Sacred Sword’s Sheath (Sacrifice) – Part 03
Luke returned to Atelier Liza just before noon.
Lisa, who greeted him at the entrance of the main house, gasped in shock when she saw his face.
“What happened to you?!”
Her shriek was understandable.
Luke’s face was a mess—swollen eyelids, a tangled mess of hair, a split lip, dried blood streaking from both nostrils, and his shirt torn at the shoulder. In short, he looked battered beyond recognition.
He tried to keep a calm front—or at least thought he did—but in reality, the pain in his body threatened to knock him out at any moment. Dizzy, he barely managed to remain upright. Only the simmering anger inside kept him on his feet.
“Just a little fight,” he muttered.
“A fight? With who?”
“That old goat Hannibal.”
“With the captain?” said a voice from across the room.
Luke’s heart leapt in his chest.
It wasn’t just Lisa in the house. He glanced sideways to confirm. Cecily and Aria were seated at the dining table, likely here for lunch, as per their daily routine. The steam rising from the cups of tea on the table indicated that they had just arrived.
The weather had turned colder recently, so even on sunny days, they had their meals indoors. So when Luke didn’t see them outside, he let his guard down. He wasn’t sure he could interact calmly with them at the moment. Not after what he’d just learned.
“Let me treat your injuries,” Lisa said.
“No need,” Luke refused. “Aren’t you in the middle of preparing lunch? Forget about me and go back to that.”
“But…”
Luke gave her a sharp look with his right eye, one that brooked no argument. Lisa reluctantly turned and retreated further into the house.
Luke sighed, sinking into the nearest chair at the table. The moment he sat, a sliver of clarity broke through his foggy mind.
What now?
Cecily and Aria were still staring at him. No doubt they would demand an explanation for his injuries. He’d already dropped Hannibal’s name, and he wasn’t sure how to explain it. How could he change the subject without raising suspicion?
Before he could come up with an excuse, Aria said, “Cecily, I’m going to help Lisa.”
“Huh? Oh, okay.”
“I’ll take my time.”
“All right.”
After that cryptic exchange, Aria followed Lisa into the back, leaving Luke and Cecily alone at the table.
They exchanged glances, then looked down at the same time. The odd silence unsettled Luke just as much as it did Cecily.
“How did you get those injuries?” Cecily asked.
“Got into it with the old fart. It’s nothing serious,” Luke replied.
“I see.”
Her response caught him off guard. Cecily was staring down at her lap absently. Normally, she’d press him for details, badger him until he relented. But this time, she just said, “I see,” and fell silent. There was none of her usual spirit.
Luke, too absorbed in his own thoughts, hadn’t noticed her strange behavior until now.
“Cecily?”
“Ah, yeah. What is it?”
“That’s my line.” Luke narrowed his right eye. “What’s going on?”
Only then did he notice—the slight trembling of Cecily’s lips.
In the kitchen, Lisa wasted no time asking Aria. “Cecily’s been acting strange since earlier. Do you know what’s wrong?” Lowering her voice, she added, “The same goes for the master, I guess.”
Aria scratched her cheek. “I guess it’s that obvious that something’s off with Cecily, huh? Sorry, I’ll explain later. For now, let’s leave them alone.”
“With Luke?”
“Yeah.” Aria nodded, gently steering Lisa toward the back of the kitchen. “As much as I hate it, there are things even I can do nothing about. Cecily’s still a girl, after all.”
Aria cast a slightly lonely glance toward the living room. “I’ll leave it to the hero.”
Even when Luke pressed her, Cecily didn’t answer immediately. She sat with her shoulders hunched, her head lowered, her lips quivering.
Luke didn’t push her. Instead, he waited, his heart pounding as his mind raced.
She’s scared.
It was painfully clear that Cecily was terrified of something, so terrified she couldn’t even bring herself to speak. But of what? This was a woman who had faced demons and Inhumans head-on. What could possibly frighten her like this?
There is one thing.
One possibility surfaced in his mind.
But no… Cecily couldn’t know about that. Hannibal had told him about the will—her father’s dying wish that Cecily never learn the truth. It couldn’t be that.
Please, let it not be that.
Finally, Cecily spoke, her voice strained, each word sounding as if it had been dragged from the depths of her throat.
“Do you know about it, Luke?”
“About what?”
“The Sacred Sword’s Sheath.”
Luke’s heart leapt into his throat.
Why? Why is she bringing that up? How does she know? She’s not supposed to.
He couldn’t answer her, and his hesitation said it all.
“So you knew after all,” she murmured.
“I just found out about it. Who told you?”
“My mother. This morning.”
Luke had never met Cecily’s mother, but in that moment, he cursed the woman inwardly. She shouldn’t have said anything.
Cecily’s gaze remained fixed downward, her expression hidden. With her head lowered, Cecily stuttered, her voice trembling, “They say… it’s a codeword, meaning something… like a spare Sacred Sword.”
There were other ways to put it. Reserve. Substitute. Insurance.
Sacrifice.
Luke immediately dismissed it as absurd.
“The Sacred Sword’s Sheath is—”
“Enough. Stop.” Luke cut her off sharply. “You don’t have to explain.”
“Please, just listen,” she pleaded, her tone firming for a moment. “I don’t want to run away. So let me say it. I need you to listen to me.”
Luke fell silent, resigned to let her continue. Listening was his only option.
“The Sacred Sword’s Sheath refers to a backup for the Sacred Sword. If the Sacred Sword couldn’t be forged or if it proved useless in battle, it would serve as a substitute. And that’s the role of the Campbell family.”
Luke clenched his fists under the table. The memory of punching Hannibal earlier flashed in his mind.
“This role is inherited,” she continued. “The first Housman devised a spell to make it so.”
If that first Housman were standing before him now, Luke would have killed him on the spot.
“It’s said my grandfather was the first subjected to this spell. The first Housman tampered with his heart to prepare him for the fight against Valbanill.”
To Luke, it sounded nothing short of a curse. A curse passed down unbroken through generations. What else could you call it?
“Do you know,” Cecily asked, “that Infernal Blades are effective against Valbanill? While executing the Demon Pact, the caster’s hatred for the divine transforms them into an Infernal Blade demon.”
Aria had shared this with Luke before. That was precisely why, despite his dissatisfaction, he was able to understand what he had been told just an hour ago.
Even if it seemed disjointed, everything fit together, painfully so.
“The first Housman altered my grandfather’s death spell,” Cecily said.
The death spell was an insidious curse said to be etched onto the heart of every human on the continent. Devised by Valbanill through Aetheria, it served as the trigger for Demon Pacts. And the first Housman had added an even more abhorrent curse on top of it.
“He modified it so that performing a Demon Pact would forcibly turn them into an Infernal Blade.”
Hatred for the divine didn’t matter. The transformation was absolute.
“That’s the Campbell family’s role. An inherited duty as the Sacred Sword’s Sheath. If a Sacred Sword is not forged, a Campbell becomes an Infernal Blade in its place. Since Valbanill apparently whispers one’s death spell to themselves, there’s no need to open the chest. The words will be revealed when the time to fight comes.”
Cecily’s lips curled into a bitter smile. A hollow, self-mocking expression.
“Lady Zenobia put it rather cruelly.”
“Where is the Sacred Sword’s Sheath?”
“The Sacred Sword’s Sheath is right here. In my chest.”
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