The Verdict of the Broken Holy Sword
When the world is in turmoil, history inevitably forges something worthy of it.
Heroes emerge in times of war, saints in times of famine.
Yet for five centuries now, this continent has produced nothing of the sort. The oracles have fallen silent.
All because the Demon King barricaded himself in his tower.
So in a way, it was a good thing no hero appeared.
But humanity tore itself apart.
Once the demonkin vanished from the continent, the era sank into a quagmire of warring factions. The goddess seemed indifferent to human strife, allowing the seven flames to burn.
No—six flames now.
The Empire had swallowed the Dwarven Kingdom whole. One flame with centuries of history had been snuffed out. They called it a merger, but everyone knew the truth: extermination.
The warlords sharpened their blades against one another. The stench of war permeated the entire continent.
In such an age,
an impossible gathering convened.
Normally, history wouldn't permit it in these times. The warlords' bloodlust trampled diplomatic norms, and the very concept of neutrality vanished first.
But this one was different.
Its history predated history itself.
The Continental Unification Supreme Council.
If human history spanned a millennium, this council had existed before that.
Even primordial beings attended.
And so,
they all came.
To that venerable hall, including one mismatched faction. At the entrance to this sanctuary today, a pitiful scene unfolded, utterly unworthy of its prestige.
"Ptooey!"
The driver of a battered, mud-caked hired carriage spat roughly onto the ground.
"Princess? Ha, even a stray dog would laugh! No money for the fare, and you spout nonsense?"
"Y-You insolent cur! How dare you address Her Highness, princess of a sovereign realm…!"
The white-haired old prime minister trembled with his staff, bellowing, but the driver merely snorted.
"Ah, whatever! Just pay up! You look like drowned rats!"
The prime minister's hand slowed as he fumbled in his robes.
The princess watched silently, then quietly bent down.
She slipped off both her shoes.
"Would you accept these shoes as payment, if it pleases you?"
The driver narrowed his eyes, peering at the shoes.
"Tch."
He eyed them a moment, then snatched them up.
"N-No… You mustn't… Your Highness…!"
The carriage rattled away, leaving the princess barefoot. Elia, first princess of the small kingdom of Lumen, silently clutched her skirt hem.
The prime minister bowed his head. "Your Highness… I beg your forgiveness. This humble servant's incompetence…"
"No, Prime Minister. Arriving on time is miracle enough."
The princess forced her lips into a smile. It was wretched. The kingdom's sole pride, its aged wyvern, had plummeted to its death en route to the council, exhausting its lifespan. By fortune, it crashed into a river, saving their lives—but the royal garb was ruined, and the meticulously prepared briefing materials swept away.
Now even her shoes had gone as fare. Such was the sorrow of a minor kingdom.
"Let us go. We're late."
Elia tucked her bare feet beneath her skirt hem and entered the council chamber.
"…!"
The moment she stepped inside, a breathtaking vista overwhelmed her. Magical lights adorning the ceiling, colossal marble pillars.
I'm… in a place like this…
She was awestruck. Sitting among the titans who dominated the continent—it felt utterly unreal.
The massive doors groaned open, revealing the chamber within. A gigantic round table, ringed by seven seats.
One figure was already there, seated like a statue at one side. Golden reptilian eyes, horns and scales—a man.
The legendary dragonkin.
The dragons' proxy…
Elia swallowed dryly and approached, bowing politely. "I am Elia of Lumen Kingdom. It is an honor to meet y—"
Ignored.
The dragonkin didn't spare her a glance. His fixed golden slit pupils stared into the void, disinterested.
[Choose no one.]
"…Pardon?"
Elia's head snapped up at the voice reverberating directly in her mind. But the dragonkin still ignored her.
No time for questions. The prime minister approached, straightening her attire and whispering, "Your Highness. We've lost the materials, but proceed as prepared. Our role was set from the start, after all."
"…Yes. I know."
No need to say it.
