Sacred Sword’s Sheath (Sacrifice) – Part 04
The Sacred Sword’s Sheath. The role of the Campbell family. Altering death spells. Forced transformation into an Infernal Blade. A reserve. A substitute. Insurance.
A sacrifice.
After listening to what Hannibal had to say, Luke snapped, “You would sacrifice Cecily for—”
Before he could finish, an arm as thick as a log struck the top of Luke’s head, slamming him face-first into the floor.
The taste of dust and wood filled his mouth, but Luke didn’t stay down. In an instant, he sprang back up and launched an uppercut at Hannibal’s jaw. The towering man shifted slightly, letting his shoulder take the blow. It felt like hitting solid iron. Luke’s knuckles ached from the recoil.
Before he could recover, Hannibal’s fist smashed into his face, the force so immense it felt as though time slowed. Luke registered everything with sharp clarity—the crunch of his nose breaking, the snap of his neck whipping back, and the darkness that flooded his vision.
His body, quite literally, was hurled through the air, crashing into the wall of the mayor’s office. The entire building seemed to tremble from the impact. He felt the shock reverberating through his body, and his consciousness threatened to slip away.
Luke bit down hard on his lip to stay awake. Splayed wide, he propped himself up on all fours, struggling to stay upright. Crimson liquid dripped onto the floorboards below. His nose throbbed with burning heat, pouring blood.
This can’t be happening.
Luke Ainsworth took pride in his strength. For three years, he had trained relentlessly, refining his craft as a blacksmith and honing his skills as a swordsman. His father had always said a blacksmith must master the weapons they create, and had worked painstakingly to refine the techniques passed down to him. He had grown stronger, had fought and killed not only men but demons and Inhumans alike.
But now? Two hits. That was all it took to reduce him to this.
It was absurd. A joke.
“Fuck… you.”
Blood loss and the shock to his system made his legs shaky. He couldn’t stand straight. The ground beneath him seemed like it was rippling. Even so, Luke forced himself upright. Planting his feet firmly, he locked his gaze on the two emotionless men in front of him.
Hannibal and Hugo were staring down at him in silence with cold, detached faces. They watched him as though he were nothing more than a child throwing a tantrum. That look infuriated him.
With a primal roar, Luke lunged, losing himself in pure rage.
He funneled every ounce of strength, every shred of willpower, into a single blow. Stepping forward with the force of an earthquake, he twisted his hips, channeling all his momentum into a full-power punch. It didn’t matter if it left him gasping for air, unconscious, or worse. This one strike carried everything he had left.
And it meant nothing.
Hannibal didn’t even try to dodge and instead took the blow squarely on his chest. The thunderous impact rocked Luke’s eardrums. The massive man flinched slightly, drawing a sharp breath, but that was it.
Pain exploded through Luke’s arm as if his fist had shattered on contact. He swallowed a scream, forcing it down.
Luke spread his legs wide just to keep himself standing, dignity be damned. Even so, he never let his eyes drop, forcing himself to glare up at Hannibal’s face. Hannibal stared back with the same detached indifference.
“You have every right to be angry.” Hugo’s voice broke the silence. “But let me be clear: we have no intention of making Cecily an Infernal Blade. That’s why we’ve honored her father’s last wishes and kept this truth from her.”
“Now, to the heart of the matter. Listen closely, Luke Ainsworth,” Hannibal said, unmoving. “That’s exactly why we need the Sacred Sword.”
“This transformation into an Infernal Blade isn’t like Aria’s case, where the blade and the human forms coexist. My grandfather couldn’t manage that when he became an Infernal Blade. He was used in the expedition to strengthen Valbanill’s seal and, in doing so, managed to deal a serious wound, proving the sword’s power.”
Cecily continued, sharing the harsh truth: that her own grandfather, who had transformed into an Infernal Blade, was acknowledged as effective against Valbanill.
“My father also entered into a Demon Pact during that expedition. But due to some kind of accident, his transformation failed, and most of his organs were consumed by Aetheria. Even with those aftereffects, he somehow managed to live a surprisingly long time, driven by sheer spirit. I never noticed. He hid it all, making sure I never realized.”
Cecily paused and lifted her face. Her eyes glistened faintly, damp but not spilling over. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
“That’s all. Thanks for listening. I feel a little bit better.”
“Fuck that!” Luke barked. “This doesn’t make anything better!”
No comfort came from those words, not in the slightest. The burden the Campbell family had carried, and the role Cecily had inherited, didn’t vanish. Her heart couldn’t possibly feel lighter.
“And yet.” Strangely enough, unlike the distraught Luke, Cecily was calming down. A spark of life returned to her face. “While talking about it, I started to think… Well, it might sound ridiculous after being so serious up until now, but… maybe it’s impossible for me to become an Infernal Blade after all.”
Luke stared at her incredulously. What was she saying?
Her words didn’t seem to make sense, yet Cecily, to his astonishment, grew more convinced with each passing second. She clapped her hands on her knees, and her face lit up.
