So… We’re Right Where We Started?

Berthram’s final warning had changed the nature of the Academy’s research.

“This blade is what drew the undead here.”

If the Elder had been right, then every day Flint remained in Celeste was another day the kingdom’s greatest center of learning stood in danger, and nobody in the department seemed willing to leave that possibility unanswered.

Within days, their investigation had settled into something resembling a routine.

Or rather, everyone else’s had.

Flint still wasn’t entirely sure what was happening.

“…Again.”

Ludmilla adjusted her glasses as she glanced over the increasingly crowded notes before her.

“When exactly did the voice first speak?”

Flint took a moment to think back.

“…After my blood touched the sword.”

Nina’s quill scratched across the page as she underlined something in her notes.

“Not when he found it, then. The first response came after blood contact.”

“Good.” Ludmilla added another note of her own before continuing. “And the dreams? Can you describe them again?”

“They’re always similar,” Flint explained, struggling to put the sensation into words. “It feels like I’ve arrived halfway through something, like I missed the beginning.”

Otto finally looked up from his notebook.

“…Memories.”

The suggestion drew every eye in the room toward him, although Otto seemed considerably less certain once he realized everyone was waiting for an explanation.

“…Probably.”

Flint almost laughed, only for the mention of the dreams to remind him of something he had somehow neglected to tell them.

“Actually… the Abbot at the monastery dreamed of the Bloodblade too. Once, when he was younger than me.”

That brought Ludmilla’s quill to an immediate stop.

“Before he had ever seen it?”

Flint nodded, prompting a brief glance between Ludmilla and Nina.

“Then the dreams may not originate with Flint,” Nina murmured.

Ludmilla was already adding the possibility to her notes when Clara practically bounced toward the table.

“Again!”

Flint sighed good-naturedly.

“…Alright.”

The moment he wrapped his hand around the hilt, crimson light spread through the openings in the sheath, immediately drawing Clara close enough that her nose nearly touched it.

“…Pretty…”

Ludmilla caught the back of her hood and pulled her away.

“Please don’t sniff the cursed artifact.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You absolutely were.”

“Smell is one of the strongest senses…”

At the opposite end of the table, Nina prepared a small vial and asked Flint to roll up his sleeve, explaining that if his blood had been what first awakened the Bloodblade, then it was worth examining on its own.

Flint reluctantly offered his arm.

“Does it matter that I was bitten by an undead before I found it?”

Nina's hands stopped.

“You were… bitten?”

“Yeah. The Bloodblade healed it.”

Ludmilla slowly looked up from her notes. She was already past the point where she chastised Flint for omitting crucial information from them.

“We're testing that too.”

Flint eyed the vial as Nina drew the sample. “You think my blood could be useful?”

“I think we know far too little to assume anything,” Nina replied, holding it toward the light.

The investigation quickly spread across the entire department. Elias disappeared between the shelves in search of increasingly obscure references, occasionally shouting a promising discovery across the room only for it to lead nowhere, while Otto worked his way through an assortment of mana crystals that stubbornly refused to react to the Bloodblade.

“No elemental mana, no divine mana, and no detectable curse signature…” Otto murmured, staring at the perfectly clear crystal in his hand. “…Interesting.”

Ludmilla looked over, pinching her nose in resignation.

"Then why would the undead follow it?”

Flint frowned.

“Maybe because… they know what it is?”

Ludmilla stopped.

“Explain.”

“One of the Undead Lords recognized the Bloodblade without me telling him.”

Her expression tightened.

“Then we have two possibilities. Either the weapon attracts them…”

Nina finished quietly.

“…or they’re searching for it.”

The possibility was apparently enough for Ludmilla to pull the Academy's original blueprints from another stack, determined to catalogue every entrance and exit in case their new guests proved less welcome than expected.

Nina looked over her shoulder. “The academy layout plans?”

Murry raised an eyebrow. “You're planning escape routes now?”

“Contingencies. In case our guests attract more attention than necessary.”

He decided not to question it.

The Academy had insisted their guests remain in the student dormitories for as long as the investigation continued.

