Blazing Sword

Steel clashed against steel, sparks flying as Blaze twisted under a spear thrust. Crimson hair whipped around her face, but her vivid blue eyes remained unshaken, piercing the chaos with unwavering focus. A sharp pain from a glancing strike reminded her: one mistake could mean death.

The enemy had come in order—first the spearmen, their wall of points closing in, meant to hold her in place while swordsmen circled to finish her. Behind them, archers loosed arrows in steady volleys, the sky streaked with death. It was a strategy meant to crush armies, not a lone warrior.

But Blaze was not merely a warrior. She was the wielder of the Blazing Sword.

With each swing, fire shimmered along her blade, turning steel into searing arcs of light. Spear shafts splintered under her strikes, swords bent, armor buckled. She moved as if the battlefield itself bent to her rhythm—each pivot, each parry, each step deliberate, precise, inevitable.

The first spearmen faltered under her strikes, but a few recovered quickly, pressing forward with glinting eyes. Arrows rained as she dodged and spun, each movement slicing dangerously close to her own flank.

One lunged from her left. Blaze twisted, deflecting his strike with a burst of flame that sent him staggering backward. Another came from behind, hoping to catch her blind, but a swift spin knocked his weapon from his grasp, leaving him open to the blade’s scorching edge. A third swept low at her legs, but she leapt, twisting through the air, her sword trailing fire as it cut across his wrist in a blur of motion.

One soldier lunged, only to stumble under her fire-wreathed blade. Another barely dodged, leaving his companion exposed. Blaze’s strikes left a trail of chaos—though she counted every near-miss in her mind.

It was not a battlefield but a stage, and she the maestro, commanding an orchestra of steel and fire.

Then—

“Tch.”

Her tongue clicked against her teeth, a fracture in her perfect rhythm. An arrow, loosed from a blind spot, slipped through the chaos and grazed her shoulder, leaving a red line. Her breath hitched—steady, measured, not with fear but with focus. She lowered her stance, flames crackling brighter along her blade.

The horde wavered. Blaze narrowed her eyes. This would be their final charge—or hers.

Suddenly, a sharp sound cut through—the crisp clap of hands.

Blaze opened her eyes, and the battlefield dissolved into the familiar calm of the sanctum. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting warm beams across polished wooden floors.

A familiar face greeted her: her younger cousin, Malina Usher, standing with a mixture of pride and amusement.

“Twelve years,” Malina said, clapping lightly, “since you first showed the Blazing Sword at the courtroom. Look at how much you’ve grown.”

“I have much to learn,” she admitted softly, her voice calm despite the storm of imagined battle still echoing in her mind.

Malina tilted her head, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “How many did you imagine this time?”

“Around fifty,” Blaze replied without hesitation.

“And how many downed?” Malina asked, leaning slightly forward.

“All fifty,” Blaze answered, though a trace of disappointment lingered in her tone.

Malina raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Then why does it seem like you lost it at the end?”

Blaze’s eyes darkened slightly. “There was an archer hiding in my blind spot.”

She clicked her tongue again—a quiet rebuke to herself. Even a perfect score meant nothing if a single mistake could kill her.

“Blaze!” Malina said, a gentle laugh in her voice. “No need to be so hard on yourself. Fifty is an impressive number.”

Blaze lifted her gaze, fierce and unwavering. “Father once fought two hundred Denominos on a real battlefield… unfazed and victorious.”

“Oh, right,” Malina said, a sudden sheepish smile tugging at her lips at the mention of Blaze’s father.

“I know this smile. What have you done this time?” There was a soft humor in her voice, tempered with a quiet kindness that contrasted with the fierce precision she had shown moments before.

Malina maintained her sheepish smile. “Ah… I came to call you—the court is in session. But then I thought that even the Archon must wait for the legendary Blaze Usher.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Just admit it—you forgot,” Blaze said as she sheathed her practice blade and started toward the court. Malina followed at a steady pace, trying to match the stride of her cousin.

As they made their way to the courtroom, the corridor’s magnificence remained untouched, unchanged even after twelve years. The Estate of Usher had always been thus—preserved with such precision that time itself seemed hesitant to leave its mark.

Blaze moved swiftly through the corridor of portraits. When she came upon the newest addition—her father, Sigrid Usher, immortalized though still alive—her steps faltered for a heartbeat. Malina caught it at once.

“Do you still doubt yourself?” she asked softly.

“How can I not?” Blaze replied, her voice tight. “Father may have grown old, but I am not even his shadow.”

Even as she spoke, doubt lingered in her tone.

“Have faith, Blaze,” Malina said gently. “Uncle Sigrid is a legend among warriors — but the sword never chooses wrong. It has chosen you now, just as it once chose him.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Blaze whispered, almost to herself. She wielded the sword with unshakable resolve—each strike deliberate, every motion certain. Yet she knew the power came from the sword, not her. Deep in her heart, she feared she might never live up to the standard her father had set.