“Ah, yes, of course! It’s impossible. How did I not see it before? I’m such an idiot.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Because of you.”
Luke was struck speechless. He couldn’t utter a single word.
“Because you’ll forge the Sacred Sword. That sword will seal Valbanill. So, there’s no need for a backup. I won’t have to give up my life.”
She said it so matter-of-factly, as though it were an unquestionable truth. To Luke, it sounded like reckless nonsense.
“I feel bad for putting all this on you, but… I believe in you. Whether or not the Campbell family is bound to the role of the Sacred Sword’s Sheath, I know you’ll achieve greatness.”
She smiled again. She was back to being the same old Cecily Campbell. The trembling woman from moments ago was entirely gone.
“I believe in you, so I’ll be fine.”
How? How could she trust him so completely?
It wasn’t the first time she’d said something like this. She had said it before, on the road to the Militant Nation.
“I trust your skills and potential.”
“So? Can’t do it, Luke Ainsworth?”
It almost seemed like blind faith. He couldn’t understand it. Why would she trust someone like him so completely? What could she possibly expect from a mere seventeen-year-old boy? It was unbelievably stupid.
But he had told her.
“I can.”
Hannibal’s words echoed in his mind.
“That’s exactly why we need the Sacred Sword.”
“Why is the spare Sacred Sword called the Sacred Sword’s Sheath? Why make it a code? There’s a reason behind it. Think.”
“The Sacred Sword, capable of warding off misfortune, can neutralize Aetheria. Think about what that means!”
“That’s why it’s called a sheath. A shred of mercy left by the first Housman. A sheath needs a sword. With the Sacred Sword inside, the First’s spell will be nullified.”
“The Sacred Sword can undo the spell the First cast upon the Campbell family.”
“With the Sacred Sword, not only can Valbanill be sealed, but the curse the Campbell family has inherited can also be lifted.”
“That’s why we’ve waited for you all this time. For you to commit to that path of your own will and move forward.”
“You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you? Then we’ll place this burden on you without a second thought. It’s not up for discussion. We’ll make you bear it.”
“Luke Ainsworth. You must complete the Sacred Sword!”
“Only you, Basil’s son, can do it.”
“Save Cecily!”
“Can’t do it, Luke Ainsworth?”
“I can.”
Only I can.
“Come outside.”
“Huh?”
“I said, come outside,” Luke said sharply.
Cecily looked confused. Luke stood, knocking his chair over. He strode around the table and grabbed her hand.
“Huh? Wh-What?”
“Come on. Lisa!”
“Coming!”
His apprentice emerged from the kitchen. Aria also poked her head out from behind her. He knew they’d been eavesdropping. No need to explain further.
“Outside.”
He ushered the three of them out.
The sky was maddeningly clear. The midday sun offered just enough warmth to soften the chill that rode the wind. The peacefulness of the scene only made Luke’s nerves flare. He suddenly felt a strong urge to destroy everything around him.
Cecily and Aria stood there, still unsure of why they were outside.
Luke turned to Lisa. Unlike the others, his apprentice had already understood his intent. Without needing any further instructions, she handed him a piece of jewel steel and a plain hilt with no blade.
“Anytime,” she said, then closed her eyes.
Luke wasted no time.
“Commence forging.”
Lisa’s left eyelid shot open to its limit. Her eye squirmed like a separate living creature, darting around, before locking onto a single point, staring intently.
A black ball of flames emerged from the empty space.
It was enormous, large enough to engulf a person. The heatless fireball scattered heatless sparks, twisting and flickering with life.
Luke tossed the piece of jewel steel into the flame. Next, he plunged his right arm holding the hilt and began to chant.
“Mizubeshi. Kowari. Senbetsu. Tsumikasane. Tanren.”
A thought lingered in Luke’s mind. The clue needed to forge the Sacred Sword. He feared it might lie within this very process of Infernal Bladecraft.
He had combed through the old documents of the first Housman—a man he’d come to hate almost as much as Siegfried in a single day—in hopes of uncovering anything related to Lisa’s abilities.
What Basil Ainsworth lacked in his pursuit of the Sacred Sword, Luke Ainsworth had. That was Infernal Bladecraft.
“Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi.
Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi.
Orikaeshi. Orikaeshi.
Orikaeshi.”
Visualize it, Luke commanded himself. Imagine severing an invisible curse.
No tearing of skin. No cutting of flesh. No breaking of bones. Just the destruction of the curse. Dispelling evil and misfortune.
That’s what he would infuse into this blade.
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.”
A voice whispered from behind him, “Why?”
“To save your life,” he answered inwardly.
Though he knew it wouldn’t reach her.
“
Tsukaosame
.”
The flame sphere erupted into tiny fragments. A shockwave swept through the surrounding flora, flattening it in its wake.
When the blast subsided, Luke held a katana.
Glowing a faint blue, it had a graceful curve, with a beautiful temper line. A magnificent design.
An Infernal Katana.
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