably more excitement than before.

"They say those swords hold the purified spirits of those monsters along with the Intent of the Transcendent who forged them through those battles. No unworthy man can hold them because they choose their masters themselves."

Belthon stared at him for several seconds before his gaze slowly shifted toward the silver sword.

"Exactly," Erick said.

Belthon’s eyebrow rose as realization struck him.

"That sword..." he mumbled, his voice suddenly filled with stunned disbelief. "Is it one of the seven?"

"It is," Erick said.

The answer immediately changed the atmosphere around them.

Belthon’s eyes narrowed as he studied The Lastbane again, and the casual attitude he had displayed moments earlier disappeared completely.

He had heard stories about the Crucible Swords since he was young, and although most of those stories had eventually become mixed with legends and exaggerated tales, the weapons themselves were considered treasures that even powerful nobles would risk entire armies to obtain.

Yet one of them had been sitting inside Kilmir’s armory.

Belthon slowly stepped forward.

"Maybe I should try holding it first?" he suggested.

Erick turned toward him with a disgusted expression.

"Really?" he asked. "After all that, you concluded that you should take such an opportunity away from the youth? Start acting your age, you dimwit. Besides, it didn’t even call you in the first place."

Belthon blinked.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Erick didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looked toward Elias.

The young man had already stopped directly in front of The Lastbane.

Elias stared at the sword.

For some odd reason, his heart was beating faster than before, and his blood felt hot beneath his skin. There was something about the weapon that he couldn’t describe, something that seemed to pull at a part of him.

His mind kept telling him to pick it up.

He reached forward.

His fingers wrapped around the hilt and tightened his grip before he lifted it from the wooden stand.

Erick’s eyes widened.

Belthon’s expression became equally tense.

Both men waited.

One second passed, then another, but nothing extraordinary happened.

Elias looked down at the silver blade with a puzzled expression before casually rotating his wrist.

The sword moved smoothly through the air.

He raised it above his shoulder and performed a simple downward slash, then followed it with a horizontal cut and another diagonal strike. The weapon felt balanced in his hand, and although it was slightly heavier than the sword he normally used, the weight didn’t hinder him.

Instead, it seemed almost natural.

Elias continued swinging.

His movements became gradually more comfortable as he adjusted to the sword’s balance, and the faint metallic whistle produced by the blade echoed through the armory.

Belthon and Erick stared at him.

Neither man spoke.

Eventually, Belthon broke the silence.

"Was it a dud?" he asked.

Erick’s expression immediately became offended.

"Cannot be," he said, shaking his head. "Berlic is a Lord, and even he was not able to pick it up."

Belthon suddenly turned toward him.

"Berlic is a Lord...?" he asked.

Erick froze.

His expression slowly changed as he realized what he had just revealed.

"Ah..." he mumbled awkwardly. "I was not supposed to tell you that."

Belthon stared at him.

Erick scratched his beard.

"Forget it right now."

"Alright," Belthon said.

Elias wasn’t able to hear them because his focus remained on The Lastbane.

He turned the sword slightly, examining the silver blade from different angles.

The metal appeared almost flawless despite the weapon’s apparent age, and faint patterns could be seen running along its surface. They were subtle enough that he hadn’t noticed them before, but when he looked closely, they almost resembled the scales of a dragon.

The hilt felt firm beneath his palm, while the pale bone dragon head beneath the guard gave the weapon an unusually fierce appearance.

Elias couldn’t help smiling.

’This is a good sword.’

He made another controlled swing before lowering it.

Erick finally approached him.

The armory master walked around Elias once, inspecting both the sword and the young man holding it before asking, "How is it?"

"It is good," Elias said with a smile.

Erick’s expression became complicated.

He had expected something dramatic.

He had imagined the weapon recognizing Elias, perhaps releasing a terrifying pressure or displaying some ancient power that would shake the entire armory.

Instead, Elias had simply picked it up and started swinging.

Yet that somehow made the situation even stranger.

The Lastbane had refused everyone who had attempted to wield it, including Berlic, despite his strength as a Lord. It had remained silent and unmoving for years, waiting for someone worthy enough to claim it.

Now Elias was holding it as naturally as though the sword was a regular one.

Erick eventually shook his head.

There was no point trying to explain something that even he couldn’t understand.

He looked back toward Elias and forced a faint smile.

"Let’s get a sheath for it..." he said, before his gaze shifted toward the dragon-shaped pommel. "And also cover that pommel with something."

His expression became serious.

He wasn’t going to risk the life of this bright young man at the hands of someone who wished to have the sword.