They stood before the double door of court and waited for the right time to enter.

The court buzzed with whispered deals and subtle glances, nobles, merchants, and royals craning their necks to glimpse the raised platform. At the far end, atop the most prominent chair, sat the Archon, Sigrid Usher. Beside him, blonde and sharp-featured, stood his younger brother, Safrid.

The tension that had lingered since the start of the session broke at last with Safrid’s heavy voice.

“As everyone knows, twelve years have passed since the threat of the Double Black Denominos first emerged—a menace that appears once in centuries. Despite our endless efforts, we have found no other Wonder Weapons beyond the Blazing Sword, wielded by the House of Usher. But all is not lost. There is still one hope: thirty days’ ride from here lies the Oasis of Funa, where a possible Wonder Weapon—and its wielder—may be found. We cannot afford delay; the Denominos will not wait.”

Suddenly, a fat man betrayed by his own physique rose abruptly. His expensive attire was adorned with jewels, every piece screaming of luxury. Yet his eyes marked him not as a man of creed, but of greed. Garrick Veylan, of the House of Veylan—most prominent of the merchant families—spoke in a voice sharp as a dagger:

“Entire freedom of human society is at stake and we are still placing our bids on rumors, send the Blazing Sword to attack those Denominos already”

It was not fear nor frustration that tainted his words, but malice.

A voice rang from the far end of the hall—a merchant of great stature and wealth, whose presence alone commanded respect equal to that of the House of Veylan. He rose to speak.

“Was it not decided by majority vote,” Corwin reasoned, “that other wonder weapons should be found first?”

But Garrick pressed on, his jeweled hands clenching.

“And was I not against it? That decision was made only because the House of Usher supported it! Safrid Usher did not even attend the council twelve years ago!”

“Lord Safrid was already on a mission—to search for other wonder weapons even then. That was the reason for his absence.” Corwin Stallen replied in defense.

“And yet we have nothing!” Garrick snapped, grinding his teeth. “It is a blessing the Denominos have not attacked yet… but it’s only a matter of time.”

Corwin’s gaze hardened. “Are you trying to blame the House of Usher? The very house because of which you are not born a slave to the Denominos?”

Garrick opened his mouth to speak but found no words.

From the front end of the hall, a young man stepped forward, arrogance plain upon his face. Upon his brow rested a small crown: Crown Prince Edwin Von Castle. He was in his twenties, proud, spoiled, and brimming with youthful vanity. His words carried venom and mockery.

“What is wrong with blaming those at fault?”

It was clear now—this had been their plan together.

The House of Usher was revered beyond measure, yet politically powerless. Though they wielded the Blazing Sword, that sacred weapon had been forged for one purpose alone—to fight the Denominos. By the will of Usher the Great, it could never draw the blood of man. It was a shield, not a scepter. Thus, while the House bore no claim to rule, their name and legacy carried a weight far greater than any crown.

The prince despised them—resented their reverence, their independence, and most of all, that Blaze had rejected his proposal of marriage. The thought festered in him like poison.

Yet before his words could spread further rot, another man rose. Middle-aged, calm, with the aura of royalty that even his silence commanded respect. His garments were rich but dignified. Standing tall, he was recognized instantly: Prince Erwin Von Castle, younger brother of the king.

“Perhaps the Crown Prince has not been taking his lessons seriously,” Erwin said coldly. His words cut like steel. “His tutor must be replaced at once.”

At a mere flick of his hand, an attendant stepped forward to carry out the command.

“Uncle!” Edwin’s face flushed red.

“Silence!” Erwin’s voice thundered.

He turned to the court, his gaze sweeping the room. “I cannot find the words to express the shame this brings upon the royal family. His Majesty, Edward II, personally instructed me to show the utmost reverence to the House of Usher and to every soul in their service. For to serve the descendants of Usher the Great is the highest honor any of us could claim.”

Garrick ground his teeth, his jeweled rings flashing as he clenched his fists.

Erwin’s words resounded through the chamber. “If not for the House of Usher, there would be no human kingdom. None of us would even stand here today.”

Humanity had once stood united under Usher the Great, but unity did not endure. In time, that single realm fractured into twelve nations—some ruled by crowns, others by councils—all divided by ambition.

The hall fell silent, no man or woman daring to speak in defiance.

The Crown Prince was removed, quietly, by Erwin’s order.

At last, Erwin bowed his head toward the dais. “Lord Sigrid, Lord Safrid—accept my deepest apologies. The fault lies not with the young, but with us, their elders, for failing to raise them properly. We are prepared to accept any reproach, but I assure you: such an insult will never happen again.”

