Prologue – Part 01
The underground archive reeked of an indescribable stench.
Jewel steel, suspended from the ceiling in several places, barely illuminated the room. The stone walls and floor trapped cold air, and with early winter’s chill settling in, the cold seeped into their bones.
Bookshelves were packed as tightly as possible, maximizing the space, leaving just enough room for a single person to pass between them. Each shelf was crammed to the limit with stacks of papers.
Most of these bundles consisted of parchment, papyrus, and other hard-to-identify materials. Despite the preservative properties of the jewel steel embedded in the room, the original materials—sheepskin and plant stalk fibers—had aged, mixing their scents with the ink and producing a pervasive, unpleasant odor.
“The Valbanill War plunged the continent into chaos,” the bespectacled young man said. “And the Prayer Pact discovered by the first Housman greatly contributed to breaking free from that nightmare.”
The tightly packed shelves lacked any obvious system of organization, yet the young man, Ewen Benjamin, seemed to know exactly where everything was as he pulled out bundles of paper and stacked them on the floor one after another.
“However, the first Housman himself was known as an obsessive researcher in certain circles,” he added.
A hand darted in, snatching papers from the growing pile. A black-haired youth, wearing a long coat over his work clothes for warmth. His name was Luke Ainsworth.
Between the cramped shelves, Luke sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, scanning the documents Ewen Benjamin had selected. Save for the lack of wind, the underground archive’s temperature was as frigid as the outdoors. His breath turned white, and his fingers grew stiff as he turned the pages. His eyes ached under the inadequate illumination.
Luke had been in the underground archive for several days now. This place housed copies of the first Housman’s research documents.
Ewen, sent by the Militant Nation as a liaison to the Independent Trade City, had apparently spent every day in this archive since his arrival. The son of a renowned scholar and brimming with curiosity himself, he had pored over the manuscripts day after day. He had a rough idea of where things were, making him perfect for the librarian role.
“Prayer Pacts are renowned as the first Housman’s achievement, but the methods he used to develop it were far from commendable.”
Responding to Luke’s requests, Ewen continued selecting manuscripts while rambling incessantly. It sounded more like he was talking to himself, an effort to organize his thoughts aloud rather than to share them. His constant chatter reflected the stagnation of their current situation.
Luke, reading the documents before him, responded with brief comments.
“Demon Pacts.”
“Exactly. Prayer Pacts were nothing more than a byproduct of the first Housman’s research into Demon Pacts.”
“And why was he researching Demon Pacts?”
“To understand Valbanill.”
Though it was not widely known, all of the first Housman’s research had originated from studying the Inhuman known as Valbanill. Its biology, the Aetheria it emitted—invisible particles capable of producing miraculous phenomena—were at the heart of his studies. As he unraveled these mysteries, continental history passed down orally were clarified, documented, and formalized into texts. This process eventually led to the development of Prayer Pacts, which harnessed Aetheria, and the establishment of the Independent Trade City as the ideal ground for its application.
Meanwhile, Valbanill’s resurrection was less than six months away. The continent’s current prosperity rested on the very research of that beast.
A warped and contradictory truth. This was the knowledge Luke sought.
By understanding Valbanill’s biology from a blacksmith’s perspective, he hoped to forge an effective Sacred Sword against the beast. A few days ago, Luke persuaded Mayor Hugo Housman to grant him access to the underground archive. Since then, he had visited whenever he could, finding time between blacksmithing and swordsmanship training.
But progress had been painfully slow.
“How’s it going so far?” Ewen asked.
Luke shook his head. “No significant records here.”
“Then I’ve got nothing either. From what I remember, the information you’re looking for aren’t here.”
Luke sighed. “I figured,” he said, his gaze shifting toward the corner of the room.
There was a conspicuously open area in the corner of the cramped archive. The space, large enough for four shelves, was starkly empty. The walls and floor there looked strangely new, like they’d been recently rebuilt.
“The information I’m looking for were in that section,” Luke murmured.
A few months ago, the government office located in the Third District was partially destroyed in a skirmish. The archive beneath it suffered a partial collapse, and the materials stored in the damaged section were lost. While the office itself had been fully repaired, no progress had been made in restoring the records.
Luke didn’t know the full details of the incident. He had only heard that the clash involved the attendants of a girl named Charlotte Firobisher and a member of the Knight Guard, with both sides wielding Infernal Blades. The identity of the latter went without saying.
In any case, the missing records meant that the search over the past few days had ultimately been fruitless. Realizing this, Luke’s shoulders sagged, and a yawn escaped his lips.
