Chapter 36:

The Weapon Was Never The Trial

Undead Blade: The Crimson Gate & The Last Swordsman

The instant the Bloodblade left its sheath, the ground beneath Flint’s feet exploded apart as he surged forward, a blur of crimson cutting straight through the morning air.

Kemal’s eyes widened.

Fast.

No…

Not merely fast.

Different.

CLANG!

The Bloodblade crashed against the Hero Knight’s lance, sparks erupting between red steel as the shockwave rippled across the cliffside.

The moment their weapons separated, Flint attacked again, each swing flowing seamlessly into the next as Kemal blocked, pivoted and countered. Yet every time the Hero Knight managed to create distance, Flint had already crossed it, his boots barely touching the earth before the Bloodblade carried him forward again.

There was no wasted movement. No hesitation. Not even a single unnecessary breath.

The Bloodblade had always known how to fight. For the first time, Flint simply let it.

Not because every doubt had disappeared, but because he had finally chosen despite them.

For the first time, Flint wasn’t fighting against the Bloodblade’s pull. They moved with a single purpose, like they had always belonged together.

“…I see.”

Kemal smiled.

“So that’s how you want it to be.”

The crimson crystal set into Kemal’s lance flared, thin red lines racing down the shaft as power gathered around the weapon.

Then he was gone.

BOOM.

The lance shot for Flint’s chest. He twisted aside just in time, the blade tearing through Berthram’s coat and cutting deeper across his already wounded ribs before Flint’s counter forced Kemal back for the first time.

“Impressive.”

Kemal steadied his lance.

“And precisely why I cannot allow you to keep that sword.”

The Hero Knight drove forward, and the clearing vanished beneath a frenzy of crimson steel. Their weapons collided hard enough to send cracks through the stone underfoot, each impact carrying across the valley as neither man gave an inch.

No one dared interfere. The duel had become too fast, too violent, too tightly wound for anyone else to step between them without being cut down in the process.

Kemal fought with the discipline of someone who had spent years perfecting every motion. His thrusts were precise, his feints purposeful, his footing never wasted.

Flint had none of that. He was raw, abrupt and impossible to read, every attack coming from somewhere Kemal didn’t expect.

No one could say which was more impressive. Kemal keeping up with the legendary Bloodblade? Or that the Bloodblade pushed back against an experienced Hero Knight?

Kemal’s lance swept low but Flint vaulted over it, the Bloodblade carving downward immediately after.

Kemal caught it upon the shaft of his lance before twisting his wrists, redirecting the slash past his shoulder.

A kick crashed into Flint’s stomach.

The young woodcutter slid several paces backward before digging the Bloodblade into the earth, stopping himself in a shower of dirt.

He looked up, eyes locking with Kemal’s before charging again.

“…Impossible.”

Kemal whispered, his crimson eyes narrowing. Every exchange should have been slowing Flint down. His wounds should have been worsening, his breathing heavier, his movements less certain.

Instead, the opposite was happening.

Every strike came sharper than the last, every decision faster.

Flint slipped beneath another thrust and drove his shoulder into Kemal’s chest, forcing the Hero Knight back half a step.

Half a step was enough.

Years of swinging an axe had taught Flint one thing. No tree fell from the first blow. You kept striking until the weakness finally gave way.

Kemal recovered instantly, spinning his lance toward Flint’s neck.

But Flint stepped inside the sweep of the lance instead, before Kemal could recover the distance. For the first time, the Hero Knight’s eyes widened.

Flint drove the Bloodblade forward.

The crimson blade punched through silver armor and buried itself straight through Kemal’s heart, carrying Flint in close until they stood almost face to face.

Kemal went still.

His grip slowly loosened around the lance as he stared down at the blade lodged through him.

“…How…” Blood slipped from Kemal’s lips as his knees began to buckle. His crimson eyes searched Flint’s face, only inches from his own, while the lance slowly slipped from his grasp.

“…How can an ordinary person… defeat a hero?”

Flint pulled the Bloodblade free and watched Kemal sink to his knees. There was no satisfaction in his face, only the quiet recognition of someone who finally understood what had brought them here.

