I've Never Seen People So Excited To Read

The Academy classroom had fallen so quiet that even the occasional cough seemed loud enough to turn heads.

“…Miss Ludmilla.”

At the front of the room, the professor regarded her with an expectant smile.

“According to the earliest Records of the Fall, Astra’s eastern district was overrun first. Why do modern historians consider that conclusion unreliable?”

Ludmilla answered without so much as glancing at her notes.

“Because the Chronicle isn’t a contemporary account.”

“And?”

“It was compiled years later from survivor testimony.”

The professor raised an eyebrow, inviting her to continue. “Which presents a problem because…?”

“Almost no one escaped Astra.”

That answer drew a few uneasy shifts from the students around her, but Ludmilla continued as calmly as before.

“The accounts we have come from people who escaped different parts of the city. None of them witnessed the beginning of the Fall, and several contradict one another.”

“Exactly.”

The professor turned toward the blackboard, slowly pacing along its length as he rolled the chalk between his fingers.

“And with Astra remaining forbidden to this day, there is no way for modern historians to return and determine which account was correct.”

Only then did Ludmilla look up from her desk.

“So saying the eastern district fell first isn’t history.” She paused for the briefest moment. “It’s the most popular guess.”

The professor’s smile widened.

“Very good.”

A groan came from the back of the room.

“…Does she ever get one wrong?”

“I’ve stopped hoping.”

The classroom doors swung open before the professor could continue, drawing everyone's attention toward the man in purple Academy robes who stepped inside.

“My apologies for the interruption.”

The professor acknowledged him with a slight inclination of his head.

“The Department of Ancient History requests Miss Ludmilla Rosenberg immediately.”

A familiar chorus of groans immediately spread through the classroom.

“Again?”

“Must be another excavation outside the city.”

Ludmilla calmly closed her notebook.

“I certainly hope so.”

There was nothing particularly unusual about the interruption. Ludmilla had spent nearly her entire life within the Academy, raised among its halls by a father regarded as one of its most influential professors in recent history. By seventeen, she had already become the youngest researcher ever accepted into the Department of Ancient History, and her expertise had grown respected enough that even professors occasionally sought her opinion.

She slipped her notebook into her satchel, rose from her seat, and offered the professor a respectful bow before following the Academy official into the corridor.

“Did you inform the team?”

“They’re already waiting.”

𓌏

“…May I?”

Flint glanced toward Murry, then Isla, as though hoping one of them might make the decision for him.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now…” Murry conceded with a defeated sigh, while Isla offered Flint a reassuring nod.

Taking that as permission, Flint removed the Bloodblade from his belt and carefully placed it into Ludmilla’s waiting hands.

Almost as one, everyone in the room leaned closer.

“Hmm...”

Otto, the young man peering through a crystal lens adjusted his glasses.

“…Very interesting.”

Ludmilla held the blade with surprising care, studying every inch of its crimson surface.

“It doesn’t resemble any catalogued Astran artifact…”

Nearby, the researcher Flint had seen buried behind a mountain of books when they arrived had already disappeared between the shelves.

“No, no, no… that’s the wrong catalogue…”

Books began sliding from the shelves one after another as the short researcher searched with increasing desperation.

“If it’s a royal artifact, it’d be Section Eleven…”

The three travelers watched his frantic search with a mixture of fascination and bewilderment.

“No, Twelve… Ugh… maybe Sixteen…”

Before Flint could follow where he had disappeared to, Clara suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Hi!”

She seized both of his hands and shook them enthusiastically.

“I’m Clara!”

“Flint. Nice to meet you.”

Apparently satisfied with that introduction, Clara immediately bounced over to Isla and greeted her with the same enthusiasm.

“And you must be his friends!”

“Hello, I’m Isla.”

“And you’re—”

“Murry,” he supplied before she could finish.

“Nice to meet you!”

Clara beamed at all three of them before, across the room, the short researcher finally poked his head out from behind another shelf.

“Clara, did you rearrange volumes 14 to 23?”

Clara blinked.

“Ah, a few fell out this morning. I just put them back in.”

“In what order?”

Clara looked away, scratching her cheek.

“I just sorted them by color.”

The short researcher gulped, all color draining from his face. Flint chuckled, smiling politely.

“It’s nice to meet everyone.”

“Likewise.” came a calm voice.

The blue-haired woman who had called Ludmilla's attention to them earlier closed her notebook and offered a small bow.

“I’m Nina.”

She gestured around the room.