Flint had expected something resembling the various inns they’ve stayed at.

“If you told me I’d be sleeping in an academy bunk bed...”

Murry looked around their shared room.

“I would have called you paranoid.”

Isla laughed as she walked to the bathroom.

“They even have running water!”

“…That’s what impressed you?”

However not everyone spent their days inside the research room.

“…Like this?”

Isla slowly traced another healing circle across parchment.

The elderly professor smiled.

“A little smoother.”

The glowing lines immediately became steadier.

“…Excellent.”

Isla smiled.

“I see…”

Isla had always dreamed of attending classes at the Grand Academy, so when Ludmilla practically ordered her to take advantage of the opportunity while the researchers buried themselves in the archives, she needed little convincing. Healing magic remained her favorite subject, though before long she had begun slipping into whatever lectures caught her interest.

“The commander’s choice saved thousands of lives in exchange for a small troop of soldiers…”

Isla scribbled the point down with surprising urgency. She had no idea whether military strategy would ever prove useful on their journey, but that had never stopped her from learning something before.

“Only a small troop?” Sir Roland muttered.

Murry, meanwhile, had little else to do besides talk about the good old days.

“How long did you serve for?”

“A few years… not much.”

Sir Roland smiled.

“You ever thought of coming back?”

“Not in the near future.”

Later that evening…

“Enough work!”

Clara suddenly clapped her hands together.

“We’re taking a break.”

Ludmilla didn’t even look up from her notes.

“We are in the middle of one.”

“No, we aren’t.”

Before anyone could argue, Clara had already seized Isla by the wrist and begun pulling her toward the door.

“Come on!”

Flint watched them go before hurrying after her.

“…Where exactly are we going?”

“To eat!”

By evening, Celeste had traded much of its daytime tranquility for a livelier kind of warmth. Lanterns illuminated the stone streets as students crowded into cafés after their lectures, filling the outdoor tables with conversation over steaming drinks while the occasional street vendor called out to those passing by.

Clara led them through it all with the confidence of someone who already knew exactly where she was going, eventually stopping before a small stand tucked along one of the busier streets.

“Five honey crepes!”

The elderly owner greeted her with a familiar smile.

“The usual?”

“Yep!”

His attention shifted toward Ludmilla.

“And yours?”

“The apple crepe. Light cinnamon, double cream, extra roasted almonds.”

The owner nodded without bothering to write any of it down.

“As always.”

Murry raised an eyebrow.

“…How often do you come here?”

“Often enough.”

Once everyone had been served, Flint accepted his crepe with both hands and examined the unfamiliar dessert before taking a careful bite.

His eyes widened.

“…This is amazing.”

Clara beamed.

“I know!”

Flint took another bite, still looking strangely fascinated by the whole concept of eating while walking.

“Isla, do you think the villagers would believe us if we told them about this?”

Isla smiled wryly.

“I think we have much more unbelievable topics to discuss with them, than crepes…”

𓌏

By the time they gathered again, the research room looked worse than ever. Books covered the floor, maps had swallowed entire sections of wall, and Elias had somehow fallen asleep across two enormous volumes while Otto continued muttering over yet another failed test.

For all the material they had gathered, however, the answers remained frustratingly scarce. Every surviving account pointed toward some variation of a crimson sword, yet none explained the sacrifice, the dreams, what the weapon had done to Flint, or why the undead seemed to recognize it.

Ludmilla leaned back against the table, studying the accumulated notes.

“We know what the Bloodblade can do. Yet, we still don’t know why.”

Nina glanced toward Flint’s blood sample. It had come out as clear and nornal as any other.

“Or what it did to him.”

Elias lifted his head from the books. “And history isn’t giving us anything else.”

Flint scratched his cheek.

“So… we’re right where we started?”

Sir Roland smiled.

“Right when you think you’re stumped. That’s when everything eventually clicks.”

Ludmilla tapped her chin.

“Maybe if we had more activation instances we’d know if the dreams intensified or not…”

“Sorry I…” Flint scratched his cheek, “I don’t like to rely on it.”

