Chapter 31

The sword had been wielded by [Heroes] and [Dark Lords],[Soldiers] and [Lancers], men and women, the old and the young, the weak and the strong. With so many different wielders, one would think there would be a certain repeition to them, after all, it was not as if the sword’s abilities changed at all, and, inevitably, he had been wielded by a certain set of classes with some regularity. And yet each of them had had their own grip on his hilt, their own physical quirks. The sword would be hard pressed to enumerate them all, but forget them? Any of them?

Never.

His favorites, for the sword did have favorites, had not always been the best wielders. His favorites were the brave ones. The ones who held his hilt extra tightly, whose muscles strained as they forced themselves not to waiver before their deaths.

He thought of them, as he told Francois that he wanted to be dropped, if at all possible, right into the center of the four lizardmen.

Francois had wanted to be with him for this, but the sword had said no, he would just be a distraction. It was strange having to make these decisions for himself. But if he was going to decide, it seemed best to make the decisions he felt those wielders would have made.

Of course he had had many strong wielders. The ones who were [Heroes] all had their near invincible skills, but the wisest [Paladins], the talented [Rangers] had been strong as well. What united them was their deciciveness. Their quick minds. Their ability to control their own skills, and the swords’ skills simultaneously. Their clear vision of what it was they were trying to accomplish, combined with their commitment to doing what must be done.

Many wielders asked if they were the strongest wielder. The sword used to answer that question, but eventually found it led to tiresome comparisons, and on one occassion, abandonment, and so at some point he said he did not know.

But that was a lie, he did know.

The starting area melted away, and he found himself in the middle of the four lizardmen, as he had wanted.

Thanks to Francois, he had access to two extra skills. It was important to use them first. He needed all eyes on him, as Mei and Arthur reappeared at their pillar, and began to move along the wall, in anticipation of the exit route the sword was going to make for them.

He was in their midst now, he could smell the oil worked into their gear, the strange scent of their scales. He could feel the sparks of the [Wizard’s] staff, so thick the air practically shocked his throat with every breath, the warmth of the [Archangel Gun].

He was, as always, much faster than they were. Even as they were turning, realizing there was an extra person in their midst, the sword straightened from his crouch. His first instrinct was to strike out, even with one arm in a sling.

He resisted that urge.

“Shadow Sphere.”

The shadows cast from every light in the room drained into a pool beneath his feet. The pool rose around him, forming a whirling sphere of darkness, so thick that he momentarily could not see.

It was a shield of a kind, but it was also a powerful burst weapon.

Quite effective when one was surrounded by enemies, as the wielders of [unique swords] often found themselves.

“Shatter Black.”

The walls of the sphere expended outwards, crashing into the swords’ foes from all directions at once.

He heard the sounds of bones snapping, the thuds of bodies slamming into solid stone walls, and the yells as their fellows realized something had gone wrong.

The [Ranger] was down, not moving, possibly dead. The [Scout] and the [Wizard] were still mobile, but out of position, the [Scout] was already rushing back towards the sword, while the [Wizard] was still trying to pull himself up by his staff. They were both too far away, and they were also irrelevant. All that mattered was whether or not the sword could stop the [Archangel Gun].

The sword tried to pretend, as he whirled to face the lizardman with the [Archangel Gun], that there was a wielder with him now in this corridor. A ghostly hand keeping his back straight, his feet untangled as he cleared his throat.

It wasn’t true.

He was alone on this world which was not his home, in a body he did not recognize, nor want to adapt to, stripped of Black Hole and Subsume and Darkest Night and all the other skills which had defined his existence for as long as he could recall.

It wasn’t true, but still, pretending helped a little. Enough not to falter, as the [Archangel Gun] hummed, it’s power lines glowing brighter and brighter as it prepared to fire.

He closed his eyes as the light grew too bright, and for a moment his mind placed him on a real battlefield, a strong hand at his hilt, wind whipping across his metallic surface.

The best wielders left the timing to him.

Even if they were brand new, the best ones trusted that his instincts were right.

Just because he didn’t know when to parry, didn’t know how to read, didn’t mean he’d forgotten everything.

He held onto that calm feeling as he opened his eyes again. They burned as the light of the [Archangel Gun] rushed towards him.

