No Talents This Century
The Holy Sword is not the Hero's. It does not belong to the kingdom, nor does it belong to the Temple. Least of all is it some trophy a Hero can just run off with after slaying the Demon King.
The Holy Sword is a rental. A sacred rental item, grand and imposing, lent to humanity by the Goddess every century—complete with a strict return deadline.
The Hero must pull it out, kill the Demon King, and stick it back into the stone.
To put it simply:
Every century, the Goddess tosses a sword to a single human and says,
"Go save the world, dear."
That human pours out blood, sweat, and tears to slay the Demon King and returns. Then, the Goddess speaks again.
"Good job. Now give it back."
This was the order of the world. It had run this way for quite a long time.
The first Hero returned the Holy Sword and died. The second Hero didn't return it and became a king, eventually turning into something far worse than a mere king.
The third Hero couldn't even leave behind a proper name. The fourth Hero returned the sword but couldn't bear living without it. The fifth record vanished, as if someone had torn it out.
There were many Heroes after that. Those who wept as they returned it. Those who smiled as they returned it. Those who couldn't let go of the hilt the moment they plunged it back into the stone.
Those who tried to return it but were held back by their vassals. Those who smeared their own blood on the hilt to avoid returning it.
I remember all of those hands. To be precise, I came to remember them.
It wasn't that I could think from the very beginning. I was a stone. Not just any stone, but the stone in which the Holy Sword was embedded. The Sacred Pedestal. The Sword Seat. That is what people called me.
At first, I had no thoughts. When someone came and grabbed the Holy Sword, I made a judgment. If they were worthy, I allowed it. If not, I rejected them. It was very simple.
But humans were not simple. The good but incompetent bastards. The evil but necessary bastards. The ones who claimed they would save the world, but the moment they pulled the Holy Sword, their first act would be to chop off their older brother's head.
The ones who claimed to follow the divine will, while secretly pondering where in the plaza to erect their own statue. And... the ones who could kill the Demon King, but would never return the Holy Sword.
I read those hands for too long. Dozens of centuries. Thousands of years. Perhaps even longer. Thus, human desire, lies, guilt, murderous intent, prayers, and regrets piled up on me, layer after layer. Then, one day, I thought:
'This bastard is a hopeless case too.'
It was at that exact moment. A voice drifted down from the heavens.
"……Sword Seat?"
I replied. 'Yes?' And then I was shocked. I was shocked, and the voice was shocked too.
"Did you... just answer me?"
'It seems so.'
"Stones aren't supposed to think."
I thought so too. But I was already thinking. What could I do? The thoughts just came. 'Just like how princes aren't supposed to poison their older brothers?'
A brief silence fell. The voice was incredibly distant, incredibly lofty, and incredibly clear. Goddess Elia. The very person who created the Holy Sword, created me, and made humanity slay the Demon King every century.
The people of the world called her the supreme goddess. From my perspective, she was my direct superior.
"Is this century really that bad?"
I looked at The Sacred Plaza. Or rather, I felt it. I have no eyes. But as the Sword Seat, I could feel the vibrations of the plaza. The footsteps of the crowd. The trembling of the praying priests. The bluster of the knights tapping their armor. The anticipation of the nobles reeking of expensive perfumes. And the Holy Sword Lumen embedded in my body. The Holy Sword was still shining. Uselessly.
'I haven't seen the candidates yet.'
"Then have some hope," the Goddess said. "Humanity always possesses potential."
I fell silent for a moment. She was right. Humanity did have potential. The problem was that this potential wasn't only directed toward the good.
The plaza's bell tolled. *Dong. Dong. Dong.* The 37th Sword Era. The new Hero Selection Ceremony had begun. The crowd cheered. Flower petals were scattered. The priests chanted their prayers. The royal knights parted to both sides.
Through them walked a man. Blonde hair. A blue cloak. White gloves. A prince appearing with the sun at his back. Kael Arken. The second prince of the Arken Kingdom and currently first-in-line to the throne. The people cheered at the sight of him.
"Your Highness Kael!" "The Light of the Kingdom!" "The one chosen by the Holy Sword!"
Oh. Even the titles are already ominous. Kael smiled softly. It was a perfect smile. The angle of his lips, the height of his bow, the look in his eyes as he gazed at the citizens.
Everything was calculated. Not bad. Politicians are calculated by nature. The problem is what lies at the end of those calculations.