They'd been invited as a puppet for the fallen Dwarven Kingdom.
Lumen Kingdom qualified perfectly as the council's provisional member.
The weakest, politically irrelevant, easily discarded.
Screeech—
As time passed, the continent's rulers began arriving. The haughty Elf Queen. The desert empire's prince, scanning the room with a roguish glare. The ascetic Holy Kingdom's cardinal. The cool-headed Free Republic's prime minister. And the enigmatic Tower Alliance's archmage lord, cloaked in mystery, seeming unwell—perhaps injured.
Last,
the Empire's foreign minister entered.
Seeing him, the desert prince crossed his legs and drawled lazily, "Heh, really. Does the Empire find the council a joke now? Sending a mere minister instead of a regent."
The foreign minister sat smoothly, replying softly, "The imperial family is occupied stabilizing the newly annexed territories. If it offends, I beg your magnanimity."
The desert prince snorted. "Fine, whatever. The royals must be busy bedding those dwarven beauties, right?"
The foreign minister fell silent.
The prince's gaze fixed on Elia, rigid with tension. "And that backwater kingdom sends not even a king, but some green girl. The Empire sending a foreign minister is a boon—we should be grateful, eh?"
Elia's shoulders twitched. The prime minister flushed with rage but couldn't intervene.
"Enough. To business."
The Elf Queen signaled the start.
*
The Continental Unification Supreme Council addressed one agenda.
The extermination of the demonkin.
Debating strategies for it—the sole purpose.
Since the Demon King Tower rose, meetings had grown brief.
But the council mandated sending scouts to the tower every four years, rotating among factions.
The issue: the tower was a death trap, inescapable.
No one wanted to waste troops.
The Elf Queen spoke. "The elves handled the last four years. Shall we discuss the next rotation?"
"Impossible for the Empire," the foreign minister cut in. "As His Highness the desert prince noted, war has fatigued our forces."
"Kakakaka!"
The desert prince roared with laughter. "Fatigue? You've gorged on dwarven gold and arms, packing on pounds. At least make excuses convincing."
The minister replied, "I wonder if Sahad approved of our tribute."
"Burned it all. Sahad's grandeur isn't as vulgar as yours."
"Then perhaps mighty Sahad could take the next four years?"
"The Sun God doesn't send soldiers to slaughter."
Next, the Holy Kingdom's cardinal. "The Holy Kingdom is rebuilding the grand cathedral. Detaching holy knights from sacred duties is difficult."
The Free Republic's prime minister said, "Without parliamentary approval, the republic can't undertake military action. The assembly is in recess over internal matters…"
The archmage lord leaned on his staff. "The towers face power shortages; we can't step forward lightly. What say the dragons?"
He glanced at the dragonkin.
[The dragons, as always, shun the tower.]
The desert prince tapped the table. "Pfft. Bottom line: everyone's too scared to go?"
Icy silence descended.
Elia rose cautiously, breaking it. Eyes turned to her.
"Um… Lumen Kingdom too—my father lies ill, so we lack the means…"
"Hey."
The prince propped his chin, cutting her off. "Hahaha! Adorable. You don't need to speak!!!"
Snickers rippled through the room.
"And you… so tense, yet no papers? Not even a scrap?"
"Th-That's…"
"Pathetic."
The Elf Queen frowned in distaste. "Drop it. Since no one's volunteering, we'll follow convention."
Convention.
"Proceed with the Judgment of the Fallen Sword."
The rite called the Fallen Sword Ceremony.
Thud. Thud.
Council guards bore in a heavy golden chest. Inside lay the hilt of the holy sword, said to have snapped in a hero's grasp—blade long gone.
The rite: stand the hilt at the table's center and release.
Where the handle falls designates the dispatching faction.
Shing.
The foreign minister stood it upright.
The holy sword hilt stood perfectly vertical here.
This table's center was where the sword had first plunged in primordial times.