“Perhaps you should take a break,” Ewen suggested. While returning a stack of papers to its original place, he added, “You’ve been forging in the morning, searching through records during the day, and practicing swordsmanship with Cecily at night. You haven’t been sleeping properly, have you? I understand how you feel, but pushing yourself won’t help.”
Luke gave a bitter smile, conceding that Ewen was probably right. He was impatient, that much was clear.
Valbanill’s release. The deadlock in forging the Sacred Sword. The physical toll of Infernal Bladecraft.
Time was running out. He couldn’t afford to slow down.
She must feel the same.
Cecily Campbell had asked him to evaluate her swordsmanship the day after her role as the Sacred Sword’s Sheath was revealed. She had said she wanted to do as much as she could. Since then, whenever they were free in the evening, they had sparring sessions.
The Sacred Sword’s Sheath referred to the duty imposed on the Campbell family.
It was a procedure performed by the first Housman on the death spell of Cecily’s grandfather. The spell wasn’t limited to him; it was passed down through the hearts of every member of the Campbell family. An enduring curse in Luke’s eyes.
If Cecily, the current head of the family, made a Demon Pact, the spell would forcibly transform her into an Infernal Blade.
It was a predetermined sacrifice. Infernal Blades were said to be effective against Valbanill, making it the Campbell family’s role to serve as a substitute for the Sacred Sword.
Luke bit down on his lip. Like hell I’ll let that happen.
“I’m fine,” he said firmly. The memory chased away his fatigue.
Whether it was Valbanill, the limited time remaining, or Cecily’s assigned role—everything could be resolved if he just completed the Sacred Sword.
He alone could save her. There was no time to waste sleeping in comfort.
“I understand how you feel.” Ewen shrugged sympathetically. “Aria told me about Cecily’s situation, and if I were in your shoes, I’d probably push myself too hard as well.”
Luke couldn’t let Ewen’s comment slide.
“Why are you bringing her up? I didn’t say anything about her.”
“I’ve heard you two are close.”
Luke grimaced. Why can’t these people just mind their own business?
He recalled being interrogated by three women not long ago and felt very irritated.
“Just to set the record straight, there’s nothing going on between us,” Luke said curtly. “If anything, aren’t you the one with a close relationship with that Infernal Blade?”
“And why are you bringing her up now?” Ewen shot back indignantly. “I don’t see her the way you’re implying. Aria is a dear friend to me.”
“A friend, huh?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
Silence followed. The conversation was treading into dangerous territory.
Luke cleared his throat and changed the topic. “So, is there no other way to learn about Valbanill?”
“Of course there is. The first Housman distributed copies of his findings to every major nation and organization. The Militant Nation should have a copy, but access is restricted. Until recently, I didn’t have sufficient clearance either, so I only saw the records here in this city for the first time. If you want, I can request the relevant materials from the Militant Nation.”
Luke considered it briefly before replying, “No, it would take too long. The ones here are just copies, right? That means…”
“Yes, the original still exists,” Ewen confirmed with a nod. “It’s said to be preserved in the birthplace of the first Housman, located in one of the cities of the former Crowd Powers. Conveniently, it’s the closest city to the Independent Trade City. A fast horse could make the trip in two days—no, less than a day. And here’s the important part: that city is refusing to join the Imperial Federation.”
The recent merger between the Empire and the Crowd Powers had been announced across the continent, resulting in the formation of the Imperial Federation. However, the name had yet to catch on. Most people still referred to the regions as the Empire or the Crowd Powers.
This was partly because the announcement was still fresh, but more importantly, the merger had not gone smoothly. Many smaller nations within the former Crowd Powers resented the Empire’s heavy-handed approach and refused to comply.
The nation Ewen mentioned was one such holdout, untouched by the Empire’s influence. This worked in the favor of Luke’s group, who were effectively adversaries of the Empire.
“Are you coming along?” Luke asked.
“You’ll need help to examine the documents, won’t you? If you want, I can tag along. The first Housman’s original documents… I find them fascinating as well.”
“Will we make it in time?”
Time was short. The Bi-Nation-One-City summit—commonly known as the Valbanill Conference—was set to take place soon in the Independent Trade City. As a blacksmith, Luke was required to attend this gathering of prominent figures from all across the continent. If he left, he had to return by then at the latest.
He quickly calculated the travel and research time in his head. It would be close, but they could make it.
“That’s settled, then. Time is of the essence. Let’s get ready right aw—”
“I’m coming too!”
A voice from above startled both Luke and Ewen into looking up.
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