Chapter 130: Land of Blades
The silence that followed the placing of the final stone on the cairn was heavy, filled with the urgency that surged back with brutal clarity. A distant howl—hoarse, ravenous—tore through the morning air, a harsh reminder that the territory was no longer guarded.
Maggie tensed, her face pale from blood loss drawn taut again. Élisa turned her head toward the sound, her golden eyes becoming cold blades.
"We don’t have a minute to lose," said Élisa, her voice regaining its usual firmness, though weighed with exhaustion. "Choose. Quickly."
Before them stretched the weapon field—a forest of metal and wood thrust skyward beneath the pale sky. Hundreds of weapons, each marked with an insignia engraved or painted on the hilt, the blade, or the haft—emblems of roaring lions, howling wolves, stylized trees, intricate runes.
Taking one wasn’t just a matter of utility. It was claiming a legacy, defying the memory of a clan, risking a vendetta if they were ever recognized. But their own weapons were in ruins: Maggie’s military axe, even reinforced by Ondine’s mark, bore deep notches and warped steel; Élisa’s daggers, still in decent shape, were far too short to harm larger creatures.
Maggie stepped forward first, walking among the forgotten weapons. Some were rusted, decayed by time; others remained intact, as if immune.
Her gaze swept over massive axes—some as wide as shields, with hafts thick as tree trunks. Too heavy, too crude. Enormous war hammers, flanged maces, spiked cudgels...
All seemed built for larger hands, stronger arms, warriors of another kind. She passed rows of morningstars, rusted chains dangling, without stopping. Her instinct pulled her deeper into the field’s heart.
Then, she stopped.