The Sword of Screaming

"Oh..."

I murmured it under my breath, eyes on the numbers in the status window.

A powerful enemy had dumped a mountain of experience on me, and I hadn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠forgotten to use the Growth Draft on top of it. Those two things together had driven nearly every stat sharply upward. Strength, Agility, and Stamina were already closing in on thirty—the hard ceiling of the Growth Draft—and even Knowledge and Mana, which I hadn't been thinking about at all, had climbed.

"Hunting demons really does grow you faster than running."

So even in another world, it came down to fighting something in the end. I swallowed a bitter smile. Still, dragging this wretched body this far was something to be glad of. At this level I was roughly on par with a competent apprentice knight, which meant I could step into real combat instead of merely tempering my body.

So what should I try first?

I was turning over the next step—demon hunts, or whatever else would push me further—when something I'd forgotten came back to me.

"Right. The quest!"

I'd only checked whether it had succeeded. I never actually looked at the reward. I opened the quest window at once.

A Claim Reward button blinked at me. I didn't hesitate.

"Ha...!"

Unbelievable. I'd been quietly hoping for something worthwhile, and they gave me a gacha? And the bonus on top of that was draw tickets and a pity counter.

"This is a reward? They're just asking me to pay."

I muttered it with a crooked smile. Then again, that was games for you. Every so-called event opened with thanks to the valued customers and ended by selling them a more expensive package. More to the point—

I've got Blue-White Stones to spare anyway.

What I held was worth hundreds of billions. With a pity system on top of that, calling it a draw was generous. It was practically a handout. I stepped straight into the cash shop, and sure enough a new window had risen over the main screen.

"...They're not playing around."

I studied the gaudy draw window. What caught my eye first was the pickup item itself, the Goddess's Elixir. Its description was simple.

A full-recovery item, the sort you saw in every game. At a glance it didn't look much different from the potions I already used. In truth, one difference was decisive.

There's no non-transfer restriction.

The rule that said I couldn't hand something to anyone else simply didn't exist on the Goddess's Elixir. If I pulled one and set it aside, I could use it on someone other than myself.

"...I should keep at least one."

No reason not to pull, then. It was free either way, and in a month the featured item would change. I was just reaching for the draw when—

"Young Master."

A knock, and Walter's voice beyond the door. I dismissed the screen and rose from the bed.

"What is it?"

"His Grace the Duke has granted your request."

Request? What had I asked for? I chased the memory for a moment, then nodded.

"Ah. The sword. Good."

"It is not merely a matter of receiving a blade. This follows the tradition of the house..."

Walter launched into a lengthy explanation. From what I gathered, a sword bestowed by a renowned knightly house carried considerable meaning. Tradition had never interested me much, so most of it went in one ear and out the other.

"Whatever the reason, a sword is a sword. Are they giving it to me now?"

I cut him off. A trace of dissatisfaction lingered on his face, but he nodded.

"If you wish, I will escort you at once."

"Then let's go."

I got to my feet.

Walter led me to an armory that stood outside the ducal residence. It lay underground, and it was guarded not by soldiers but by knights, and strictly. The place did not exist in Lucas's memories, so I asked.

"Where are we?"

"The Third Armory. It is here that you will choose your weapon, Young Master."

The Third Armory. That much, even Lucas had known. It was opened only to the house's senior knights and above—a vault of respectable quality. If a usable weapon was kept anywhere I was allowed to enter, it would be here.

"Young Master Lucas will select a sword. Open the door."

Walter spoke before a steel door etched with intricate patterns. The two knights on watch gave a short bow and poured their mana into it.

Then came a heavy, grinding rumble, and the thick door moved of its own accord to clear the way. Condensed mana and the smell of old metal stung my nose. What opened beyond was nothing short of a spectacle.

"Oh..."

A vast space that seemed to go on without end. Shelves packed every wall, and hundreds of cold weapons stood displayed there, each breathing out an aura of its own.

Higher quality than I expected.

I turned the thought over as I looked them over. This wasn't the highest armory, and I'd worried the standard might be too low. On the surface, at least, there was plenty worth using. I glanced at Walter.

"May I look?"

"Yes. Examine them freely. You may take only a single blade out with you."

The moment permission left his mouth, I went in and picked up the first weapon that came to hand.

Looks decent enough...

A sword with a sleek blade and a keen edge, and a chill of mana rising from the grip. To an eye that had handled more swords than I could count, it was a fine blade of at least middling make. Seeing it, though, only took me so far.

Swinging it would tell me for certain. That's not going to be allowed.

Choosing a sword didn't mean I could test every weapon ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the room. I was still weighing how to judge them when—

Ding!

A cheap little chime rang in my ear. The system alert of Crius Saga.

"Now?"

I brought up the game window, and my brow tightened at what it said.

"Another draw?"

