Chapter 54: The Immortals [1]
The trial was finally over.
So was the fight with those magical beasts.
I stood amid the silence of aftermath, the Broken Sword of Caesar clutched in my trembling hand. Each breath was sharp, ragged. The blade still shimmered faintly, slick with remnants of black ichor. The last spirit beast had fallen with a perfect sagittal cut cleaving its head—straight through the center, from forehead to spine.
Around me, the corpses of ghost-type creatures lay in still, twisted piles. Limbs contorted. Faces frozen in screams. The entire floor of the ancient chamber was painted in splashes of dark crimson. Some blood was mine, most wasn’t.
I flexed my fingers. My palms pulsed, not in pain—but in something close to ecstasy. A strange energy trembled in my grip. The sword felt... pleased.
That sensation... it wasn’t just from victory.
This weapon was designed for this.
Crafted in a forgotten age, the Broken Sword of Caesar was never truly broken—only sealed. Its real strength awakened when fighting the unholy, the cursed, the spectral. The sword thrived on their essence. It sang when it cut them down.
My training had paid off. Every strike, every evasive step, every memory drawn from past timelines—it all converged into this brutal symphony of precision and instinct.
It was another confirmation. Another reason to continue forward.
Behind me, Dulhard crouched behind a moss-covered boulder, breathing heavily. His wide eyes didn’t leave me. Not once.