“Clara is incapable of greeting people normally.”

“I am perfectly capable!”

“Is that why you hugged the archivist yesterday?”

“He looked lonely…”

Flint’s smile widened.

“I think she’s nice.”

Clara gasped as though he had just paid her the greatest compliment imaginable.

“I like him already!”

“Of course you do,” Murry muttered, rubbing his temples.

While their attention had been on Clara, Otto had quietly made his way over to Ludmilla and was now standing beside her, studying the Bloodblade through narrowed eyes.

“…Hmm.”

He leaned a little closer, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“...Interesting.”

Ludmilla glanced sideways.

“Would you care to elaborate?”

“…Not yet.”

Murry frowned.

“Does he ever say anything else?”

Nina answered immediately.

“Not really.”

“…Does he ever finish a sentence?”

“…interesting…” Otto mused again, inching closer.

“…Eventually.”

“There’s nothing.” Otto finally declared.

“What do you mean there’s nothing?” Ludmilla raised a brow.

The others gathered around.

“No mana?”

“No enchantment?”

“No reaction at all?!”

“Calm down, Elias.” Nina, the perpetual mother of the group sighed at the short young man, who looked almost offended.

“But that makes no sense!”

“It shouldn’t be inert.”

“It was glowing ten minutes ago.”

Then Ludmilla’s hand moved toward the hilt.

“Wait—”

Before Flint could stop her, she wrapped her fingers around it and pulled.

Or at least, she tried to.

The blade refused to move.

Ludmilla frowned and pulled again, this time with considerably more effort, yet the Bloodblade remained firmly locked inside its sheath.

“What…? It won’t budge.”

Her confusion only deepened as she examined the weapon before finally turning to Flint.

“Have you managed to draw it yourself?”

Flint stepped forward.

“Only a few times.”

Still, he didn’t know nobody else other than him could draw it…

The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt—

Crimson light seeped through the diamond-shaped openings along the sheath, pulsing as though something within had suddenly awakened.

Every researcher in the room froze.

Even Otto lowered his crystal lens, only to lean closer with renewed fascination.

“…Interesting.”

“I think you said that already.” Isla smiled wryly, “A few times…”

“…This time I mean it.”

Five pairs of scholarly eyes slowly turned toward Flint, who could only scratch his cheek beneath their collective stare.

“Something the matter?”

“Mr. Flint…” Ludmilla pushed her glasses up her nose, “Would you mind telling us absolutely everything?”

Isla quietly pulled over a chair and sat down.

“…This is going to take a while.”

Murry did the same, yawning.

“Make it fast, kid."

𓌏

For several moments, Ludmilla said nothing, her eyes moving between the pages of notes before her and Flint, who simply returned her increasingly bewildered stare with an innocent smile.

She adjusted her glasses.

“So…”

She glanced down.

“You found this sword by accident after falling into a pit.”

“Sort of.”

Scratch.

“And immediately after finding it, the sword started speaking to you.”

“Yes.”

Scratch.

“It grants you swordsmanship you’ve never learned.”

“Exactly.”

Scratch.

“It greatly enhances your physical abilities.”

“It certainly feels that way.”

Scratch.

“It completely destroys the undead.”

Flint nodded.

“They turn into ash.”

The quills around the table came to a halt in terrifying unison.

“Ash?” Clara repeated quietly, “Not even fire does that…”

Scratch.

Ludmilla continued.

“It gives you recurring dreams.”

“Yeah.”

“It required you to recite an incantation before it could be drawn.”

“Yes.”

“And…”

She hesitated ever so slightly before reading the final line.

“…Every time it’s drawn…”

Flint’s smile faded.

“It demands a human sacrifice.”

For the first time since his explanation began, nobody reached for their notes. Even Clara’s usual enthusiasm disappeared as the weight of those words settled over the room.

Otto was eventually the one to break the silence.

“…Interesting.”

“…Otto. Now is not the time.”

“Apologies.”

Ludmilla slowly stood and without another word, she walked to the blackboard.

She picked up a piece of chalk, and across the top, with neat letters, she wrote:

BLOODBLADE

Beneath it, she began listing everything Flint had told them.

Murry looked around.

“…Alright.”

He pointed a thumb toward Sir Roland, who had been standing silently near the wall.

“Before we go any further… may I ask why the hell is he here?”

Nina looked up from her notes.

“Sir Roland is this department’s assigned Academy Knight.”

Murry frowned.

“You assign knights to historians?”

“We assign them to research.”

