“In that case, may I offer a suggestion, Lady Olarion? I was recently informed that a martial tournament is being organized in the city of Andelheim, hosted by Marquis Aldrich Ventor. It is said to attract skilled warriors from all across the kingdom and beyond.”
Valeria’s interest was piqued, though she maintained her composed demeanor. “A martial tournament?”
“Indeed,” the baron continued. “It is set to take place in two weeks’ time, and from what I understand, it promises to be quite the spectacle. Many of the finest knights and swordsmen will be in attendance, and it could present an excellent opportunity for someone of your talents to demonstrate their skill.”
The baron’s words hung in the air, and Valeria’s thoughts began to swirl. A martial tournament… It was certainly tempting. Not only would it allow her to test her abilities against other skilled fighters, but it would also offer her the chance to restore some of the pride she had lost during this ill-fated journey.
Competing on such a stage could provide the recognition she sought before her entrance to the academy.
“Andelheim is not far from here,” the baron added, sensing her contemplation. “You could easily reach it after a few days’ rest.”
Valeria’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “And who is expected to attend this tournament?”
“Many prominent figures, both from noble houses and renowned mercenary groups. Marquis Ventor himself is a well-known patron of the martial arts, and he often invites the most skilled warriors to his tournaments. The event is sure to attract attention from many corners of the kingdom.”
Valeria considered the baron’s suggestion carefully. It was true that her original plan had fallen apart with Korvan’s defeat, but the tournament in Andelheim could be exactly the kind of opportunity she needed. If she performed well, it would not only showcase her abilities but also reflect favorably on her family.
“I will consider it,” Valeria finally said, her tone decisive but noncommittal. “It could indeed be a worthwhile endeavor.”
The baron smiled, clearly pleased. “I think you would find it most rewarding, Lady Olarion. And should you decide to attend, I would be happy to provide any assistance you require.”
Valeria observed the baron closely as he spoke. His suggestion, though presented as casual advice, was more than just that—it was a subtle attempt to offer her an alternative path after her failed mission.
The baron, while courteous, was undoubtedly aware of the significance of her journey, and by offering the tournament as an opportunity, he was giving her a graceful way to salvage her reputation without dwelling on the missed chance with Korvan.
For that, she was quietly thankful.
Baron Wyndhall’s offer of assistance, too, was not lost on her. Though he was a lower-ranked noble, his words carried the weight of someone who understood the intricacies of noble politics. By providing her with this alternative, he was, in his own way, ensuring that the Olarion name wouldn’t be tarnished by an ill-timed miscommunication.
“I appreciate your suggestion,” Valeria said, her voice softening just slightly. “And I see the wisdom in it.”
The baron inclined his head, clearly relieved that she had taken his words in stride. “It is my duty to assist, Lady Olarion. And should you require anything for your journey or your stay in Andelheim, I will ensure that my resources are at your disposal.”
Valeria offered a small, measured smile. “You have been most gracious, Baron Wyndhall. I will keep your offer in mind.”
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, their conversation light, touching on the state of the region and the upcoming harvest. But Valeria’s mind was already set. She would stay a few more days to rest, as planned, and then make her way to Andelheim. The tournament would be her chance to reclaim her standing.
After a short while, Valeria rose from her seat, signaling the end of their meeting. “Thank you again for your hospitality, Baron,” she said, her tone formal but sincere. “I will take my leave now.”
Baron Wyndhall stood and bowed deeply. “It has been an honor, Lady Olarion. Safe travels, and I hope to see you victorious in the tournament.”
With a final nod, Valeria turned and exited the mansion, her knights following behind her. As she stepped out into the fresh air, she felt a small measure of relief.
‘Maybe…..That tournament might really help.’
The baron had given her the out she needed, and now, with the tournament on the horizon, she had a new goal to focus on.
********
While Valeria was meeting with the baron, Lucavion walked to the smithy.
A week had passed since his last visit, and during that time, he had felt the anticipation steadily building. He had done everything that was asked of him. Now, the promised time had come. His weapon—crafted from the scales of the Abyssal Wyrm—should be ready.
He stopped in front of the smithy, its unassuming exterior hiding the power and precision being worked inside. The rhythmic clang of hammer against metal was absent this time, replaced by an almost eerie stillness. Lucavion hesitated for a brief moment before raising his hand and knocking on the door. His knuckles made a solid, echoing sound against the worn wood.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, the familiar creak of the door opening revealed Harlan standing there, wiping his hands on a rag, his face as unreadable as ever.
“About time,” Harlan muttered, stepping aside to let Lucavion in. “Figured you’d come sooner, considering how you’ve been pacing around town like a restless dog.”