That was why the council met here, why the chamber was named the Holy Sword Scabbard.
No rigging possible.
Not with the dragonkin and six others watching.
Elia held her breath. Odds: one in seven.
Please…
The minister's hand withdrew.
Wobble—
The hilt swayed, then crashed onto the table with a heavy thud.
Clang!
The handle pointed to one side.
"……!"
Elia's heart plummeted.
The hilt's tip aimed at Lumen Kingdom.
"Ah…."
Her legs buckled. A minor kingdom had no knightly order by imperial standards.
Not even a mercenary band's caliber.
To send what few soldiers they had to the tower, she—the princess—might have to lead personally.
The desert prince whistled. "Congrats, little miss. Your backwater kingdom's name will echo across the continent."
As Elia reached with trembling hand to accept the verdict by grasping the hilt—
BAM—!!!!
The chamber doors burst open.
"What outrage! Who dares interrupt the sacred council?!"
The Holy Kingdom's cardinal leaped up in fury.
An imperial herald dashed in, face ashen, whispering urgently to the foreign minister.
The minister's eyes widened faintly. His gaze drifted, then locked on Elia.
Clap.
He seized her wrist. "…Do not touch the sword, Your Highness."
Grip like iron, belying his gentle tone.
Elia looked up in confusion; he raised his voice to fill the chamber. "The Empire placed Lumen here. Thus, we take responsibility—the imperial knights will handle the expedition."
Silence.
The desert prince scoffed. "Ha! Empire playing charity?"
Then, a door by the desert empire opened; a black-masked spy approached the prince.
"Who now?!"
After a brief whisper, the prince's face twisted greedily. "Sahad's warriors, the desert legions—off to the Demon King Tower! Can't let the Empire hog it!"
His shout ignited the rest. Spies flooded in to Elf Queen, cardinal, archmage, republic prime minister, relaying frantic news.
Leaders' faces shifted wildly at the whispers.
"The Holy Kingdom's holy knights march! That evil falls to the Church to purge!"
"Forest warriors will go. Control remains ours—don't meddle."
"Free Republic assembly will vote emergency deployment!"
Elia stared blankly at the chaos.
What news could make them act like this?
They'd been shoving responsibility moments ago.
Intel-less Lumen couldn't know.
But certain: Something's up. Profit in the tower.
Undeniable amid the spittle-flying claims.
BAM—!!!!
The dragonkin slammed the table. A resonant shockwave silenced the room.
His golden eyes fixed on dazed Elia.
[The judgment sword points to the minor kingdom.]
[The decision rests with Lumen's princess.]
Six continental titans' gazes converged on Elia.
She gasped for air, head spinning.
Pick the Empire, and desert/Sahad and Holy Kingdom rage… Any choice, others crush us.
Yet ignorant her claiming the prize? Impossible.
What to do? How…
After deep thought, Elia lifted her head.
She recalled this place's purpose.
"Everyone… should go."
"…What?"
The desert prince scowled; most frowned.
Princess Elia met their eyes squarely. "This Holy Sword Scabbard exists to confront the eternal foe, the Demon King. If all muster courage, no need for one faction alone."
She stood the fallen hilt at the table's center.
"Unite our armies into a grand allied expedition force."
Objections abounded, but consensus formed swiftly.
No one wanted to back out.
Thus, one minor kingdom's princess forged the continent's unprecedented mega-alliance expedition.
*
After the meeting, as ministers departed.
"Becoming the continent's focal point—Your Highness has achieved a monumental feat!"
The prime minister praised her endlessly; Elia herself rejoiced.
Choosing all, not one.
She admired her own stratagem.
How thrilled Father would be.
Elated, she exited shaking hands—then met golden slit pupils.
Only then recalled the dragonkin's first words.
—[Choose no one.]
Mulling it—
[You've herded all humanity onto a thorny path.]
"Y-Yes…?"
Beneath his piercing gaze.
She stood barefoot.