Sacred Sword’s Sheath (Sacrifice) – Part 01
The black sparks, cold to the touch, struck Cecily Campbell’s cheek.
“Mizubeshi. Kowari. Senbetsu. Tsumikasane. Tanren.
A dark ball of flame flickered in the void. Big enough to swallow a person whole, it coiled and writhed, sending sparks into the air.
Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi.
Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi.
Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi.
Orikaeshi.
A man slowly fed his arm into the fiery mass. His voice was steady, almost as if speaking to himself.
Shinkane keisei. Munekane keisei. Kawakane keisei. Hakane keisei. Tsukurikomi.
Sunobe. Kissakizukuri. Hizukuri. Arashiage. Tsuchioki. Akame. Yakiire. Kajioshi. Shitajitogi—binsuido, kaiseido, chuunagurado, komanagurado, uchigumorijido. Shiagetogi—kudakijizuya, nugui, hadori, migaki, boushinarume.”
Why?
“
Tsukaosame
.”
The ball of fire spewed out the man’s arm, before disintegrating into fine pieces. A shockwave blasted outward, hitting everything around them like a violent storm. Cecily froze, pinned to the ground by a force that seemed less intent on throwing her away than on anchoring her to the earth. Her eyes, however, stayed locked on the sword that had appeared in the man’s hand.
A blade with a sweeping curve. Its surface rippled with a chaotic yet strangely harmonious temper line. An Infernal Katana.
It glowed faintly, shrouded in a cloak of blue light, radiating a tremendous aura.
With the weapon in hand, the man turned to face her.
Why?
Cecily’s thoughts raced, but before she could find an answer, Luke Ainsworth raised the blade.
“Don’t move,” he warned.
And then, he drove it straight through Cecily’s chest.
Time rewound to that morning.
“When you’ve really run out of patience, say these words.”
“Where is the Sacred Sword’s Sheath?”
At that moment, the Campbell family’s dining table froze.
It was breakfast time. Cecily and Aria were settled at the table, ready for the day. Their housekeeper, Fio, had just set the meal down. Lucy Campbell, Cecily’s mother, who usually stayed bedridden, seemed well enough today to join them at the table. The whole Campbell household had gathered for what should have been just another quiet breakfast.
And then, Cecily dropped the question.
“Madam? What’s wrong?” Fio glanced at Lucy, noticing the sudden stiffness in her posture.
While Cecily had inherited her father’s personality and temperament, anyone would agree that her appearance, especially her hair color, was strikingly similar to her mother’s. Her features were nearly identical to Cecily’s, including her figure, though age and manner lent her a more feminine air than her daughter.
Now that face was frozen by her daughter’s words.
“Mother?”
Cecily was surprised. She hadn’t expected this much of a reaction.
“What’s going on, Cecily?” Aria asked. “What’s this about the Sacred Sword’s Sheath?”
“Lady Zenobia told me about it.”
What was the
When Cecily asked Hannibal and Lucy about the Campbell family’s role in the Valbanill Campaign, they only gave a vague answer: “You’ll learn in time.”
But Zenobia Q. Lanchester, the Girl King of the Militant Nation, had given her a clue.
“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.”
“One day, those close to you will speak of it.”
“When you’ve really run out of patience, say these words.”
“Where is the Sacred Sword’s Sheath?”
Cecily had just tried it, and it worked wonders. Her mother’s reaction was undeniable. She finally caught the tail of the question that had long weighed on her mind.
A little excited, Cecily pressed on, “The Sacred Sword’s Sheath. It has something to do with the Campbell family, doesn’t it?”
Lucy’s face drained of color. She pressed a hand to her forehead, her body swaying.
“Ah, my head hurts. Cough, cough.”
“Headaches don’t cause coughing.”
“Oh, and I feel dizzy too. Cough, cough.”
“Dizziness doesn’t cause coughing either!”
Cecily leaned forward, her frustration mounting. “Mother, enough with the excuses. The day of Valbanill’s resurrection is coming. The Campbell family has a role to fulfill, a role recognized by the leaders of the continental nations. Isn’t it strange that the head of the family is unaware of it? I need to know.”
Lucy did not meet her daughter’s stern gaze. She lowered her head and shut her lips tight.