“…That’s where you’re wrong.”

The morning breeze carried his words across the silent cliffside.

“Heroes aren’t exceptional people.”

Kemal’s fading eyes trembled as Flint let the arm that wielded the Bloodblade loose.

“They’re ordinary people…”

He thought of Berthram.

Furielle.

Murry.

Isla.

Ludmilla.

Every stranger he had ever helped.

“…who keep making exceptional choices.”

Kemal stared at him in silence. For the first time, the Hero Knight had nothing to say.

“…Sir Kemal…” Flint swallowed, “thank you for saving the caravan yesterday.”

“Damn you…”

Kemal gritted his teeth.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

“Damn you…”

His eyes finally closed, his tight jaw loosening.

“Sir Kemal!” Katarina rushed to his side at once, weapon abandoned in the dirt.

She caught him before he could collapse completely, crimson blood immediately dyeing the polished silver of her gauntlets.

“…Sir…”

Her hands pressed desperately against the wound.

“It’ll be alright.”

But the man didn’t answer her reassurance.

“Kemal…”

Her voice trembled for the very first time.

“...Healer!”

The shout echoed across the cliffside.

“HEALER!”

Several Hero Guards immediately broke formation, sprinting toward their fallen leader without a moment’s hesitation. One knelt beside Katarina, fingers pressing against Kemal’s neck before slowly lowering his head.

“Captain…”

Katarina shook her head sharply.

“Again!”

The guard hesitated.

“…Captain—”

“I SAID CHECK AGAIN!”

The Hero Guard obeyed, checking Kemal once more, but after another futile search for a pulse, the truth became impossible to deny. Around them, the remaining guards slowly lowered their weapons as the fight finally came to an end.

Katarina closed Kemal’s eyes with trembling fingers before rising to her feet.

“…Bring a stretcher.”

Nobody argued.

Four Hero Guards immediately removed their cloaks, quickly fashioning an improvised stretcher before carefully lifting the Hero Knight’s body onto it.

Katarina picked up Kemal’s crimson lance and stood there for a long moment, staring at Flint with a look caught somewhere between anger, grief and disbelief.

“…Fall back.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“We return to Magnis.”

The remaining Hero Guards silently formed around the stretcher, shields facing outward more out of instinct than necessity. There were no threats or attempts to continue the fight. The guards simply closed ranks around their fallen commander.

As they disappeared down the mountain path, Katarina glanced back one last time.

Her silver eyes briefly met Flint’s.

“This isn’t over.”

Within moments the sound of marching boots faded into the morning wind, silence reclaiming the cliff eerily fast.

For the first time since dawn only Flint and his companions remained on the cliffside, as if it were just another morning.

Flint exhaled, as the sword returned to its sheath.

“FLIIIIINT!” With snot all over her face, Furielle tackled him with all her weight.

“Woah!”

“You did it! You actually did iiit!”

Flint smiled as the rest of his friends approached.

“I’m so… glad.” Isla wiped away her tears, unable to hold them back any longer, “That you’re safe.”

Flint’s smile deepened.

“I came back.”

Isla’s lips trembled before curving into a tearful smile.

“…You did.”

“You have a surprisingly sturdy build.” Ludmilla remarked, “It was only natural that you’d be able to come back from a fall like that.”

She looked at him sideways, offering a smile. Yet it was evident she was holding back much more relief than she let on.

“It’s good that you’re back.”

“Thanks… everyone.” Flint exhaled in relief, “I don’t know what to say.”

Murry laughed.

“No need to say anything, kid. You saved all our asses a dozen times. It’s only natural we’d repay the favour by believing in you.”

Ludmilla made a face.

“Emotional speeches do not suit you…”

“I wasn’t being emotional!”

“Are those tears…” Furielle sniffled, “I see?”

“Like you’re one to talk!”

“Now, now…” Isla tried to calm them down, hands raised between them.

Murry sighed deeply.

“Kid, you do realize you just offed one of the highest military officers in the kingdom, right?”

A cold breeze swept across the field.

