Chapter 176: The Festival of Swords (19)
A garden of steel stretched out before them. Weapons sprouted from the ground, casting a chilly light. The entire crater seemed filled with them, with enough to number in the tens of thousands, at least.
It was just as Navirose had described. Inexperienced participants began to murmur in confusion, unable to contain their astonishment.
“Wh-what is all this? Are we supposed to find the Holy Sword here?”
“Is this magic…?”
“It feels like we’ve been possessed by ghosts. But seriously, there’s something off about these weapons, isn’t there?”
Ronan was equally bewildered. Despite living two lives, he had never witnessed such a sight. After a while of fidgeting, he asked Allogin.
“What kind of magic is this?”
“Um… just wait a moment. It seems I never quite get used to it, even after all these years.”
Fatigue was evident on Allogin’s face. The other elders and even Zaifa were in a similar state. They all looked worse for wear, as if they hadn’t slept for three days straight. Allogin took a deep breath before speaking.
“…Sorry about that. Calling forth the Sword Spirits is no small feat. It requires all seven elders to perform rituals and stay at the Holy Land.”
“Sword Spirits?”
Ronan cocked his head. It was a new term for him. Judging from the context, it seemed to be related to the rumored weapons possessed by spirits, occasionally whispered about. Weapons that could fly to you out of nowhere and stab your enemies, for example. Allogin explained further.
“Yes. Simply put, Sword Spirits are souls imbued within weapons.”
“Ah… like those weapons that move and talk on their own? Is it related to that?”
“Ah, you mean Ego Weapons. Yes, indeed. When Sword Spirits become exceptionally strong, such artifacts are born. What you’re seeing before you are the Sword Spirits of the weapons dedicated to Parzan. They’re manifestations of the Sword Spirits, beings akin to ghosts, dreaming without departing from the world, even after losing their physical forms.”
Upon hearing the term ‘ghosts’, Ronan frowned. Allogin explained that all the blade tips standing before them were ethereal. No wonder the atmosphere felt even more eerie, with the wind blowing chillier than before.
“What’s the principle behind this…? Frankly, it feels rather unsettling.”
“The exact nature isn’t fully understood. We elders speculate that it stems from the bond and attachment with the owner. But experiencing it firsthand would be quicker than explaining. Want to give it a try?”
Allogin pointed at the longsword standing before Ronan. Ronan hesitantly gripped the hilt.
“…!”
In that moment, sensations akin to electric shocks surged through his mind as scenes flashed before his eyes. A man charging through a battlefield, a sword piercing through enemy armor, screams and clashing of metal reverberating from all sides. It was like watching someone’s entire life unfold before him.
“What the hell?”
Startled, Ronan flung the sword away. As the vision abruptly ended, his vision returned to normal.
Though only a few seconds had passed in reality, it felt like an eternity had gone by. It was a sensation similar to what he had experienced in the Mental World. Swaaah! The wavering sword collapsed, dissipating into wisps of gas. Allogin chuckled, stroking his beard.
“That’s the Sword Spirit, the dreams harbored by these weapons. They reminisce about the days they shared blood with their owners. Now, let’s get started.”
“Wait a moment. So, the ritual…?”
“You guessed it right.”
Ronan was about to say something, but Allogin and the other elders lowered their weapons simultaneously. Allogin addressed the participants.
“You all just need to wander around this Holy Land and pick up any weapon you suspect to be the Holy Sword. If it’s not the Holy Sword, it will soon turn to vapor and disappear, so there’s no need to worry about confusion. You’re free to try as many times as you want, but be careful, every time you touch one of them, the memories of the sword will come flooding in, so choose wisely.”
Allogin explained that the ritual would continue until the sun completely set today. Judging from the color of the sky, they had roughly two to three hours left. He also emphasized the importance of caution when choosing a weapon. One of the participants raised their hand to ask a question.
“What does the influx of memories have to do with how many times we draw?”
“Once you grip it, you’ll know right away. Bearing the weight of a single history comes with surprisingly immense fatigue. There have been several participants who, by rashly touching the swords, ended up with their own identities damaged, so please handle with care.”
Indeed, Ronan felt a fatigue akin to having just sprinted outside. It was fortunate he let go promptly; otherwise, he would have suffered unnecessarily until fully drawn out.
Furthermore, Allogin added that among these, one is undoubtedly the Holy Sword, so there was no need to worry. Finally, Ronan understood why the participants were so meticulously filtered out.
This ritual was a kind of ordeal. It was a dangerous act that could quickly drive one mad or render them invalid if their body and mind weren’t considerably trained. The faces of the participants, who had passed the final exam and were now released, were stiffening.
“Well then, let’s begin. May someone awaken the slumbering Holy Sword.”
Allogin said. The participants, each with their own determination, scattered. With the elders and the Sword Saint also participating, there were a total of twenty-eight people wandering the Holy Land. Before long, startled gasps began to echo from various places.
****
“…Damn it! I can’t take this anymore.”
A man in armor cursed as he collapsed. He had failed to draw the spear stuck before him. Even disregarding the heaviness that befell his body, the memories of the blade tips swirling in his mind made it impossible to attempt again. It felt as though his sense of self blurred with each illusion.
“You’re the vice-captain of the Holy Lance Knights, aren’t you… How many have you drawn?”
Another participant, stumbling over, sat down beside him. The deepening shadows seemed to reflect their shared plight.
