This was the Vault of Singulars. Holding within its cages were weapons thought to be lost to history. Sealed by a knowledgeable collector.
So much to choose from, Dasha thought. He passed one blade with a bone hilt etched in cryptic angelic script. This was known as the Bone Severance and it was found in a dungeon within the Realm of Dungeons. Its one and only function was to slice apart contracts, nothing more.
Dasha gave Alþjófr a aningful look. Put simply, this was the one and only weapon capable of breaking their bond. This was Alþjófr’s one and only hope.
"I want it."
Dasha ordered. Dasha received.
The process to unravel the sword was not lengthy. All five of Alþjófr’s rings were required, pressing into the semi-transparent barrier holding the weapon, and an incantation within the Dwarf language aning: "Open."
Alþjófr walked inside, had to utter another incantation, and the Bone Severance lost its levitation and was almost about to fall into his hands. Dasha did not wish to chance it and caught for himself. He examined, he cocked his head, and he placed it into his inventory.
[ Weapon Na: Bone Severance
Rank: SS
Attack: 10
Magical Might: 300
Current Value: ?
Description: Once upon a ti during the Chaotic Era, there was a player who wished to save his family from a great contract that forced them to be enslaved. He prayed to the gods. His prayers were miraculously t and he beca an instrunt of the gods. He gained their blessings, to no help of his enslaved family. The player received trial after trial. He killed and killed, until he was fed up. He approached the divine enforcer of oaths, Horkos, and rather than ask him for aid, he struck him. He managed to get a piece of his flesh and bone, and with hit, he constructed a sword made of steel and the bone that could nullify any and all oaths. ]
"A fascinating story," Dasha said to himself. "Did you know that this was a relic of the Chaotic Era?"
Alþjófr was pissed. "Of course I did! This weapon beca a matter of contention thirty so years ago. A few of my Master Thieves heard of it and wished to use it to rid themselves of their sigils."
"Did they?"
"One of them did. The rest, I killed."
"While retrieving this sword, hm?"
"I almost contemplated destroying that forsaken weapon," Alþjófr said. "And now..."
"Now, it is mine."
Further down, Dasha found another weapon of interest: Velkuth’s Fang, a jagged obsidian sabre. The room needed to be stretched in height in order to fit it. It was a giant sword that was over fifteen feet tall.
"Velkuth’s Fang?" He looked up and down. It felt bigger the longer he analyzed it. "What is this?"
"The Current of Darkness is nearly impossible to traverse, but over the centuries, there have been so lucky ones. Those that have managed to bring back pieces of the monsters that lurk. This one here..." Alþjófr raised a shaky finger. "Ca from a chipped piece of teeth from a mammoth the size of a planet."
Dasha wanted to snort. "The delusions of the survivor. Planet-sized. As if."
Alþjófr actually snorted. "You have a lot to learn if you believe the stories of myth are simply that."
"I can expect a god or the World Serpent Jörmungandr to exceed that of our universe, but so silly unnad mammoth?"
"You have no idea the dangers that lurk within the Current of Darkness. There is a reason no god dares to conquer another’s Territory. Think, if they could, they would. They are arrogant and proud and mighty. Yet, the simply reason why they cannot is because they cannot. Traversing the Current of Darkness, whether you are Ares or a Cultivator or a Sorcerer, it is the sa risk."
Hrm.
Dasha kept walking. Wielding a weapon of that size would be inconvenient at best. He kept going until his eye caught sothing. He stopped and turned left. His Qi stirred. He saw a sword. Every case was unique and this was no different, bound in black glass with seven protective seals burned in. The plaque was unnad.
The blade inside was simple at first glance, a single-edged shortsword with a matte steel finish and a handguard shaped like a raven’s wing.
"What is this one?" he asked.
Alþjófr replied, "It has no na. The legend is that it was made by a blacksmith with the flesh of a child god. It was...a great sin."
"A child god. Which god?"
"A son of Odin’s. The mont Odin learned of what happened, the blade was coincidentally completed and the Supre God Odin ca down and killed the man, leaving only the blade behind and the blacksmith’s soul behind. He then beco one with the blade, cursing it."
There wasn’t solely a barrier. There was a blackglass too. A double-layer of protection, when with most weapons only the barrier was necessary.
"What effect does it possess?"
Alþjófr wet his lips, reluctant to speak of the weapon. "Its effect is not one you can wield lightly, Professor. The blade does not simply cut flesh or armor. It cuts... presence. It cuts...sothing deep. A man holding it can erase another’s existence piece by piece. mory. Shadow. Even their na. What remains of them after being struck is only what the wielder allows."
Dasha tilted his head slightly. "To be struck is to be unmade?"
"Precisely. But," Alþjófr’s voice dropped to a whisper, "the curse is the sa for the wielder. Each ti you call upon the blade’s true edge, you surrender a fragnt of yourself to the soul trapped within. The blacksmith is still inside, gnawing, waiting to consu whoever dares hold it."
Dasha didn’t answer. His hand pressed against the blackglass case, Qi pulsing faintly in response. He was not a man who balked at curses. Curses could be outwitted, broken, tad.
"Unlock it," he said finally.
Alþjófr grimaced but obeyed. All five of his rings burned with dull red light as they pressed against the barrier, black case, and finally the seven seals. The locks cracked one after another like bones being broken. A wave of icy air spilled out from the case. The shortsword dropped forward, as if eager to be held.
Dasha caught it.
The chill went straight into his bones, sinking into his arm and deeper still, brushing against his heart. He ignored it. He raised the sword slightly, watching the dull steel ripple faintly as though breathing.
His System flared alive:
[ Weapon Na: Veitðr ("The Hunted")
Rank: SSS
Attack: 1200
Magical Might: 4200
Current Value: ?Description: Forged in sin from the flesh and soul of a child god, Veitðr severs not only the body but the truth of existence. Each cut steals fragnts of what makes the victim whole: their Khet (body), Ren (na), Ba (personality), or Shuyet (shadow). Wielding Veitðr exacts a price—each activation of its true edge binds the wielder’s essence deeper to the cursed blacksmith’s soul. If the blade is allowed to feast without restraint, the wielder will be erased, and the blacksmith reborn. ]
The details etched into his mind like hot iron. Dasha’s lips curved into the faintest smile behind his mask.
’Presence itself... a blade that devours essence.’
He rotated it in his hand. It was lighter than expected, but every swing left a faint drag in the air, as if the world itself resisted acknowledging its passage. He tested the edge by letting a droplet of his Qi fall against it. The energy was swallowed whole, vanishing without ripple or recoil.
"Magnificent," Dasha murmured.
Alþjófr shifted uneasily. "It will destroy you in ti. Every man who tried to wield it... died."
"They died because they were not ." Dasha slid the blade back, letting it hang loosely in his grip. "I am not so easily unmade."
The dwarf scowled but said nothing more.
The System text flickered faintly in his vision again, as if emphasizing its warning. If the blade is allowed to feast without restraint, the wielder will be erased, and the blacksmith reborn.
A weapon that could erase essence itself was worth every ounce of risk.
He slid Veitðr into his inventory. Already, he could feel its hunger scratching faintly at the back of his mind. It was patient. He would feed it when the ti ca, but in the way that was expected of it.
Turning, Dasha glanced down the Vault once more. Rows of weapons, each screaming of their own histories and curses. All waiting. All forgotten.
"So much to choose from," he repeated softly.
The Sword of Liquid rcury...
An idea was brewing in his head.
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