Chapter 271

Wards of Eternity (II)

Jamal sat cross-legged, opposite of a tall, stalwart figure looming over him nearly a whole foot, the two separated by a wide, stone table packed to brim with fruits and drinks of varieties unimaginable. A strange silence loomed between the two, though the former appeared entirely unaware of it, wolfing down the numerous fruits like a hungry hippo.

The two were seated inside a silver-caped gazebo surrounded by a colorful garden framed by strangely elongated and angled walls, smoothed to perfection along the surface. Save for them, there was nobody else within a whole mile, not even an insect at that.

“Man, I’ll miss these delicacies the most,” Jamal spoke through full mouth.

“That hurt,” the older man chuckled in a reply, taking a sip of the still-steaming tea gracefully.

“Don’t be jealous of plants, old fart,” Jamal commented. “It’s unbecoming.”

“... it was a majestic victory, We hear,” the old man said. “Shame We missed it.”

“Sure, sure. Like there’s anything you ever miss.”

“Thank you, Jamal,” the old man said suddenly, his voice turning deep. “For all that you have done.”

“It was just part of the trial, old man.”

“No,” he shook his head sternly. “You saving Us during Our final stand was the Trial that We had requested. Everything afterward... was your sacrifice for Us. Without you, inevitably, We would have fallen still. Now, instead, We are the Emperor of the colossal Empire. Unparalleled for as far as the horizon stretches and beyond.”

“... for now,” Jamal cracked a faint smile as he finally looked up at the man. The tall figure was featureless, its face void of everything but tiny dents, like a ghastly apparition. “Like all other things in life, I just delayed the inevitable, old man.”

“Ha ha, yes, We suppose,” the old figure nodded lightly. “Nonetheless, at the very least, it will not be Our name inked in the writs of history next to the fall of Our Empire. Instead, it will be inked within the heroic pages, where children eons from now will utter Our name and gasp in awe at how We endured. All the while, the truth behind it all... will be hidden. Myths may prevail, but your name will disappear, Jamal. Are you really okay with that?”

“Why not?” Jamal shrugged, leaning back and burping freely, having tasted every single unique fruit presented in front of him. “So long as you give me a nice item, for all I care you can write that you was my daddy and whatnot.”

“We cannot tell whether you are greedy or selfless,” the old figure sighed. “Worry not; We have prepared the best item within our treasury. You have earned it. It ought to fit you perfectly-- for it is a lengthy blade, cast out of Dragonstone and forged by Our distant Forefathers. Its legends go well back beyond, far beyond the first word, even.”

“I ain’t asking for your family heirloom, man,” Jamal said. “Just a nice item.”

“We would not have had a legacy worthy of an heirloom were it not for you, Jamal,” the figure said. “In the end, Our treasury has grown during the conquest. We have enough to last us a long while and to craft a whole new legacy beyond Our ancient one.”

“Well, if you’re that desperate to unload that sword of yours, I ain’t gonna say no,” the two men shared a laugh for a moment as Jamal began tasting the drinks scattered around the table.

“The little one is going to miss you,” the old figure said.

“... she’ll be fine.” Jamal said. “I’m more worried about that son of yours. The poor lad’s terrified of taking the throne.”

“As was I,” the figure suddenly switched the pronouns, startling Jamal; it was the first time he used personal one. “I have failed him, as a Father. Luckily, you have showed him the way-- the way of the King.”

“King? I’d be worried if someone like me became a King,” Jamal joked. “You got a nice home, old man. That’s all you and none of me. Be proud of it.”

“... I remember having so little faith when you showed up,” the old man suddenly said, surprising Jamal. “A baby Blademaster taking upon the task of guarding the entire Empire. That night when you first appeared, I made peace with the fall, I did. Then the dawn came,” the figure continued, lowering its head slightly.

“...”

“I didn’t even step out of my chambers. I waited. And I waited... and waited... waited for the captors that ever came. Waited for fires that never burned. Screams that never rang. And I walked out onto the terrace and I looked beyond to the gates that should have fallen. They still stood tall, immovable. And beyond the gates I saw the fields of crimson... but then atop the walls I saw my men, my children, and citizens who watched in awe and worship at the solitary figure standing in the sea of red.”

“...”

“For the first time in aeons, my heart stirred, seeing you there. In my head I thought, ‘that should have been me, I should have been the one who saved the Empire, not a young babe’. The turn in my mind was... strange. I went from accepting defeat to sensing hope again. Somehow, you rekindled it. And then days passed... and passed... and passed... and with each new dawn I grew more certain that, when this story comes to an end, I will remain a King, one far more powerful than before.”

