When Esper left, Gerd gave her some supplies and pointed out a safe shortcut, allowing her to quickly reach Avalon.
As the capital of the Storm Empire, Avalon's gates were much taller than Esper had imagined.
Massive off-white stones were piled to form an arched gateway, with glowing veins of magic ore embedded in the crevices, shimmering with a faint blue light under the overcast winter sky.
Four fully armored guards stood on each side of the gate, their silver breastplates engraved with the thunder crest of the Pendragon royal family. The tips of their longswords reflected cold white specks of light in the grey gloom.
The queue to enter the city stretched for nearly half a mile.
Caravans of carriages, mounted adventurers, travelers on foot, and vendors pushing handcarts—everyone was surging in the same direction.
Esper was sandwiched in the middle of the crowd. She pulled her collar tight and kept her human-like eyes lowered, doing her best to avoid eye contact with anyone.
The guards at the gate were checking the identities of those entering one by one.
When it was her turn, a young guard sized her up.
“Name.”
“...Esper.”
“Where are you from?”
“The east. Plains of Holy Remains.”
“Purpose of entry?”
Esper's lips twitched.
“...To see the spectacle.”
The guard's lips twitched slightly, probably finding the answer overly candid. But he didn't ask further questions, scribbling a few lines in his ledger before stepping aside to let her through.
“Don't cause trouble in the plaza. It's crowded lately, and the Holy Spirit Knights are in a bad mood.”
Avalon's main street was more than ten times wider than the highway on the Plains of Holy Remains.
Taverns, blacksmith shops, apothecary stores, branches of the Adventurer's Guild... a noisy clamor of voices and a wave of heat mixed with various odors spilled from every doorway.
There were too many people.
Esper had never seen so many humans gathered in one place.
The market in Maple Town felt like a roadside stall at a village entrance compared to this. Swept along by the crowd, her shoulders were constantly brushed, bumped, and jostled; every point of contact made her instinctively shrink back.
She was neither used to nor fond of such dense physical contact. The body heat of strangers seeping through her clothes made her feel nauseous.
People were flocking to the palace plaza.
The plaza was at the end of the main street, a vast open space paved with white marble.
A squad of Holy Spirit Knights stood at each of the four corners.
They wore silver-white full armor and carried longswords engraved with varying numbers of stigmata depending on their rank. Their helmets, carved in the likeness of different holy spirits, emitted a faint luster of willpower under the light.
And in the very center of the plaza...
Esper's footsteps stopped.
A sword.
It was stuck in a black rock, with most of its blade submerged, leaving only the hilt and a small section of the blade exposed. The design of the hilt was unexpectedly simple—nothing more than a polished, smooth metal grip.
The exposed blade did not reflect the grey light, its surface covered with a faint, mist-like grey halo.
“...It's not of the holy attribute?”
Esper muttered to herself.
For some reason, the intense revulsion and instinctive fear of holy light she usually felt from the Holy Spirit Knights were completely absent when she looked at this sword.
“...Whatever.”
A cordon of iron chains was set up around the black rock, and a crowd of people packed the area outside the boundary.
Inside the cordon, a man in full armor was gripping the hilt with both hands. His face was flushed red, the veins on his neck bulged, and his feet were braced against the surface of the black rock as he leaned back, straining with all his might.
The sword remained completely still.
The onlookers erupted into jeers and laughter.
“Another one.”
“Looking at that armor, he must be at least a knight, right?”
“Even a knight is useless. Yesterday, those adventurers pulled so hard they almost threw their backs out.”
“The Church said it's not a matter of strength. It's about worthiness.”
Worthiness.
What kind of worthiness?
She turned her head, her gaze landing on a middle-aged man carrying a large pack nearby.
“...Excuse me, could I ask you something?”
The middle-aged man looked down at her.
“Hmm?”
“The Holy Sword choosing its master... are there any requirements?”
“Requirements?” The middle-aged man scratched the back of his head. “The Church's announcement made it sound pretty mystical—someone with justice in their heart, bearing a mission, and fighting for the continent. It's just the usual spiel anyway.”
“What about specifics? Are there any racial restrictions? Or rank requirements?”
“They didn't mention race. All kinds of people have come to try—mostly humans, quite a few demi-humans, and even a few dwarves. Yesterday, a dark elf sneaked in but was driven away by the Holy Spirit Knights. As for ranks, people of all levels have tried.”
