Demons – Part 04
When she lifted her head, she found herself in a vast space filled with the familiar scent of charcoal. Furnaces lined the walls, spewing flames that made the air stifling and hot. A dark workshop, its walls blackened by soot.
The craftsmen had all stopped working to stare at her. Dozens of eyes, cold and glaring, were fixed on her, but Lisa didn’t flinch.
I should have done this yesterday.
Just like Luke had done the day before, Lisa dropped to both knees, bent forward, and pressed her forehead to the hard ground.
“Please, help us!”
She could feel the stunned silence ripple through the room like a breeze across her skin. Lisa kept her head down.
“We have no choice but to move forward. Please, I beg you. Lend us your strength. I’m begging you! Please!”
She felt someone kneel beside her, mirroring her position. She knew who it was without looking.
“Raise your head.”
Lisa slowly lifted her gaze, as did Luke.
Before them stood the elderly gray-haired man from yesterday. His face was twisted in a grimace, and his gaze was hard.
“You might not know this,” he strained, “but our techniques are stolen. Whether we want to admit it or not, there’s no doubt we stole them.” His eyes flicked to Luke. “A long time ago, your ancestor—a blacksmith—had techniques that our ancestor took for themselves.”
“…”
“So, you don’t have to bow to us like that. We don’t deserve it.”
“I don’t care,” Luke interrupted.
A heavy silence hung in the air. While the craftsmen were struck speechless, Luke went on.
“Sorry, but I’m not old enough to get hung up on traditions or schools of thought. Honestly, I don’t even feel anything about you stealing stuff. Hell, I’m more curious why anyone would cling to something so trivial.” He paused. “As fellow swordsmiths, you should know it all too well. The beauty of a blade, its presence, its sharpness. That sheer thrill when you forge something better than you imagined. You know that feeling. It’s in your hands, in your bones. You’ve experienced that moment when you forget about all that petty pride. I want to forge the greatest katana there ever is, a Sacred Sword. I have to. So, please, drop these pointless obsessions.”
He bowed his head again. For the third time. “Please. I need your help.”
Lisa followed his lead and lowered her head too. The silence stretched on.
“You sure have a lot of nerve,” a tired voice grumbled. The master’s face softened just slightly. “Get up. We’ll give you our craft. We’ll return it. Everything.”
Around her, Lisa saw the craftsmen shrugging, scratching their heads. But what they all shared was a sense of relief, as though a weight had been lifted from their shoulders.
“Thank you.”
Luke gave his thanks before turning to Lisa. She smiled back at him, the urge to cry bubbling up, but she held it in.
“I won’t stop you.”
If Luke wanted to lose everything—even at the cost of his soul—she wouldn’t stand in his way.
“I won’t stop you, but I will be your eyes.” If he lost vision on his right eye, she still had hers to offer. “My eye is yours.”
It might not help much, but it was all she had.
“You can borrow them anytime.”
Luke stared at her for a while, before nodding. At last, she couldn’t control herself anymore. Tears started falling.
She realized then that this was why she was created.
Her body was made up of many things—Aetheria, Liza Oakwood’s flesh, Valbanill’s blood, the remnants of Luke’s first katana. And Luke Ainsworth’s left eye.
Lisa hated her hybrid body. It disgusted her, but she couldn’t bring herself to despise it entirely. She couldn’t even bring herself to harm it. How could she, when part of it had once been Liza’s? She was helpless, torn.
But now there was one thing… one thing she could accept.
The fact that, even by accident, she had absorbed Luke’s left eye. As long as it remained within her, that eye would never lose its light.
It would continue to shine through Lisa, the demon, as long as she lived.
“I will be your eyes.”
That left eye had always been meant for this.
The time for dinner arrived, and the meeting for the day came to a close.
Everyone looked drained. The discussions had gone in circles, with no real conclusions, but Zenobia was determined to continue tomorrow.
“The fate of the continent is at stake,” she said. “At the very least, I want to relay all of the Militant Nation’s plans to the Independent Trade City.”
With that, the meeting adjourned, and the group shuffled out of the conference room.
“Lady Zenobia.” Cecily rushed to catch up. “There’s something I’d like to ask.”
“Hmm? If it’s something I can answer, feel free to ask.”
Cecily hesitated for a moment before pushing forward. “It’s about the role of House Campbell in the Valbanill Campaign. If you know anything, could you tell me about it?”
It had been on her mind for some time. Back in summer, during a conference in the Independent Trade City, Cecily had learned that her family had a role to play. It was the first time she’d heard of it. Afterward, she tried asking Hannibal and her mother, Lucy Campbell, but they’d avoided the topic entirely.
Zenobia raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You don’t know? Didn’t your father tell you?”
“No. My family just said, ‘You’ll understand eventually.’ Maybe my father meant to tell me, but he passed away suddenly from an illness before he had the chance. No, I think he intended to carry out the task himself.”
“I see. I heard your father was suffering from the aftereffects. He couldn’t have done anything about it.”
Cecily’s eyes widened. What did she mean by aftereffects?
Zenobia furrowed her brow. “You didn’t know that either? This was quite a while ago, but do you know that an expedition was carried out to reinforce Valbanill’s seal? It was meant to delay the breaking of the seal as much as possible.”
Cecily almost shook her head, but then it clicked. Now that she thought about it, didn’t Siegfried mention something like that at the ball?
“Did you know that the first Housman once tried to reinforce Valbanill’s seal? That he failed? Do you know what became of those who went with him?”
Seeing Cecily’s silence, Zenobia continued. “Those who went on the expedition included the first Housman, Hannibal Quasar, a renowned survivor of the Valbanill War, and other representatives from across the continent. And among them was your father, Cecily Campbell.”
“He was?”
“Though I don’t know all the details, I do know that the expedition failed. And…” Zenobia hesitated, then added, “…it seems your father suffered some kind of aftereffects. I don’t know exactly what they were.”
For Cecily, it came as a total shock. Her father’s death was so sudden. One day, he was doing his usual routine, and the next, he was gone, never waking up. The doctor’s diagnosis said it was a rare illness, but Cecily didn’t notice any signs. Her father had always been strict, rarely smiling, but that was just because he held himself to a high standard. He was nice to his family, showing the same affection to her and her mother the day before his death. He was a proud man, the kind of father Cecily had always admired.
But she’d never questioned his death. The day after the funeral, she was assigned to the Knight Guard and was subsequently consumed by her duties.
To think that Valbanill could have had something to do with his death.
“Since you didn’t know about your family’s role, it might be that those around you have been waiting for the right moment to tell you. They’ve probably been trying to protect you.” Zenobia took her hand. “One day, those close to you will speak of it. It’s not for me to say. Is that acceptable?”
Cecily couldn’t quite process everything, but she nodded.
Her father’s true cause of death. The expedition to reinforce Valbanill’s seal. The role of House Campbell.
When would she ever learn about these things?
“Ah, I just thought of something,” Zenobia said with a wide grin. “When you’ve really run out of patience, say these words. They might just slip up and say something.”
“Wh-What words?”
Zenobia dropped her voice low and whispered in Cecily’s ear.
“Where is the Sacred Sword’s Sheath?”
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