“Congrats,” Jamal joked, raising a glass. “The world’s your oyster, then.”

“The words ring hollow, Conqueror, when the Crown was not won by my hands,” the figure chuckled bitterly.

“Kings hardly ever win with their swords,” Jamal comforted. “You had better men than the other guy. That’s it. No shame in it, really. What worth would you be if you were laying dead somewhere on the battlefield? Not much, I gather. Don’t be a weeper.”

“... the Crucible is in trouble,” the figure joked. “With Conquerors like you roaming its tender halls. Here,” a flash of light temporarily blinded Jamal. A breath later, as he opened his eyes, his lips gaped slightly as he stared at the floating sword in front of him. It was completely black, like coal, nearly five feet long altogether, as thick as a grown man’s arm, exuding primordial aura that made even him jittery. “Though you can rename it, I’d appreciate if you continued its legacy.”

“What’s it called?”

“Weeping Abyss,” the figure replied. “Forged in the hellfires from Dragonstone by the hands of the ancients. It has only ever been used three times in a battle-- all three times by men far more powerful than me, and each time when our lineage was on the verge of extinction. But it’s not a sword that belongs in the treasury to gather dust. It’s a battle-crazed blade designed to drink the blood of its foes. My hope is... you’ll finally awaken its slumbering spirit and shake the world with its prowess.”

“...” Jamal gingerly extended his arms and fingers, wrapping them gently but firmly around the thick handle. It felt cold and rough at touch, but his grip felt perfect, as though someone used the shape of his hand to forge the handle so it fits him perfectly. He held it up vertically, pointing it at the vast skies before he inspected it.

//Weeping Abyss (Quasi-Heroic)

Level: Growth-type

Requirements: Blademaster, Hero

Soul: Mote of Void

Type: Archaic Blade

Energy Type: Modular, Edged

+85% to Agility

+33% to Strength

+40% to Vitality

+33% to Physical Resistances

+20% to ALL magical resistances

+45% Attack Speed

+33% Skill Execution Speed

+15% Mana-gathering Speed

[Forlorn Spirit] -- the Blade has will of its own and is capable of rejecting and refusing control. Similarly, it is capable of exponentially increasing skills’ output.

[Weeping Abyss] -- a titular skill forms a three-mile-wide Domain of Absolutes for 3 minutes. Within it, the blade’s wielder becomes a phantom, capable of instant teleportation to the desired location. Furthermore, while opponents’ vision is gated, the wielder sees perfectly every inch of the Domain. Lastly, ALL of opponents defenses are decreased by 66% while within the Domain, including rendering level-gaps inconsequential. Requires a 60 days recharge.

[Touch of Decay] -- a focused, single strike that ignores 100% of ALL defenses, guaranteeing a critical strike if hit in a vital point. It is not a guaranteed hit, but if it hits, it stuns the target for 3 seconds and increases damage taken by 40% for the duration.

[Bladestorm] -- hurl yourself forward in a whirlwind, ripping out storms alongside you. The whirlwind pulls the opponents in and slows down their movement speed by 40% while dealing persistent damage. Can be maintained for as long as Mind resistance allows it or until Mana runs out.

[Master’s Creation] -- reshape the length, width, and weight of the blade at your will. Proportionally increase and decrease stats based on the attributes.

[Call of the Void] -- unleash the innate knowledge of the Soul, increasing mastery execution of ALL your skills by 8000% for the next 4 skills. Costs 60% of Mana to activate and doubles the skills’ base consumption. The soul returns to its slumber for 30 days afterwards.

Note: Beneath the edge of mine blood shall glaze and spirits shall weep; within me, a history of annihilation rests and slumbers. Awake me, and death shall be upon you.

Jamal sucked in cold breath, shaking slightly. He already expected ridiculous stats the moment he saw Quasi-Heroic in the description as it alluded to Cain’s weapon, one that had to be outright nerfed by the Tower due to how overepowered it was. While the blade isn’t as bad, it is still breaking certain norms that Jamal had come to expect within a weapon.

Sighing, he looked past the sharpened blade and toward the featureless old man who seemed to be smiling at that moment.

“You like it?” the old figure asked.

“Love it,” Jamal replied. “I’ve a feeling the two of us will become best buds.”

“I hope so. Carve out your name with its help and shine.”

“... I won’t forget you, old thing,” Jamal said. “And I hope you don’t forget me.”

“Hardly a forgettable man.”

“And hardly a forgettable adventure.”

“To the future, Conqueror.”

“To the future, old man.”