“Right?!”

Furielle blinked.

“Oops.”

“That sounds bad…” Flint frowned.

“That’s because it is…” Isla sighed as Ludmilla was already flipping through her notes.

“I don’t believe I have any trustworthy citation regarding fugitive status.”

“We need to kick rocks, and fast.” Murry winced as he rolled his shoulder. “But first, some healing would be good right about now.”

“Right! Me too!”

“Alright, alright. Line up, everyone.”

The party walked ahead, while Flint’s feet remained rooted on the spot.

He focused his mind on the Bloodblade for just a second, but it was just enough.

Its words echoed in his mind once again.

The weapon was never the trial.

Flint smiled faintly, overlooking the valley.

“I know now… It was me.”

Judgment has been rendered. The bearer has chosen.

Flint didn’t know what to say in response.

He simply smiled, and let go of the blade. Suddenly, the ache from all the cuts in his body dragged him down all at once.

“—GAH!”

“Hm?” Furielle turned curiously to see Flint sprawled on the grass.

“GUYS! FLINT IS—“

“Flint!”

Isla was the first to rush to his side.

“Who the hell let the guy who fell off a cliff without medical attention?!”

“That would be you.” Ludmilla said, crouching next to the woodcutter, checking for a pulse.

She smiled in relief.

“Isla… Please tell me…”

Flint groaned, as her hands hovered over him already casting their blue healing glow.

“Don’t worry Flint! You’ll be alright! I’ll—“

“…Can you fix the coat? It's full of holes now…”

Isla stopped healing for a moment, her face dropping into an exasperated scowl.

“…That’s what you’re worried about?”

🗡

In the new capital of the kingdom, Magnis, the High Council had gathered for an emergency meeting.

The messenger could barely keep his voice steady as he spoke.

“Hero Knight Kemal… has been slain.”

Gasps erupted around the council circle.

“Preposterous!”

“Lady Katarina has confirmed…”

The messenger lowered his head.

“It was a young woodcutter who goes by the name of Flint…”

The messenger cleared his throat.

“He’s travelling together with 4 more companions.”

🗡

Within days, the same wanted poster appeared across every major port and city in the kingdom.

WANTED

FLINT

The sketch wasn’t exactly accurate… but it wasn’t too far from the real person either.

As far as Flint was concerned… he believed the former.

“…My nose isn’t that big.”

Murry snorted.

“Kid… the kingdom wants your head.”

Furielle giggled.

“It does make you look older.”

“It makes him look… severely constipated.” Ludmilla observed.

“…That’s enough now.”

Even Isla barely held back a laugh.

The five of them continued down the road together, hoods obscuring their faces.

Ahead the world stretched farther than ever before.

Somewhere beyond the mountains, beyond the ocean…

The secrets of the Crimson Gate awaited.

But before that there would always be another town.

Another mystery.

Another life to save.

Flint instinctively laid his hand on top of the Bloodblade.

Not because he despised it anymore. Because he had finally accepted its burden.

The Hero Knight had been wrong.

The Bloodblade had been wrong.

Even Flint…

Had been wrong.

A hero was never defined by the weapon he carried.

Only…

By the choices he made.

And now that the people around him saw him as a hero…

And Flint had finally understood why…

He didn’t have to fight against doubt. He didn’t have to justify the title with impossible victories.

It had taken Flint painfully long to understand that heroism never had one simple answer.

To some, a hero was the person who protected them. To others, it was the person who stayed beside them when they couldn’t move forward alone. For others still, it was someone who could fall, fail, and find the strength to stand again.

Everyone carried their own idea of what a hero should be.

Flint didn’t need to chase some impossible ideal that would satisfy them all. He only needed to decide what heroism meant to him—and keep choosing it, again and again.

To step forward.

To protect.

…and to return safely.

He looked toward the distant horizon.

Beyond it lay answers.

How did the Crimson Gate appear?

Who had forged the Bloodblade?

Could the undead apocalypse truly be stopped?

He didn’t know.

Not yet.

But for the first time since leaving his village…

He truly believed he’d find them.