Capítulo 342: Sword
Alright from here, start it off with; "I..." Ryua clenches her fist, a river of blood drips down her body, her wounds rip open gushing blood out, yet her body continues to slowly regenerate keeping her off death. Truly its strange, she's truly strange, a strange creature so focused on her past and her mistakes she forgets she as a living being has the right to live. "I... I-I won't let anyone die again, I'm sorry all of you... I know what I did can't be forgiven and I deserve to die..." she cracks the ground as she forces herself up, "They don't deserve to die..." There was once a child who wished to become an adventurer, to fight power monsters and save the people from their torment. The young girl read the story over and over and over again, the heroes saved the humans from torment and were praised. Ryua's favorite story, why? Who knows.
"That's right! That's right! stop being frustraing and use the sword, that's your specialty isn't it?" The glowing figure nods in agreement before looking down to see itself fading out "Huh? looks like you still have to figure out what I am. Well see you later, I doubt you'll die here, i feel like you're going to bother the hell out of me" he murmurs before completely fading out. "Thank you Kael" Ryua mumbles under her breath. 'Can I do it?' she wonders staring at her trembling hand, her arm is purple, her flesh is slightly rotten and blood leaks out dozens of scratches.
Maybe it's her confidence, or maybe a part of her she's never encountered, 'Just hold it, I want it, we want it, so do it now, i don't want to lose this chance!' A voice yells out, "W-what? Who a-" before Ryua can process a single thought the voice yells in her skull 'I'm you! You piss me off, you are stupid and pathetic it pisses me off! You want to know who I am? I am the you who lead the team! The you, you wish to forget so badly! Fuck you! You how dare I become you, hurry up and let me use a sword, do you know how long I've been sleeping for? Since you put down your sword! How dare you put down the weapon we swore our hearts to!'
Ryua grips her skull in confusion, her thoughts swirling in a haze of exhaustion. "W-what is going on..." she mutters, her voice barely more than a whisper. This whole day has been nothing but confusing... first that glowing Kael, and now... another me... Her hand trembles as she reaches into her pouch, fingers brushing the familiar cloth of the sword she has long refused to wield.
-thump thump-
Her heartbeat quickens.
-thump thump-
The grip of the sword feels warm against her palm, an odd comfort amid the storm of chaos.
-thump thump-
Despite the agony coursing through her body, the bruises, the cuts, and the blood, some part of her—a part long buried—wants to swing the sword. A swordsman... what is a swordsman? A question she used to ask herself every day when she trained as a child.
After reading countless histories and tales of heroes, young Ryua had come to a conclusion: the strongest, the greatest people would at some point become swordmasters. But why? Why did fate lead so many legends through the path of swordsmanship? She never truly cared why... but she believed it, without question.
Swoosh!
'What makes a swordmaster?'
Swoosh!
'Is it someone who makes the perfect cut?'
Swoosh!
'A person capable of slicing a mountain? No!'
Swoosh!
'A swordmaster... a swordmaster is someone beautiful.' Beauty. That was the conclusion her young self came to. But what does it mean? How does someone who wields a blade become beautiful? What is beauty? How could such a subjective idea be the answer?
Her breath catches, fingers tightening around the sword wrapped in soft black cloth. There is something there—something fighting her—a strange sensation stirring from within.
'That's it. Let me hold it! I'm going to protect Oda, you idiot!' The voice in her head, that other self, demands with an eagerness that sends chills down her spine. Ryua's grip on the sword loosens for a moment as she tries to resist the pull.
"Okay..." she whispers. The voice in her head isn't new, though. It's been there, slumbering for years, ever since the day she failed her mission. It's a shattered piece of her, a different personality in a way, and now it's awake, clawing its way to the surface.
Ryua's eyes widen in surprise as her fingers trace the soft black cloth wrapped around the hilt of the sword. With trembling hands, she slowly pulls the cloth away, revealing the blade beneath. Her breath catches as the surface glimmers faintly under the dim light of the cave.
"This... T-This is..." she whispers, unable to tear her eyes away from the weapon in her hands.
The metal gleams with an otherworldly warmth, its hue a deep, burnished gold tinged with brown, reflecting the faint blue of the distant cave lights. The blade, slightly curved and impossibly smooth, runs straight for over a meter, yet its surface carries the intricate patterns of white veins, pulsating faintly with an inner energy—like a living thing, quiet but pulsing with power.
