章節 9: The Making of a Slayer
I nodded to Agnes, still catching my breath from the adrenaline coursing through me. The gruesome scene of the demon's decapitated body lying lifeless on the blood-soaked stone floor of the church replayed in my mind. The raw power she displayed, her precision and lethal efficiency, was nothing short of mesmerizing. Yet, as I looked at her, there was something else—a strange familiarity in her gaze as she looked at my father's sword.
"How do you know this blade?" I asked, unable to suppress the curiosity that burned within me.
Agnes glanced down at the sword in my hand, its black, translucent blade still faintly glowing with a dark, almost ominous aura. She took a slow breath, as if weighing her words, then leaned against the shattered remains of a pew. Her voice was low, a deep tone that carried both strength and a touch of something vulnerable beneath her cold exterior.
"When I was twelve, my village was raided by demons." Agnes began, her gaze distant, as if she were seeing something far beyond the ruined church walls around us. "They came in the night—screeching, ravenous creatures. There were so many of them… more than I'd ever seen before. They tore through our defenses, burned down the homes, and slaughtered everyone. My family… they were butchered before my eyes. My mother, father, my two brothers—all gone within minutes."
She paused, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of pain in her eyes. It vanished quickly, replaced by that familiar stern resolve.
"I was supposed to die too," she continued. "One of those beasts pinned me down, ready to sink its fangs into my neck. I could feel its foul breath, its claws digging into my skin… And then… he appeared."
"Who?" I asked quietly, though I already knew the answer.
"A demon slayer. Not just any slayer, but one wielding that sword." Her eyes fixed on the blade with an intensity that made me shift slightly. "He moved like a shadow, a blur of motion that the demons couldn't even track. They tried to swarm him, but it was pointless. Every swing of his sword cut through them as if they were made of air. Limbs, heads, bodies—everything was sliced apart in seconds. They didn't even have time to scream. Their expressions… I still remember it."
Her lips curled slightly in what seemed like the ghost of a smile, but it was cold and humorless.
"They looked like frightened cats. Their arrogance, their cruelty, all of it melted away in an instant. And in that same instant, they were dead. He cleared the entire village in the blink of an eye. He didn't say a word, didn't even glance at me. He just walked through the carnage like he was strolling through a garden."
Agnes stepped closer to me, and I could see the fierce admiration mixed with something else—reverence, perhaps. Her voice dropped to a whisper, filled with a deep, unwavering conviction.
"That man… he inspired me. He made me realize that demons weren't invincible, that they could be killed. And that day, I vowed I would become like him. That I would dedicate my life to the Corp and destroy every last one of those monsters, just like he did."
The weight of her words settled between us. I could feel the depth of her commitment, the sheer force of will that had driven her to become the warrior she was today. But there was something more—a connection between her and my father that I hadn't expected.
"So… you've been searching for him all this time?" I asked, piecing it together. "To thank him? To fight alongside him?"
Agnes shook her head slowly. "I searched for him to understand what he was. What made him so powerful. No one knew his name, no one could tell me anything. He was like a ghost, a legend that appeared and disappeared without a trace. And then… I heard about his death. I heard about the slayer who fought with that very sword, the one who fell in battle under mysterious circumstances."
Agnes straightened, crossing her arms over her breastplate as she eyed me with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "So, tell me… how did you come by this blade?" she asked, her tone still laced with that cool, calculating edge. But there was something different in her voice now—an undercurrent of genuine interest.
I took a deep breath, the weight of everything that had happened in the past few days crashing down on me like a wave. "It's a long story," I began, shifting the sword slightly in my grip. "But… I guess we've got some time."
Her eyes remained locked on mine, silently urging me to continue. And so, I did.
I told her about my time in the prison cell, about the way the guards and the prison head looked at me like I was already a dead man walking. I described the cold dread of being led to the execution grounds, of feeling the sun on my face as the executioner's axe gleamed under the sky, ready to fall. I told her about the sudden interruption—the messenger who saved me at the very last second with a letter that I had never seen before, bearing some authority that not even the prison head dared to question.
Agnes didn't react much as I recounted the details, only the slight narrowing of her eyes showing that she was truly listening.
"Next thing I knew, I was back in the cell, waiting—waiting for what, I didn't know. Then, I was given new clothes and told to leave for the Capital. That's where I met Sophie." I hesitated, wondering if I should go into details, but something about Agnes' piercing gaze made me feel like holding back wouldn't do any good. "She… she's the one who handed me this sword. She told me it was my father's."
Agnes' expression remained unreadable, but I thought I caught the faintest twitch of her lips. "And your father? Where is he?"
"Dead," I said quietly, swallowing the lump in my throat. "He died when I was a kid. I don't remember much about him, but… Sophie said he was some kind of high-ranking slayer. An Elite Slayer, to be exact."
That seemed to catch her attention. Agnes raised a brow, her eyes flickering with a hint of recognition. "An Elite Slayer… So, you're the son of *that* man." She glanced at the sword again, almost reverently. "I see."
I nodded, still not entirely sure what that meant or what significance it held. "Sophie said she knew him. That this sword was part of his will. And apparently, his last wish was for me to join the Demon Slayer Corp and take his place. She's going to train me."
A brief silence settled between us, the only sound being the faint, lingering echoes of the gruesome battle we had fought moments ago. Finally, Agnes shifted, her posture relaxing ever so slightly.
"So, you're starting your training tomorrow, huh?" Her voice was softer, less cold, but still held that familiar distance. "Good luck, then. You'll need it."
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her tone. For a moment, I thought I saw a trace of something warmer in her eyes—a flicker of sympathy, perhaps? Or maybe I was just imagining it.
"Uh… thanks," I managed, feeling an awkward smile tug at my lips.
Agnes gave me a slight nod, her gaze lingering on me for a second longer before she turned to leave. "Just one piece of advice, kid," she said over her shoulder, her voice back to its usual sternness. "Don't rely on that sword alone. Power like that… it can turn on you if you're not careful. You want to be strong? Make sure you've got the skill and strength to back it up."
With that, she started walking away, her movements as fluid and effortless as ever. I watched her, feeling a strange sense of loss as she moved further and further away. It was like she was taking a piece of something with her—a thread that had briefly connected us, only to be severed as quickly as it had appeared.
"Goodbye, Agnes," I called out, more to myself than to her. "And… thanks for the advice."
She paused for a split second, barely long enough to notice, before continuing on without looking back.
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
榜單 
-- 推薦票