Chapter 83: Forge by the light of the moon. (1)
"You... how the hell did you get that mark? What does this mean?" the sword’s voice exploded, completely losing the composure it had tried to maintain until now.
There was no longer mockery or arrogance in its voice.
Only fear.
The eye on the hilt opened wider than normal, trembling slightly as it fixed on the mark Lloyd left visible, as if wanting to make sure it wasn’t a mistake, an illusion or some kind of cheap trick.
But it wasn’t.
It recognized it.
And that made everything worse.
Lloyd barely tilted his head, observing the reaction with a calm that was almost out of place. His green eyes, dimly illuminated by the moons’ light, showed no rush or tension. Only a kind of tranquil interest, as if confirming something he already suspected.
"Mhm..." he murmured, with a carefree tone. "So you recognize it, eh?"
He let a second pass, as if savoring the moment.
"Well, you see, my dear [Belial]..." he continued, pronouncing the name with a naturalness that had nothing normal about it. "You could say I’m Siegfried’s successor."
The effect was immediate.
The sword shuddered.
Not like before, when it tried to free itself, but in a deeper way, more contained... as if something inside it had suddenly tensed.
Because Lloyd hadn’t said his name conventionally.
It hadn’t been a simple word thrown into the air.
It had been correct.
Complete.
The result of having fitted each piece of that impossible puzzle that was his true name.
And Belial knew it.
The instant he heard it, he understood.
There was no margin for doubt.
No possible error.
That boy... had it.
The eye trembled more intensely.
"I-it can’t be..." the voice came out lower this time, broken at a point it wasn’t accustomed to showing. "You..."
There was a brief pause, uncomfortable, as if it cost him to formulate the next question.
"What... are you going to do to me?"
The silence that followed was heavy.
Lloyd didn’t respond immediately. His fingers rested gently on the table’s surface, marking a slow rhythm, almost distracted, while maintaining his gaze fixed on the sword.
There was no hostility in his expression.
But no compassion either.
"Me?" he finally repeated, as if the question seemed curious to him.
A slight smile appeared on his lips, small, but clear.
"I’ve come to finish the job."
His words fell with a weight difficult to bear, settling in the room like an almost axiomatic truth, or rather, like a promise.
Belial’s eye contracted.
Because, deep down, he understood exactly what he meant.
And that...
Was what scared most.
"You... you’re not going to..." Belial tried to speak, but didn’t finish the sentence.
It wasn’t necessary. One look from Lloyd sufficed.
It was a brief instant, barely a crossing of gazes, but what was in those green eyes left no space for interruptions. It wasn’t uncontrolled anger nor an explicit threat. It was something colder. Firmer, the very expression of inevitability.
The sword’s voice went silent.
As if something had cut its impulse short.
Lloyd, instead, smiled.
Far from being a wide or exaggerated smile, it was small, tilted, with a nuance that had nothing innocent about it, and at the same time, seemed to be. There was amusement in it, yes... but also something darker, something that fed on the situation.
The boy stayed there, observing.
Giving him time.
Time for Belial to think, to understand, to drown in his own conclusions. The tension in the chains, the slight tremor in the blade, that charged silence... everything was part of the same moment.
He wanted to see it.
He wanted him to feel it.
A faint flash appeared in his vision.
[+95 V.P]
The boy narrowed his eyes slightly, and by pure reflex ran his tongue over his lower lip, savoring that small notice from the system. An unexpected reward he internally appreciated.
But it wasn’t what he was looking for. He wasn’t acting to obtain points.
There was a simpler motivation.
Something more direct.
Revenge.
For having touched what didn’t belong to him. For having dared to manipulate Alice.
The simple memory slightly tensed his jaw, though not enough to erase that strange calm he maintained on his face.
And then...
Something clicked.
It was a quick thought, almost fleeting, but clear enough to make him stop a second. Lloyd blinked once, barely tilting his chin, as if following the thread of that idea until giving it form.
Yes...
That perhaps that was already enough.
"You know..." he began, with a lighter tone, almost casual. "I wanted to make you suffer a bit more."
His fingers drummed softly on the table before stopping.
"But I just realized something," he commented, with a satisfied smile, while raising his gaze again toward the sword.
"Technically, it’s thanks to you that I reconciled with Alice..."
There was a small pause.
"So... I suppose I’ll make it quick. After all, everything ended well right?"
His gaze changed barely a bit.
It didn’t lose its shine, but became clearer. More direct.
"You know, being too evil could become a bad habit," he concluded while shrugging.
Then, the young man extended his hand toward the sword.
As he approached, the mark on the back of his hand glowed with a faint but constant golden tone, as if responding to his intention before he even did anything else.
"No... no... wait!" Belial begged, without trace of arrogance. He almost seemed to have lost all trace of pride.
There was only desperation in his voice.
But Lloyd didn’t stop.
Without trace of doubt.
Without trace of hesitation.
The moment his decision fully settled, something inside him moved. It wasn’t a clear physical sensation, but rather a sudden understanding. An intuition that transformed into action almost at the same time.
Siegfried’s authority.
Finally...
It was starting to fit.
Not as a detailed instruction, but as a direction. A way of thinking. Of connecting concepts.
Of uniting them.
And Lloyd followed that impulse.
At that instant...
He activated [Oxymoron].