She spoke matter-of-factly.

“The Department of Ancient History occasionally handles artifacts recovered from ruins. Academy policy requires a knight to remain present whenever such items are examined.”

Murry glanced toward the Bloodblade.

“Because someone might steal it?”

“Or activate it.” Nina replied, “Or accidentally destroy something irreplaceable.”

Sir Roland folded his arms comfortably.

“My duty is simply to ensure everyone leaves this room unharmed.”

“That all?”

“That all.”

Murry studied him for another moment before apparently deciding it wasn’t worth pursuing and letting the matter drop.

At the blackboard, Ludmilla added the final word to an already crowded web of notes and connections. Once she was satisfied, she lowered the chalk and stepped back, silently studying everything they had learned about the Bloodblade so far.

“This makes no sense.”

Flint tilted his head.

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

Ludmilla studied the board, her expression growing increasingly thoughtful.

“Individually, any one of these properties would challenge what we understand about magical artifacts. Together…”

Her gaze settled on the Bloodblade.

“…they make absolutely no sense.”

Silence settled over the room once again.

Elias suddenly shot upright.

“Wait!”

The urgency in his voice drew everyone’s attention as he hurried toward one of the nearby shelves, muttering under his breath while his eyes raced across the rows of books.

“Crimson… crimson…”

Elias pulled one book from the shelf and hurriedly flipped through its pages.

“No…”

He shoved it aside and reached for another, only to discard that one just as quickly.

“No…”

The third book stopped him.

“…Here!”

His fingers raced through the brittle pages with astonishing speed until they suddenly came to a halt.

“Page three hundred and twelve.”

“How the hell does he even know that?” Murry didn’t know if he should be impressed or concerned.

Nina spoke flatly as always.

“That’s where Elias thrives.”

He crossed the room and handed the open book to Ludmilla.

“…‘The traveler claimed to possess a crimson sword that had the ability to converse with him.’”

She looked up.

“…The historian dismissed it as delirium.”

The room grew quiet.

Otto adjusted his glasses.

“…Interesting.”

“Maybe… that thing it tells you to recite… is a clue?” Clara tapped her chin. Everyone turned to Flint.

“Do you remember it?” Nina raised a brow.

“It’s not that long…” Isla mused.

“I’ve never heard of it.” Murry inclined his head.

Flint was uncharacteristically reluctant. Even still, he spoke.

“Bound unto fate, break mortal tether…”

The research team leaned in, Elias gulping in anticipation.

“A Crimson Gate, bind thee forever.”

“A crimson—“

“Shh!”

Clara shushed Elias.

“Temper the crown, for death won’t be undone…”

Flint finished.

“Demand a sacrifice, till judgment has been won.”

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Everybody turned to their notes, making Isla smile wryly.

“I think we should have led with that.”

Ludmilla flipped the blackboard, starting on the fresh other side.

“This is it!” Elias slammed his hands on the table, “The undisputed connection of the blade to the Crimson Gate!”

“You do realize what the plaque over this room reads, right?”

Murry said dryly.

“You were brought here on a guess. Guesses and undisputed truths are worlds apart.”

“That is… true.” Isla nodded to Nina’s flat voice.

Ludmilla circled the word ‘crown’

“This might be a link to The Last King?”

“The Last King Mr. Flint saw in his dreams?” Clara smiled.

“So this relic is directly connected to the two biggest mysteries of known history…” Elias gulped, already flipping through a book at lightning speed.

Ludmilla let down her chalk, and grinned.

“Elias, find any relevant volumes.”

“Roger!”

“Otto, run all the mana tests you can.”

“Hm… On it.”

“Clara, study its make from up close. Find anything its build can tell us.”

“Aye aye!”

“Nina, please keep all their findings in order.”

“Of course.”

Ludmilla turned to Flint and the others, her grin lighting up.

“Our research begins now.”

Flint looked around the room as the department sprang into action around him. Books were already being pulled from shelves while Otto busied himself setting up an assortment of strange instruments, and Elias had somehow disappeared halfway beneath another towering stack of records.

Clara, meanwhile, was already wearing a pair of oversized protective goggles.

Flint couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ve never seen people so excited to read.”

Then it hit him.

“Uh, actually there’s something I forgot.”

Everyone turned around, completely in sync.

“The Elder in my village said the blade is what attracted the undead that day…”

Elias’ books dropped to the floor. Otto blinked more times than necessary.

“Kid…” Murry sighed, “You should have started with that.”