The middle-aged man gestured with his chin toward the center of the plaza. The armored knight had already given up, resting his hands on his knees as he panted heavily, his expression looking as if he had been publicly humiliated.
“Look, that one is Rank Three, just a common apprentice knight. The day before yesterday, a Rank Six Named Knight came and pulled for ages, but the sword didn't even budge.”
“...Even Rank Six couldn't do it.”
“It's not a matter of rank. There's a cardinal over there who says the Holy Sword doesn't recognize strength, but something else. A while ago, a young man managed to pull it out just a tiny bit, but it slipped right back in immediately.”
Esper shifted her gaze from the sword to a temporary high platform on the east side of the plaza.
Several people were seated on the platform. It was too far to make out their faces, but their white and gold robes shimmered softly in the grey light.
“Are those the cardinals sitting up there?”
“Yeah. It's said His Holiness the Pope occasionally comes to watch too. But he doesn't seem to be here today; some say his seat is empty.”
Esper's gaze lingered on the platform for two seconds before she withdrew it.
She looked back at the sword in the center of the plaza.
The grey halo flowed slowly across the surface of the blade like a living mist. The surface of the black rock had been touched, kicked, and struck by countless hands, yet not a single scratch remained.
The sword meant to defeat the Demon King.
If someone actually pulls it out...
Esper's fingers tightened at her sides.
She was just thinking that if someone pulled it out, she would have to go and tell Fina.
She was in danger; she might get hurt.
But...
The scene from the corridor that day welled up from the depths of her memory.
Silver-white hair scattered in the darkness, and something shattered was seeping out from those crimson pupils.
“Get out.”
“Get out!”
—She was superfluous. Once the Hero appeared, someone would naturally tell Fina.
They would use channels she didn't possess to tell her everything, whether she knew it or not.
—Right in front of Fina.
Esper swallowed hard, forcing those memories back down.
“...One more question.”
The middle-aged man was already rummaging for the water canteen at his waist, but he looked up at her words.
“Is there a limit to the number of times you can try to draw the sword? Can the same person try a second time?”
“No limit. You can try as many times as you want. There was a madman who tried for three consecutive days and was eventually dragged away by the Holy Spirit Knights. Not because he broke any rules, but because he refused to stop even after his hands were bleeding from the friction.”
“...Thanks.”
Esper backed out of the crowd and leaned against a stone pillar at the edge of the plaza. The surface of the stone was icy, the chill seeping through the fabric of her coat into the skin of her back.
Leaning against the pillar, she gazed at the sword wrapped in the grey halo in the center of the plaza.
Another challenger stepped inside the cordon. It was a young female adventurer with short brown hair tied in a ponytail, a guild badge of at least B-rank pinned to her leather armor.
She gripped the hilt with both hands, took a deep breath, and pulled upward.
The sword didn't budge.
The female adventurer changed her posture, bracing one foot against the rock and leaning her entire body weight backward, the muscles in her arms tightening like ropes.
Still, it didn't move.
The onlookers jeered again. The female adventurer let go, shook her numb fingers, shrugged, and walked out of the cordon. Her expression was quite calm; she probably hadn't expected much from the start.
Even budging the sword by a mere fraction would have been enough to boast about.
Esper stared at the sword.
Justice? Mission? Fighting for the continent?
She lowered her head, looking at her empty hands. No sword.
No transit token. No family name. No blood covenant.
A vampire fugitive who had been banished by her best friend, used by her sister, and had to make up a name on the spot.
She had absolutely nothing to do with justice or missions.
Esper rested the back of her head against the stone pillar and cast her gaze toward the greyish-white sky. The low-hanging clouds pressed down on the spires of Avalon like a massive, sodden grey blanket.
The clamor of the plaza surged in from all directions—voices, laughter, jeers, the clatter of iron armor, the cries of vendors. All of it blended into a blur of meaningless noise.
The copper hairpin on the right side of her hair swayed gently in the wind.
“...What are you doing right now?”
...
Childhood refers to the period of youth.
Some define youth by a small body, while others define it by a fragile heart.
For the vast majority of people, childhood ends at the age of twelve. They welcome new environments, meet new people, and embark on new journeys.
For an individual, that is the beginning of a new life.
Lonia's childhood ended at the age of seventeen.
Rate on N.U.