The hilt is unlike any she has seen before. Crafted from a white material that looks like polished ivory but feels impossibly light and firm, it curves subtly to fit the palm of her hand. Along its surface, slender golden bands spiral elegantly, merging with subtle ridges that provide perfect grip. Set just below the hilt guard is a small, delicate activation panel—an intricate yet understated design that hints at the sword's hidden capabilities.
The hilt guard itself is minimal, barely extending beyond the width of her hand, yet it flows like a natural extension of the blade, making the sword appear seamless, as though it was carved from a single piece of Uilam. The tip of the hilt ends with a slight curve, concealing the faint outline of a hidden compartment.
Even the sheath exudes a silent elegance. Crafted from the same black cloth as the sword's wrapping, it hugs the blade with a snug fit, leaving no room for unnecessary details. The outside is matte black, accented with white lines that shimmer when touched. The inside, however, is lined with an energy-conducting fabric that feels soft yet resilient. Every time the sword is drawn or sheathed, the fabric charges the blade, humming with quiet intensity.
"This metal..." Ryua whispers, her voice trembling with a mixture of awe and confusion. "Kael, just why?" Her fingers glide over the blade's caramel-gold surface as she feels the weight of its history and purpose. "This brownish-golden color... It's Uilam. Rare, and expensive. A metal that forms in the deep places where demonic energy is strongest. It's used for staffs, for amplifying magic, not for swords."
Her mind reels, trying to grasp why Kael—someone who seemed to understand so much—would have gifted her a weapon made of a metal ill-suited for cutting. "The metal is not very sharp... it's used for amplification..." Her voice trails off as her eyes trace the delicate white lines running along the blade, glowing faintly, almost in response to her touch. It's alive with something more, something she can feel in her bones.
Then, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, she feels it—a strange sensation, a forgotten urge deep within her. Her hand trembles, but not from fear. No matter how broken her body is, how scarred her mind may be, her muscles ache with a yearning she hasn't felt in so long. The desire to swing the sword.
'Step aside, give me control!' the voice in her head shouts, vibrating with excitement.
Ryua's body stiffens, her eyes widening as the sword in her hand seems to pulse in rhythm with the voice. "I-It's reacting... is this an ego weapon?" she murmurs, her breath quickening in disbelief. "No, it doesn't feel like a full ego... maybe a partial one."
'Ego or not, I will protect my juniors," the voice interrupts with a smirk, its presence pushing forward and forcing Ryua's posture upright. "You know, although we are the same, you are nothing like me," the voice murmurs, now fully in control of Ryua's body. "I don't know why I broke from you, or how this is happening, but I know this—you are nothing like me. You failed to lead, you crumbled in the middle of a mission because you're not human? So what? Big deal. Did I ever care about being human? No," she says coldly, her grip tightening on the sword as her body steadies.
'You don't under—' Ryua starts, but the other voice cuts her off, rolling its eyes in frustration.
"You stupid idiot. We are the leader," it whispers with venom, twisting the sword's angle and lifting it toward the swarm of monsters, her muscles now poised with purpose. "You are supposed to swallow your fear, swallow your confusion, swallow all emotions. Leaders are leaders because they stand strong, no matter how horrific the situation is."
Her hand moves almost on instinct, commanding the blade with casual precision as she exhales. "Eclipse," she mutters, swinging the sword lightly through the air. A black hue follows the arc of the blade, dissipating slowly as it transitions into a dark, shifting blue. The air around her shifts, the oppressive atmosphere warping as shadows dance and bend.
Above her, a black sphere materializes, swirling with dark blue and red light, illuminating the cave with a haunting glow. The sword hums, then ignites—blue flames erupt along its length, casting an eerie brilliance. The tattoo on Ryua's arm flickers, glowing a bright orange as it pulses between shades of blue and red, syncing with the blade's energy.
Every monster in the cave freezes. The grotesque creatures, once mindless and chaotic, now turn toward her, drawn by the overwhelming pressure of her sword intent. The air grows heavy as if even the darkness itself holds its breath, waiting.
Without hesitation, Ryua lifts the sword again, this time with deadly intent, and brings it down in a single, decisive motion. For a moment, everything stops—the cave, the air, the monsters—all frozen in time.
Then, blood sprays violently from her body as she grits her teeth, the cost of her injuries finally catching up. "Ugh... I'm too injured," she mumbles, gasping for breath. But as she looks down, her eyes widen at the sight—a massive, clean slice runs across the ground, cleaving through stone as easily as air.
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