There had been a time when Flint genuinely believed he would never draw the Bloodblade again, though life had already proven how little such promises mattered when someone needed saving. His reluctance seemed to drain the conversation from the room, leaving even Sir Roland without anything to add.

“Given the price it has… it’s understandable.” Clara nodded.

Ludmilla let out a slow breath before closing another notebook.

“…We’ve learned a great deal.”

She looked toward the sheathed Bloodblade resting upon the table.

“But the questions that matter most remain unanswered.”

Nina quietly gathered the scattered notes into neat piles.

“I believe we reached the limits of what this room can teach us.”

Silence settled over the department.

For the first time since Flint had arrived nobody knew what the next step was.

Elias suddenly went still.

“…Wait.”

Something in the accumulated notes had clearly triggered a memory, because he was out of his chair a moment later and disappearing into the archives, muttering frantically as books began sliding from the shelves.

“I know I’ve seen it…”

Ludmilla watched the growing pile with concern.

“…Elias?”

“FOUND IT!”

He emerged triumphantly with a weathered leather ledger almost as large as his torso and dropped it onto the table in a cloud of dust.

“I knew it!”

Ludmilla immediately opened the ledger, drawing everyone closer as she carefully skimmed through its brittle pages.

“This was recorded three months before the Fall of Astra…”

Her finger followed the faded writing until something caught her attention.

“…His Majesty departed the capital aboard the royal flagship.”

She turned the page and continued reading.

“…Destination omitted.”

Murry frowned.

“Omitted?”

Ludmilla nodded.

“He returmed six days later.”

She turned one final page.

“…No further royal journeys were ever recorded.”

Silence.

“So the king went on a trip?” Flint asked.

Elias looked as though he might explode.

“The Last King almost never left Astra!”

Elias hurried around the table and carefully pulled a faded sea chart from a sleeve inside the ledger’s back cover.

“This was filed with the expedition record.”

He unfolded it across the table. Most of the ink had faded with age, but one route had been marked by hand, stretching far beyond the kingdom’s usual shipping lanes before ending at a tiny island alone in the open ocean.

No settlements or ports were marked anywhere along its shores.

There was only a name.

Farstar Isle.

Elias pointed to it excitedly.

“This is the only undocumented royal expedition in the King’s entire reign!”

Murry leaned over the chart.

“…Farstar?”

Nina frowned. “That island has been uninhabited for generations. There’s nothing there.”

“Exactly!” Elias tapped the map. “It lies far beyond the kingdom’s usual sailing routes. No settlements, no port, nothing of strategic value.”

Ludmilla’s eyes narrowed.

“…Then why would the King go there?”

Nobody had an answer.

Ludmilla stared at the marked route for several moments before her attention returned to the ledger.

“The Bloodblade is connected to the Crimson Gate.”

She looked toward Flint.

“And now we know it’s connected to the Last King.”

Her eyes returned to Farstar.

“If there is any place outside Astra that still preserves what happened… this would be my first choice.”

Murry scratched his beard.

“You’re telling me the best lead we’ve found all week is an island the King secretly visited once?”

Ludmilla closed the ledger with a quiet thud.

“Our best lead is that three months before Astra fell, a king who almost never left his capital sailed beyond the kingdom’s usual routes to an uninhabited island.”

She tapped the expedition record.

“And someone made sure his destination never appeared in the official records.”

For a moment, nobody spoke, not even Otto, until Sir Roland finally broke the silence with a thoughtful glance toward the map.

“…Interesting.”

“It seems we’re not done travelling just yet.” Isla said longingly, almost relieved.

“Did you have any doubt?” Murry raised his brows.

Elias closed his notes shut with a thud.

“I think this… this truly is as far as we can learn.”

Silence settled over the room as the excitement of finding a lead slowly gave way to the reality of what came next. For a researcher, discovering where the answers might lie was one thing; having those answers suddenly placed far beyond the walls of Celeste was another.

Flint understood the feeling, though for an entirely different reason. As comfortable as the Academy had become, he knew he couldn’t remain there much longer—not with Berthram’s warning still hanging over him and every day spent in one place feeling like another turn of a ticking clock.