Chapter 63

The white hair flowed down to my ankles, exuding cold air like a sword, perfectly complementing its length.

Her emerald eyes were just like Aruslin’s but with an even more mystical allure.

Though youthful, her features were finely balanced and harmonious, making her naturally captivating in appearance.

Despite my rear being held and struggling in a ridiculous manner, her attire with its broad sleeves, unique to the Central and Western continents, retained an air of dignity.

The consciousness within the Failord, trapped by my hold and appearing as a child, was quite something to behold.

If we had met under normal circumstances, I would have respected her despite our age difference.

Of course, even if she was this visually striking, I couldn’t develop any genuine affection for this child.

Why?

“Hey! Can’t you let me go?”

Though small in stature, she lacked the physical strength to break free from my grip. Her fierce attempts to escape and harsh words made it impossible to feel any fondness for her.

Naturally, while her appearance didn’t evoke irritation, neither did it incite any desire to harm her physically.

“Let me go, then. Please send me back to where I originally was.”

I merely asked to be returned to where I belonged with Failord, but…

“…”

Seeing Failord suddenly become mute in response to my request, I casually clenched and unclenched my right fist, which was otherwise idle due to holding onto Failord.

Though I couldn’t strike her, I felt that giving her a light tap on the head wouldn’t be too bad.

Perhaps my expression became more detached as my thoughts continued, as Failord couldn’t stop coughing.

Even though she appeared much older than me, her shrunk form was still amusing.

Regardless, “Please send me back.”

I requested once again, politely, to be allowed to leave this place.

Despite the rudeness I displayed, I maintained a certain level of respect in my tone.

“Hmph. Why should I listen to what you say? Your insolent words brought you here.”

Failord expressed her disdain with a snort.

Hmm, I had never found it easy from the moment I first grabbed Failord.

Even facing the core of the sword, the difficulty only increased, leaving me with a bitter smile.

From her attitude, it seemed she thought I would react passionately and perhaps even try to hit her.

But I had restrained myself even when she played with my body; I wouldn’t fall for such childish provocation.

“Ha, it’s not like someone who handles a sword as if it were their own body should talk.”

I smiled and corrected her.

“You can’t overlook my clumsy swordsmanship. How could I pretend not to see it? At least, I feel no presence of a dignified existence when you wield me.”

Failord continued to emphasize her innocence.

Even with her arms crossed and head held high, despite being unable to move freely, her cold demeanor contrasted oddly with her actions.

‘Is she trying to look cute?’

This odd mix made her appear cute, a thought that flashed through my mind before I quickly dismissed it.

“Hmm. Did you take a nap while I swung the sword? I don’t understand why you’d call it clumsy.”

After a playful jest, I added,

“Let me show you how formidable my clumsy sword is.”

Adding emphasis to my voice, I expressed confidence in my sword.

“Hmm…”

Failord, who had stopped struggling, slowly drew in a breath.

“Seems you have confidence. Then, show me. Let’s see some antics.”

She referred to watching my swordplay as a joke.

“Take this.”

Failord, who had been struggling to get free until just now, suddenly pulled out a sword from her small space and threw it at me.

Without any hesitation, she tossed the sword, revealing her deliberate provocations.

Caught off guard, I caught the sword.

“That sword… swing it.”

Failord’s playful voice cut through the air.

Clearly, she was mocking me, but I couldn’t focus on her laughter.

The condition of the sword was terrible.

Holding the handle loosely, the blade was rusty and poorly balanced, yet it was the best among the pieces I held.

The blade, rusted and sharp enough to shatter upon contact, was a constant source of worry.

Silently, I stared at Failord.

Was she asking me to perform a graceful sword dance with this weapon?

“Of course. A craftsman doesn’t blame his tools, and a skilled swordsman doesn’t judge based on the quality of his weapon. It’s a timeless truth.”

Failord, using a serious tone that didn’t match her youthful appearance, reaffirmed her stance.

Damn. I hadn’t expected to use such a poor-quality sword.

Even if my performance wasn’t up to par, having promised to show my skills, I had to fulfill that obligation.