“I heard that Father’s death had something to do with this role.”
Lucy gave a start.
“The expedition to reinforce the seal.”
The expedition had been undertaken to delay the resurrection of Valbanill as long as possible by strengthening its seal. Among its members were the first Housman, Hannibal Quasar, who had been the commander of the Knight Guard at the time, and representatives from various nations across the continent.
“I heard Father, as a member of the Campbell family, also joined this expedition. And then…” A lump formed in Cecily’s throat, but she pressed on, “And then he died from the aftereffects he suffered there.”
“Enough,” Lucy said sharply.
Cecily’s breath caught.
Lucy lifted her gaze, meeting her daughter’s eyes with a pleading look. “Don’t say another word.”
But Cecily went on anyway. “I didn’t even know the truth about my father’s death. What is the role of the Campbell family? Why is everything being kept a secret?”
“Stop it. I told you to be quiet.”
“I’ll learn the truth eventually. It doesn’t matter whether I know now or later.”
“…”
“Mother!”
The mother and daughter held each other’s gaze. Fio and Aria watched the exchange with bated breath. The silence stretched on.
Cecily’s gaze remained steady. I won’t back down, Mother.
Lucy’s hesitation made it clear that whatever role the Campbell family had, it was something unpleasant. But that was exactly why Cecily needed to know.
Her father had died because he fulfilled that role. As his daughter and the current head of the family, Cecily had to know the truth.
At last, Lucy’s resolve cracked. Her eyes fell to the table, and her lips quivered.
“I don’t want you to suffer the same fate as him.”
“I’m prepared for any fate that awaits me.”
“How can you say that so casually?!” Lucy’s eyes filled with tears. “The fate that awaits you is death.”
It was around midday when Luke Ainsworth visited the mayor’s office at the city hall.
After a brief exchange of greetings, Luke unclasped the katana at his waist and handed it to Mayor Hugo Housman.
“This is currently the best I can do. If you could take a look.”
The sword was housed in a black-lacquered scabbard. At first glance, it seemed like an ordinary blade, with no intricate designs or embellishments on the hilt or guard.
“I will.”
Hugo accepted the sword. He held the katana horizontally, edge up, and gently drew it from the scabbard, making sure the blade didn’t scrape against the inside. He slid it out by letting the spine glide across.
The blade gleamed in the sunlight streaming in through the window.
Hugo gripped the hilt firmly in his right hand, using his left to retrieve a silk cloth. He touched the middle of the blade with it, careful not to make direct contact with the metal. His eyes narrowed as he began the examination.
He tilted the katana at different angles, letting the light play over its surface, studying the steel’s grain, the temper line, and the tip in great detail. After a thorough inspection, Hugo let out a soft “Hmm.”
“You’ve improved, Luke. The fog pattern is much more beautiful than before. The temper line now shows strength and spirit.”
The blade’s surface displayed a wavy pattern called the temper line. This came from the crystalline structures formed in forging: the larger grainy nie and the finer, misty nioi. These two components formed the pattern, which varied greatly depending on the conditions during the quenching process.
Luke’s katana featured a nioi-dominant temper line, crafted with a nioi-deki finish. The length of the blade shimmered white, creating a stunning effect that resembled rising mist whenever it caught the light.
Luke and Lisa had worked on this katana using techniques from the Militant Nation, applying a more advanced method than Kōbuse called Shihōzume, which added extra folding during the forging process. Moreover, Luke’s abilities as a blacksmith had improved through direct exchanges and hands-on demonstrations with the sacred swordsmiths of the Militant Nation.
This katana was Luke Ainsworth’s latest and, at present, his finest creation.
“Be honest, you old goat.” Luke turned toward the third person in the room. “How close am I to my father, to Basil Ainsworth?”
Perched on the windowsill, Hannibal Quasar observed Luke and Hugo’s exchange from the sidelines. His massive frame, among the largest in the Knight Guard, caused the wood to groan and creak under even the slightest shift of his weight.
“Nowhere near his level.” His voice was low. “I’ve seen his work firsthand for years. I can tell at a glance that your sword doesn’t even come close.”
Luke nodded. “Yeah, I figured as much.”
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