Lucavion couldn’t help but smirk at the comment but said nothing as he stepped inside. The familiar warmth of the forge wrapped around him as he took in the room, noticing that it was far more organized than it had been the last time he was here. The tools were neatly arranged, and the racks of old weapons seemed to have been cleared.
Harlan motioned toward the back of the smithy, where something long and wrapped in a black cloth lay on a stone table. Lucavion’s eyes immediately locked onto it, his pulse quickening.
“Go on, lad,” Harlan said, his tone gruff but carrying a hint of something more—pride, perhaps. “Your blade’s ready.”
Lucavion approached the table, his heart pounding with anticipation. With a steady hand, he pulled back the black cloth, revealing the weapon underneath.
The blade was magnificent.
Its length gleamed with a faint, ethereal glow, the edge as sharp as a predator’s fang. The scales of the Abyssal Wyrm were seamlessly integrated into the metal, giving the sword an otherworldly sheen. The blade itself was sleek, balanced perfectly between power and grace, its design radiating an aura of lethal elegance.
Lucavion’s hand hovered over the hilt for a moment, feeling the subtle pull of the weapon before he finally gripped it, lifting it from the table. The estoc felt impossibly light in his hand, as though it was meant for him and him alone.
Harlan crossed his arms, watching him closely. “It’s not just a sword, lad. It’s a beast. You’ll feel its power the moment you swing it. It’s ready for whatever hell you’re planning to drag it into. But it won’t forgive you if you wield it like a brute.”
Lucavion gripped the hilt of the blade tighter, the cold flame from his second core flickering to life in response to the weapon. There was an undeniable connection between the two—a resonance that stirred something deep within him. The Abyssal Wyrm scales weren’t just another material; they were in tune with the energy he carried, amplifying the power that simmered just beneath his skin.
“This blade…” he whispered to himself, a quiet awe lacing his words.
[It makes sense.] Vitaliara’s voice purred in his mind. [This is a weapon forged from the scales of a creature tied to the Abyss. Its very nature resonates with your second core. The compatibility is far better than any ordinary sword you’ve wielded.]
Harlan’s gravelly voice cut through the moment, bringing Lucavion back. “How’s the blade, kid? Is it to your liking?”
Lucavion didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped back, bringing the sword up to eye level, feeling its weight—or rather, the lack of it. Despite the size and the intimidating presence of the blade, it felt as though it belonged in his hand, an extension of his very being.
Without a word, he swung the blade in a wide arc.
SWOOSH!
The air seemed to ripple with the motion, the sword slicing through it as though it were silk. Lucavion spun the blade in his hand, letting it dance with quick, sharp movements. Each swing, each flick of his wrist was smooth and effortless. The blade moved exactly as he willed it to, responding to his every thought, his every intention.
It was as if it had been forged specifically for him—tailored to match his movements, his strength, and the energy of his core.
A slow smile crept across Lucavion’s face as he continued to test the weapon, slashing through the air with increasing speed. There was no awkwardness, no imbalance. The blade was perfect.
“This is incredible,” Lucavion finally said, his voice carrying a note of reverence. He swung again, feeling the subtle power radiating from the blade as it resonated with his core. The weight, the balance, the energy—it was flawless.
Harlan, watching from a few paces away, grunted in approval. “Aye, it should be. Took me a damn long time to get it right.” There was a hint of pride in the old man’s voice, but it was subdued, masked by his usual gruff tone. “Every piece, every line of that sword is tailored to you, lad. It’s not just a blade, it’s a weapon that’ll grow with you. I’d expect nothing less.”
Lucavion stopped mid-swing, looking at the blacksmith with newfound respect. He had always known Harlan was talented—one of the best—but this was something else entirely. The craftsmanship was beyond exceptional. It wasn’t just about making a powerful weapon. Harlan had understood him—his style, his core, the path he was on—and had forged a blade that reflected all of that.
‘Indeed. Coming here for a weapon….It was the right choice.’
“You really are the greatest blacksmith I have seen,” Lucavion said, his voice sincere.
Harlan waved a hand dismissively, though Lucavion could tell the praise had landed. “Bah, you bastard….Just how many blacksmiths that you had seen in your life.”
“Three?”
“I thought so.”
“Still.” Lucavion couldn’t hide his gratitude. This blade was a gift, but it was also a challenge. A reminder that while the sword was powerful, its true potential would only be unlocked through his own growth and mastery.
“This is more than I could have asked for,” Lucavion said, sheathing the sword with a satisfying click. “Thank you.”
Harlan huffed but didn’t deny the gratitude. “Just don’t go dying before you make good use of it, lad. Otherwise, it’ll be a waste of good scales.”
“Ahahaha….Do not worry, I won’t.” freewёbnoνel.com
After all, he had quite a lot of plans for his upcoming blade.