Chapter 206
“Finally, it’s done,” Oliver smiled slightly and whispered.
He glanced at the city far away and stretched out his hand, muttering a call. The world seemed to still as he whispered the name. The world around him seemed to pause, the air itself holding still as though bracing for what was about to emerge.
“[Neglegentis]”
In the next instant, a pulsing black sword suddenly emerged from the void into his hand, seemingly out of nowhere. The atmosphere crackled faintly, distorting around the sword’s dark presence, as though space itself recoiled from its arrival. The air around it warped slightly, the weapon’s presence disturbing the very space it occupied.
The sword oozed an unsettling feeling all around it. Its mere presence seemed to sap the warmth from the air, leaving behind a cold, oppressive aura. It hummed faintly, as if alive, its dark aura spreading like mist from the blade’s edge. It was pitch black with a terrifying, blurry construct. It looked as though the blade was constantly shifting, like shadows swirling in an endless void. It was as if Oliver was holding a sword made of steam, not material.
Just the look of the sword was enough to give chills to even the veterans among veterans, masters among masters.
There was an ancient malice about it, a power so old and dangerous that anyone in its presence would instinctively know to fear it.
However, something was odd about the sword.
The hilt of the sword, the place where you hold it, was pitch white!
The pure white hilt seemed to glow faintly, an ethereal light that stood in sharp opposition to the darkness of the blade.
The stark contrast between the shadowy blade and the pristine hilt was almost jarring, as though the weapon itself carried within it the balance of light and dark.
It was a paradox in form, two forces that should not coexist, yet here they were, bound together in a single object.
Just pure white, and unlike how the sword’s body gave off a dark and dangerous vibe, the white hilt emitted a holy feeling and an unprecedented warmth.
It was as if the hilt had its own separate life force, something ancient yet pure, standing in stark opposition to the malevolent energy of the blade.
It felt wrong, yet right—a weapon born of opposites, holding both salvation and destruction within its form.
The two energies seemed to pulse together, a strange harmony of chaos and order.
Tracing the white hilt with his fingers, it felt more like he was touching a piece of warm, smooth jade.
The warmth spread from his fingertips, a comforting heat that traveled through his arm, in contrast to the cold, predatory sensation the blade exuded.
His fingertips tingled slightly, the warmth from the hilt spreading through him, as though the sword was recognizing its new master.
He moved the sword closer to him and felt a strong connection with it, resonating with his very being.
It was more than just a weapon—it was a part of him, an extension of his will.
Something that would grow with him from now on!
It was as if the darkness of the sword was trying to swallow the space around it—the air seemed to tremble vividly.
Even the light seemed to shy away from the weapon, bending around the blade’s dark form as though afraid to come too close. The very stars above seemed dimmer, their faint glow unable to penetrate the sword’s shadowy aura.
Oliver couldn’t help but take a deep breath as he took in the majesty of the sword. His chest swelled with both pride and awe, fully realizing the magnitude of what he had just created.
Not to mention, he felt a very strong resonance between his soul and the sword—a faint yet firm feeling. It wasn’t just a tool; it was as if the sword had its own consciousness, one that mirrored his own in some way. It was as if they were two parts of a whole, bound by an unspoken understanding, their fates now one.
He felt the power of the sword. It was unimaginably powerful and terrifying! A raw force that could obliterate anything in its path if unleashed. The energy radiating from the blade was so intense it felt as though it could tear the very fabric of reality if unleashed.
But something left him confused…
Why was there a pure white hilt on this pitch-black sword?
And instead of the eerie feeling the sword’s entire body gave off, this white hilt instead gave him a holy and pure feeling! It was almost soothing, like the comforting presence of a divine being, completely at odds with the dark, destructive energy the sword radiated.
Did he do something wrong?
This was his first thought when he looked at it, but he discarded the notion. He had followed the exact steps and methods from his memory, so there was no way it was his fault.
Everything had been perfect—every line of the array, every grain of void dust placed with precision. There was no mistake.
So, he simply put the matter to the back of his mind for the time being. He would figure it out when the time came naturally. There were greater concerns ahead, and whatever mystery the sword held would reveal itself in due time.
He willed the sword to disappear, and in the next moment, it vanished into thin air, as if it had never existed in the first place. But only he knew the sword was close to him, closer than anything.
He knew the only distance between him and the sword was his call to it. The sword was bound to him now, a silent shadow that would follow him wherever he went, always ready, always waiting.
After resting for a short time, he returned to the city, now fully prepared to complete his mission perfectly.
His steps were lighter now, his body rejuvenated by the strange, potent energy that still lingered in his veins.
He didn’t go back to his hotel; instead, he headed toward the playground.
The night’s events had sharpened his focus, and there was no time to waste. The mission awaited.