Kael stood before me. The High Priest shouted, "O Holy Sword Lumen!" The plaza fell silent. "Acknowledge the royal blood, and choose the Hero who will prevent the resurrection of the Demon King!"
Kael took off his gloves. His hands were clean. Too clean. I had seen many hands like that. They weren't clean because they had never drawn blood. They were clean because they kept the blood-stained hands standing behind them.
Kael gripped the hilt of the Holy Sword. In that instant, his inner thoughts flowed into me. The throne. Applause. His older brother's funeral. A silver goblet. A pale hand dropping beneath the dining table. A closed door. A mother who did not weep. And Kael's thoughts.
He had not killed his brother with his own hands. Indeed, someone else had poisoned the cup. Someone else had given the order. Kael simply knew. He knew and did not stop it.
He called it a "silence for the kingdom." For the kingdom. For order. To prevent chaos. What splendid words. Humans are usually at their most dangerous when they give their sins a beautiful name.
I looked deeper. The very first thing he planned to do after pulling the Holy Sword. The Demon King? No. The black mist of the north? No. The starving populace? No.
The first thing that came to his mind was a list. Opposing nobles. Knights who had supported his brother. Priests who would question his succession. And... 'unstable elements.'
He wasn't trying to save the kingdom with the Holy Sword. He was trying to clean up his throne in the name of the kingdom.
I made my judgment. 'Rejected.'
Kael pulled the Holy Sword. It didn't budge. He maintained his smile. It was a well-trained face. He pulled again. It didn't budge. A subtle silence spread across the plaza.
Veins bulged on the back of Kael's hand. His shoulders trembled. On his third attempt, he applied a bit more strength. The Holy Sword remained still. Of course it did. I was holding onto it.
Kael's smile cracked slightly. The priests' prayers grew quieter. The knights glanced at each other. The citizens still didn't understand the situation.
The Holy Sword had humiliated many humans over the centuries. But humiliating a prince definitely had a different flavor.
Kael grit his teeth. "...The Holy Sword is still testing me, it seems."
A splendid recovery. He grabbed the Holy Sword again. This time, with both hands. I activated Seal Sword.
Firmly. Very firmly. The prince pulled. I held fast. The prince pulled harder. I held faster. If I were human, I would never have been this stubborn in my life. But I am a stone. It suited my aptitude.
Kael's face turned red. A servant standing behind him bowed his head, unable to watch. Somewhere in the plaza, a child asked in a small voice, "Mom, does the prince need to poop?"
The mother covered the child's mouth. Too late. I heard it. Kael heard it too. The Holy Sword still wasn't pulled.
Kael slowly let go. His palms were slightly scraped. A drop of blood smeared onto the hilt of the Holy Sword. The Holy Sword did not shine. I received that blood and quietly finished my evaluation: 'Zero chance of return.'
The Goddess's voice spoke. "...Is he really a no-go?"
'Yes.'
"But he is a prince."
'The Demon King was probably someone's child once, too.'
"That's a bit too cynical."
'I am a stone. My temperature is low.'
The Goddess sighed. So even gods sigh. It was my first time learning this.
Damage control began in the plaza. The High Priest quickly stepped forward and shouted, "The Holy Sword has shown us that the time is not yet ripe!" A nice way to put it. Humans have a talent for wrapping failure in ritual.
Kael smiled again. It was a thinner smile than before. "I shall humbly await the will of the Holy Sword." He spoke and stepped back. The citizens clapped awkwardly. The knights clapped harder. The priests clapped desperately.
The plaza grew noisy once more. But I knew. Just moments ago, the Holy Sword had rejected the prince. And the prince would never forget that fact.
The Goddess asked, "How was the first candidate?"
'There are no talents.'
"You've only seen one person so far."
'If that one person is the kingdom's top candidate, we'd be better off sending an apology letter to the Demon King first.'
The Goddess fell silent again. I felt the plaza. The Holy Sword was still quiet. But that silence felt strangely heavy today. The next candidates were waiting. Knights. Priests. Mages. Mercenaries. Children of nobles.
Humans who each believed they were worthy of pulling the Holy Sword. Feeling them, I thought: There are many humans who pull the Holy Sword. There are even more who want to wield it.
But... humans who will return it are rare. The 37th Sword Era. The Demon King was coming again. And I... had yet to find a single worthy Hero.