Safrid’s voice was soft yet resolute. “Royalty should never bow their head, lest the people tremble at the very order meant to protect them. And though we wield power, we are still human—prone to error of judgment. The prince was not wrong: we have not found anyone. And as the House of Usher, it is our duty to shield our kind from the Denominos who descend from hell.”

Erwin inclined his head and returned to his seat. The court once again regained its composure.

When the doors finally opened, Malina and Blaze stepped inside. The court fell silent, their footsteps echoing in the hush that lingered after Prince Edwin’s outburst. Both bowed deeply, and at Safrid Usher’s signal, they raised their heads, stopping just short of the foot of the raised platform.

“My Lord! Blaze of the House of Usher answers your summons!” Blaze intoned with utmost respect and reverence.

Malina stood casually, ever the carefree type. But a sudden, sharp look from Safrid Usher, Malina’s father, straightened her up.

“Malina of the House of Usher… has brought you, Blaze of the House of Usher.”

Safrid’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Malina, but Sigrid’s calm voice intervened.

“Thank you, Malina,” he said gently, before Safrid could rebuke her.

“Blaze of the House of Usher! We have received intel that a possible Wonder lives—thirty days’ distance from here,” announced Safrid Usher, his voice steady and commanding.

“Yes, My Lord!” Blaze replied immediately, her voice firm and unwavering.

Safrid’s eyes swept through the hall, sharp and commanding. “You are to travel to the Oasis of Funa, far east of the Zerren Wastelands, and investigate the presence of a Wonder Weapon.”

“Understood,” Blaze answered with steady affirmation.

Safrid continued, his tone deliberate, each word carrying the weight of duty. “If you do not find a Wonder there, prepare yourself to confront the Denominos while continuing your search. But should a wielder of wonder weapon truly exist, you must bring them back to the Usher Estate.”

Then Sigrid spoke, his voice calm yet carrying the iron weight of authority.

“Blaze. The sword chose wisely—but its choice is not guaranteed to remain. The Blazing Sword is not only a weapon, but a shield. If you fail to act, the sword will act. But it will only rise for one who is true to her cause.”

The Blazing Sword—the mightiest weapon humanity had ever known. Since its forging, it had remained within the House of Usher, yet it was never passed by blood alone. It chose its bearer from among them, judging worth not by lineage, but by the strength of spirit.

For all its brilliance, the sword bowed only to one who carried humility amid power, compassion amid resolve. Those who sought glory or dominion found its fire turn cold in their grasp. To wield it was to shoulder its judgment—its light revealing not only enemies, but the flaws within the wielder’s own heart.

Its blessings were immense: strength beyond measure, and the might to shape battlefields. But each flame it granted drew upon the bearer’s life, the fire feeding on the very soul that commanded it.

The Blazing Sword was never for display. Every time it was summoned, it was for purpose—for justice, never pride.

Sigrid’s words reminded Blaze of everything she had been taught since childhood. Despite her skill, self-doubt flickered in her eyes, a shadow she could never fully banish.

Safrid noticed the doubt in Blaze’s eyes.

"Blaze, we have strong faith in you. For twelve years you and the Blazing Sword have been as one. If it has walked beside you all this time, it is because it has chosen you—and it will continue to do so."

Sigrid’s words struck deep, planting the seed of confidence in her own worth. The burden remained, but now she bore it with steadier hands, her resolve sharpened to prove herself worthy not only of the weapon, but of the name she carried: Blaze of the House of Usher.

And then it happened.

For an instant, light shimmered across her back. An invisible blade flared into being—the Blazing Sword itself, echoing its presence. It burned without fire, its heat and weight undeniable even as it remained untouchable. The glow lasted only a heartbeat, then vanished. Yet in that breath of brilliance, the sword had spoken. It acknowledged her.

Gasps filled the chamber. Nobles stared, their awe spilling into hushed whispers. Even Garrick’s greedy eyes widened. Safrid’s face softened into rare pride; Sigrid’s stern composure cracked with relief, as though a decade’s weight had been lifted.

Malina, however, only tilted her head with a knowing smirk. To her, the glow was no surprise at all—merely the inevitable truth made visible.

The sword’s flare left silence in its wake, yet it carried centuries of weight. Humanity’s hope, the Usher legacy, and the sword’s relentless will now rested visibly with Blaze.

And for the first time, Blaze allowed herself a fleeting smile. The sword was her partner, not her judge—it had risen with her. In that silent acknowledgment, clarity bloomed: for the moment her will and the weapon’s fire had become one.

The path ahead was perilous, yet as the unseen flame faded, Blaze stood taller. She was ready.

She left the court at a brisk pace, bowing out with practiced elegance. Draping the travel cloak over her shoulders, she mounted her horse in one fluid motion. Her destination was clear—Funa Village.

Her target: Lucan Halden.

A possible wielder of wonder weapon.

This was her first mission—and she could not afford to fail. It was that knowledge that drove her forward, pushing her to cover a distance meant for thirty days in only twenty.