Even as I muttered it, a black card rose over the sword in my hand. A plain sword was painted on its face. I knew the design. It was the card that appeared when you drew weapons in Crius Saga.

If I press this...

I set a finger to the card floating above the blade. Blue-White Stones enough for a single pull—about three thousand won's worth—were deducted, and the black card turned silver as an information window opened.

My eyes went wide.

So that's how it works...

They called it a draw, but the effect was closer to an appraisal.

The line that followed. I shook my head. It wasn't a bad sword, but the grade was a little low.

I'll aim for SSR first. No idea if there's one in here.

Item grades ran from Normal, through High, Rare, and Super Rare, up to Super Special Rare. Higher ranks—Unique, Legendary—would show up later. This was still the early days of Crius Saga, and SSR was the ceiling.

I hit decline. The description vanished, and enhancement-stone fragments dropped into my inventory instead. So once I had a weapon, I could enhance it too?

In that case—

"Then I'll just check every last one."

No reason to hoard Blue-White Stones. I selected the card over every weapon that caught my eye and skimmed what came up.

Information on weapon after weapon flickered past my eyes. High grade at the low end, SR at the high. A few of the SR pieces were fine enough to be called masterwork, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠usable in their own right.

A weapon that's merely good is a little disappointing.

None of them settled in my chest, and that was because of the skill I carried: Weapon Master. It let me control any kind of weapon perfectly. That was why I had always preferred blades that were powerful but difficult to handle, or that carried a fatal penalty, over famous swords that offered nothing but advantages. Most of what filled this room was ordinary orthodox masterwork—strong, stable, and generous with nothing but positive effects.

Which was why I turned to him.

"Sir Walter."

"Yes, Young Master."

"Nothing here suits me. May I choose somewhere else?"

He shook his head, firm.

"The First and Second Armories are closed to you. What you have been permitted extends only as far as the Third."

"Only as far as the Third? Then the ones below it are allowed, aren't they?"

"That is... true, but..."

He trailed off, as if he hadn't imagined I would ask to go down a grade. I had no intention of visiting the Fourth or the Fifth, either. What I was looking for was not a safe, ordinary weapon.

"Then is there a place where the flawed ones are kept?"

"Flawed weapons?"

"Cursed demon swords. That sort of thing."

Walter was briefly speechless, as if leaving the fine blades in front of us to go hunting for a demon sword made no sense at all.

"Such vulgar things are not kept in the armories. They are stored in a separate sealed vault. But... why would you seek one?"

"Weapons like that are usually the strong ones. If I'm going to use a sword, it might as well be strong."

I said it as if I hadn't thought it through. Walter let out a deep sigh at the answer, but he didn't refuse me.

"Very well. The things in the sealed vault are exceedingly dangerous. I ask that you judge them with care."

"Don't worry. You know who I am—the knight who hunted that mighty Branded Monster with one cheap sword. A mere demon sword isn't going to get the better of me."

"......"

At that boast, half of it nonsense, Walter's face stiffened a little, and he led me out of the armory.

Where we went next had a different air from the Third Armory. A corner of the grounds, well removed from the residence itself, and there a crude, gloomy storehouse stacked from gray stone.

"This is the place."

When Walter opened the door, the sting of dust came with it, and a sense of something ill-omened. Inside, the weapons were nothing like the ones I had just left. A longsword wrapped in white cloth marked with grotesque letters. A weapon shut inside a black coffin, its shape hidden entirely. An axe buried in a stone slab carved with magical script.

"Hm..."

The malice seeping off them was thick enough that even Walter, who had brought me, furrowed his brow and drew back. My reaction ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was the exact opposite.

"Well now..."

To me, these gloomy, ominous weapons looked like the real treasure. I checked the sword nearest the entrance first. The black card above it yielded its color to my touch.

The gold that marked SR. But a dark blood-red had been painted over that gold, proof that the weapon was cursed.

SR, right from the start...

I couldn't have cared less about that. A sword lying carelessly by the entrance was already SR. How much better would the things deeper in be? That was what I wanted to know.

"Young Master!"

I didn't answer Walter's call. I strode farther into the sealed vault. Weapons streamed past me on every side, and by the aura alone every one of them was as ill-omened as a living demon. I was looking for the one among them that bled a thicker malice, the one whose ominous mana boiled hardest.

At last, in the deepest reach of the vault, I found a single sword driven into place. It was a longsword of just the right length. Its red blade was wound tight in chains, and those chains were densely inscribed with characters I couldn't read—seals, binding the sword. Even so, the mana dripping from it was unbearably ominous. Not even that double and triple layer of seals could fully suppress its power.

"...This is the one."

I selected the card above it without hesitation. A black card. I expected the rainbow that stood for SSR.

It wasn't.

"...Huh?"

What poured from the card was a pure white flash.

Unique...?

That light was nothing other than the color of a grade one step above SSR.