“…I’ve spoken. I’ll do my best with this.”

Straightening up, I bowed slightly toward Failord, who had distanced herself.

“Phew…”

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I raised the sword high.

Inspired by Aruslin’s graceful dance before I fell asleep, I began my own dance.

Unlike usual, I added delicate curves to the sword’s path and infused fluidity into every movement, making each point both a starting and ending point.

“Hmm…”

Failord’s voice, offering commentary from a distance, faded into the background as I focused solely on the sword in my hand and the trails it left.

How much time had passed?

Lost in the rhythm of the dance, I barely noticed the passage of time.

The sword’s path was sharp. I was dissatisfied.

The purpose of the dance and its execution were mismatched, leading to dissatisfaction.

This is a dance, not meant to take lives but to cleanse the mind and fill it with new possibilities.

Yet, the rusty sword continued to carve out sharp, jagged lines, failing to convey the intended grace.

It was brutal, almost excessively so.

The roughness of the blade, reflecting the harshness of my past, stood as a massive obstacle to the cleansing process.

I tried to wield the sword more delicately, but it remained unsatisfactory.

“Puhh…”

Failord’s light laughter echoed in my mind.

My own sword dance, which failed to satisfy me, must have been evident from afar.

This won’t do. Even if the sword displeases me, I must fulfill my promise and perform the best I can.

I turned my body. With one turn, I suppressed the turmoil in my heart and offset the clumsiness of the sword’s path with movements from other parts of my body.

Which part of my body would be most effective for this? My senses reacted faster than lightning, guiding me to the optimal movement.

I moved my feet. To compensate for the lack of finesse in my hands, my feet executed graceful steps I had never used before, drawing elegant curves the sword couldn’t.

Fortunately, unlike my hands, my feet adapted to my intentions, transitioning from rigid movements to ones that seamlessly blended start and finish.

As my feet moved, the sword’s path also softened, gradually shedding its rough edges and aligning with my intent.

I shed the roughness. Facing the reality of my past, I vowed to change and shed those traits.

I shed and shed, continuously letting go.

Even as I wielded the sword, I released my thoughts, but my movements became lighter and more agile. The sword’s path, now smoother, illuminated the darkness like a beam of light.

“Ho…”

Failord’s faint gasp marked the moment she acknowledged my transformation.

Though I couldn’t stop, I continued dancing.

Now, I embraced the vision. I wove my hope—of protecting those striving for a better tomorrow—with this sword.

Memories of many faces flooded my mind. Soldiers, undeterred by the overwhelming demon army, gripping their weapons and running across the battlefield. Knights, standing before these soldiers, unhesitatingly acting as shields.

And…

In that moment, the image of Aruslin, wielding a sword so beautifully, came to mind.

*Click*

With repeated deep breaths, my hostility surged uncontrollably from my core, coursing through my entire body and settling in the rusted sword in my hand.

Instead of breaking under the pressure, the sword absorbed my hostility, radiating a natural glow.

Even in the midst of my trance-like dance, the golden aura on the sword was clearly visible.

“Remarkable. I expected this, but the results surpassed my expectations.”

The golden hue matched the eyes reflected in the mirror, the most striking feature of my appearance.

*Humming*

The rusted sword hummed. It seemed to plead for one more release and embrace of my hostility.

I resumed my steps, swinging the sword anew.

The dance, flowing naturally, was interrupted only by the applause of Failord.

Even amidst intense exertion, regular breathing was expected.

“Pass. Despite the provocation, your unwavering commitment to your sword commands my respect.”

Failord’s voice was clear, even over my heavy breathing.

“Are you going to let me go?”

My initial goal resurfaced in my mind.

“It’s urgent. You’ll return soon enough. Before that, I have a gift for you.”

“A…gift?”

“Look closely at the sword in your hand.”

Turning to the sword Failord indicated, I noticed the golden light receding from the rusted blade.

No, it was as if Failord’s presence had become more pronounced.

“Use it well. I believe you will wield any sword, pursuing your ideals without faltering.”

With these final words from Failord, my rigid posture crumbled, and my consciousness slipped away.