Not yet.

Subsume would have worked, but he only had Corona.

Not yet.

That ghostly grip on the back of his spine tightened.

Now.

“Corona,” the sword invoked the skill with a raw whisper. Power roared from his body, coursing towards the light of the [Archangel Gun’s] blast and siezing control of it. The light flooded towards him, then turned black, swirling around him in a cyclone that enveloped him completely for a moment before coalescing into a single orb of black, limned in yellow light.

He sent it hurtling back towards the lizardman, crashing directly into the [Archangel Gun]. The weapon screeched with a discordant metallic sound as all its powerlines faded at once.

The gun-holder dropped it, and ran.

The sword pursued, as the [Scout] and the [Wizard] also ran in a disorganized scramble towards their portals. The orb of black light he’d created had shrunk, but it hadn’t dissipated, it whirred back to the sword as he ran.

The [Scout], the fastest, had successfully made it back through the portal. Good, he didn’t want to fight. The [Wizard] wouldn’t fight without backup either, the [Scout] had decided for him. That made this easier.

The sword sent his sphere hurtling towards the gun-wielder. It crashed into the lizardman’s back, sending him sprawling just as he was about to reach through the portal.

“Nice hit.” Francois said.

The [Wizard] scrambled through their own narrow portal, and all four portals winked out. The remaining lizardman gave a warbling cry.

The sword said, “Thanks,” then sank to the floor, exhaustion hitting him like a sack of bricks. He inspected his body briefly, no visible wounds he could see, and his arm in its sling, feeling much more uncomfortable than it had before.

He watched unmoving as Arthur headed for the body of the [Ranger] which wasn’t moving, and Mei landed atop the gun holder, pulling his arms behind his back, and forcing his face into the floor.

“Come and help me!” She yelled at Arthur.

“Looking for rope!” Arthur said, waving a coil of he’d pulled from the [Ranger’s] body.

The gun wielder didn’t even move as they tied his arms behind his back. He might have fainted.

“Huh,” Arthur said, “couldn’t touch him while he was holding the angel tech, but looks like you were right Mei. This one’s a [Prince], that should be helpful.”

The sword observed that this was the first real fight he could remember actually being awake for the aftermath.

It was strange, the sword usually did not pay attention to aftermaths. Often when things were over, he was tucked back into his sheathe, and not needed for some time.

Arthur returned to the body of the [Ranger], crowing about the freshness and preservation of the body. “Just amazing! A delicacy! A feast for a gourmand!”

“I’m not strong enough to hold this one,” Mei called from their prisoner. “Arthur, can you summon help now?”

“Hmmm? Sure, Serps can drag him and my corpse, no problem. Let’s take him to the kitchens.”

“The kitchens?” Mei asked.

“That’s where the refrigerators are, remember?”

The imp Serpenedos arrived with a furious belch. “It’s not my fault his lordship lost all of his other summons. A certain respect for one’s vassals, that’s all I expect and even that—”

Arthur bribed him with a few toes from the freshly killed corpse, and the imp stopped talking.

Their prisoner stayed limp as they heaved him up the stairs after Arthur explained in detail all of the different ways he could be used if he were only a little bit more dead, and a few ways he could be used while still alive.

They were in the kitchens for some time before a weary Cadmarius staggered in, his grim face splitting into relief.

“Oh, thank goodness. I should have looked here at once.”

“Duh,” Arthur said.

To the sword’s intense discomfort, Cadmarius hugged each of them tightly, including the sword, and when he was done he pushed the sword away from him so that he could look up and down his body, his hands tight on his shoulders.

Then he looked over the table they had piled high with frozen things, then to the bound lizardman, who had at some point lost his meak demeanor when they’d tied him to a chair, and had been gagged with a kitchen towel.

“I have many questions,” Cadmarisu said mildly. “To begin with, Arthur, what have you put in my freezer?”

Congratulations on dominating an adventuring party. Congratulations on breaking [Holy Cannon #942347]. Wielder skill [Shadow Barrage] has been acquired.

After the message had disappeared, Francois said in his ear, “Hey, listen, do you think you could get me some pizza? I like pepperoni.”