“Seven. I’ve reached my limit.”
“You’ve drawn quite a lot… I’ve barely managed five.”
“Damn it, I’m not sure if there really is a Holy Sword. Could it all be an elaborate scam?”
“I briefly entertained that thought too. But for that to be the case… these people are working too hard.”
The participant with deep shadows beneath his eyes pointed somewhere. The man who had been lying down lifted only his head to look in that direction. The elders in robes were bustling among the blade tips.
They were drawing a weapon roughly every three minutes. Their movements resembled farmers harvesting crops. The shapes disintegrated, and the emerging vapor mingled with the wind, disappearing. The man lying back down chuckled as if mocking himself.
“…Monsters.”
“That’s why they’re occupying the positions of elders. Besides them, there are others who are exceptionally skilled at drawing. It seems we are lacking in our training. The Rising Star of the Empire and the Master of All Affairs have already drawn double digits.”
“Haa, you have a point… By the way, what about that young man?”
The man lying down asked. Since the ritual began, he hadn’t been visible.
“Who?”
“Why, the friend who blocked the technique of the Ferocious Sword. We even drank together… but he’s nowhere to be seen today.”
“…Is that so?”
The two shrugged. He was undoubtedly one of the most promising participants, but no matter how much they looked around, they couldn’t find him.
But that was to be expected. Ronan had abandoned the search for the Holy Sword within ten minutes of the ritual starting and had stretched out his legs on the western outskirts of the crater. The sun, now significantly reddened, bathed his face. Sitting with his back to the Holy Land, he gazed at the scenery below the mountain. He let out a small sigh.
“It’s breathtaking.”
The western part of the continent lay before him. A rugged horizon enclosed everything. With no higher mountains in sight, it felt like sitting on the roof of the world. Far in the distance, he could see the Romanian Mountains spanning across the homeland of Nimbarton and the Isles.
He had been able to climb up thanks to finding a fortunate path up the slope. Unsure if it fell within the boundaries of the Holy Land, Ronan had stuck his sword, Lamancha, into the ground on his right.
It served as an excuse in case the elders questioned what he was doing there. Stretching comfortably, he muttered under his breath.
“The Holy Sword is bullshit.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Ugh…!”
At that moment, a familiar voice came from behind. Ronan was genuinely startled as he hadn’t sensed anyone approaching. He cleared his throat and turned his head. Lynn stood there, her lush white hair fluttering in the breeze.
“Geez, you scared me.”
“Aren’t you looking for the Holy Sword?”
Lynn smirked. Her characteristic poker face and dry tone were subtly annoying. Ronan turned his head back to look below the mountain.
“Mind your own business. If I were the chosen one, I would have found it long ago.”
“Your attitude is terrible. Even if you succeed in life, you won’t be able to call yourself a gentleman.”
“I have no interest in listening.”
Ronan waved his hand dismissively. He had no interest in searching for the Holy Sword in the first place, so he planned to waste time and then leave. Looking at Ronan’s back, Lynn approached him at a slow pace. Then, naturally, she sat down on Ronan’s lap.
“I’m baffled by you.”
Ronan chuckled. This was another unexpected turn of events. Ronan lowered his gaze to see her casually resting the back of her head against his chest.
“Your behavior is quite unbecoming of a lady.”
“The meaning of life lies in doing what you want.”
“I see. It’s heavy, so get down, lady.”
Lynn didn’t budge. Ronan sighed as if he had expected this, then gently grabbed Lynn’s hips and lowered her to his side. It wasn’t heavy at all, but he was bothered by the fact that she always ended up staining his pants with blood. She stuck her tongue out slightly, as if pouting.
“You’re mean.”
“Noisy. If you were looking for the Holy Sword, why did you come here?”
“Because of my heart.”
Ronan chuckled incredulously. Lynn said she hadn’t touched a single one, and Ronan replied that it was the same for him. Sitting side by side, the two of them watched the sunset in silence.
The day was coming to an end. The setting sun contrasted with the pale full moon, creating a surreal scene. Clouds scattered like torn wool seemed to ripen like autumn leaves. Lynn took a deep breath and spoke.
“I guess you like sunsets.”
“Hmm… maybe. I used to dislike them, but now they’re not so bad.”
Ronan nodded. For him, the sunset wasn’t just a simple natural phenomenon. It was the last scenery he saw before his death. Lynn asked.
“Why?”
“Just… someone I know once gave a unique explanation that I liked. They said it was the final struggle of the dying sun.”
“Final struggle? Interesting.”
“Yeah. They said the sun burns red because it’s struggling to stay alive, like searching for firewood to keep the flames going. I don’t know why, but I liked that explanation.”
It was a conversation shared on the Hill of the Four Seasons with Adeshan. It was a memory of late summer youth that he hadn’t experienced in his previous life. It was hard to believe that it had already been two years. Ronan joyfully explained what had happened at the time. Lynn, seeing his determined eyes soften slightly, chuckled.
“Hmm. So that’s the person Navirose was talking about. It won’t be easy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Never mind. I guess it’s better than some guy who flirts around. But there’s something I’m curious about. A very, very important question.”
She suddenly turned her head and faced Ronan. Her eyes, as white as her hair, felt transparent beyond clarity. She had always seemed mysterious to him. But why did she want to ask such an important question, even using “very, very” twice? Lynn spoke up.
“The Holy Sword. Would you like to have it?”
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