[Name: Roadside Rose
Level: 1]
That's the only stat all the newbie players can see when they try to look at her status. As such, it's understandable why they're so confused, when Headmaster readily, almost desperately, acknowledges her.
Everyone knows that she is an Irregulars, that's for sure.
Abnormal Player, whose antic and exploit made the stuff of legend, through some of the weirdest and most absurd ways possible.
Such as, a player that always stumbles upon getting the most broken, absurd, even eldritch skills, abilities, and equipment possible, by the combination of dumb luck, innocent, and off-the-wall thinking.
Such as, a player that liked Slime so much, they made it their personal mission to collect every single slime in the world, and as such create the most infamous siege in the history of Isekai Online, which still bring shudders to this day.
Such as, a player dedicated to hunting Rabbits, as if they have a personal vendetta against them for no reason, for the entirety of their play times, and by some ironic fate becomes a rabbit themselves.
Those people simply don't play the game by any shred of normal standard. As such, the event they create never seems to be bound by silly concepts such as "balance" and "common sense".
But, they usually do have a "cause". No matter how unusual the event is, all of them tend to make a big enough mess first, and then the playerbase usually can piece together a pretty accurate chain of cause and effect, using found footage and guesswork, and figure out how it happens.
But, this time, there just isn't any clue.
In all the player's eyes, Rose, a complete level 1 novice, just come in here, then the Headmaster started scolding and scowling at her all of the sudden. Even weirder, she then started to follow up upon it as if she knew what happen all along, and then they began to make up.
The "big enough mess", in this case, is just the Headmaster going crazy for some reason, before acknowledging her as someone ridiculously strong.
Moreover, in combination with her low level, her basic gear, her bizarre word, and her weird contrast between complete obliviousness, to a deep understanding of the game itself, they just couldn't figure out what he see in her to say so.
They definitely have no doubt about Headmaster's words, since he is commonly known as one of the strongest characters in the game, famous for his good eyes.
But, that only makes the player in front of them even weirder, driving them into making weirder and weirder conjecture.
And no matter how their thought ends up, it's only going to be a giant trouble for him, the Headmaster thought. You don't need to think way too deeply about what happen, when curious foolhardy players tried to mess around with the incarnation of absurdity like she is.
And all of it will fall right onto the roof of the Dojo itself and his skull, so he needs to do something to nip that problem in the bud.
“So, if I do a personal demonstration of my skill, you will give all of us 3 a permanent spot in the Dojo?” (Rose)
“Not only that, but also full access to our library, as well as all of our training gear and beginner resource. All you have to do is to slice a hard dummy as best as you can.” (Headmaster)
“You give me all of it just for doing that? Wouldn’t there be any benefit for you then?” (Rose)
“Trust me, you just doing that alone is enough benefit for me…” (Rose)
That's right, it's to sate the curiosity of all the players inside the dojo, by letting her perform a simple demonstration, for her to show off as many skills as she wants. That way, they would both know and realize just how monstrous she is, and any fool that still likes to value their dignity would leave them (and the Dojo’s structural integrity) alone. Consequently, it will also eliminate all the weird rumors sprouting up about the relationship between them, which is a great bonus.
“(Well, it would attract another type of fool into the mix, but that's the shit future-me just have to endure.)"
Concentrating to solve one problem at a time, the Headmaster watch over the instructor, carrying a particularly hardy dummy to one corner of the wall. Made of orichalcum, it’s the toughest dummy they have, that would be able to withstand even the strongest punch from the Headmaster.
After placing it down with a loud thump, all the instructors then immediately run outside of the potential zone of impact, knowing how to save their life and keeping their mouths shut.
“100% pure orichalcum. Practically indestructible, completely immovable, and personally sculpted with the most punchable gut in existence. The toughest dummy in the continent.” (Headmaster)
“...Why do you talk like that, I may ask?” (Rose)
“I don’t know, the chick somehow like it when I said like so. Some nonsense about ‘the Sommelier scene’ or something.” (Headmaster)
“Ah, so it is advertising, noted.” (Rose)
“Anyway, you can do anything you want to it, and I am sure you will not be able to make a dent in it. I only take this out, when I don't want to waste any more repair fee for the day.” (Headmaster)
“...So I’ll take it as a challenge, then.” (Rose)
“Well, take it what you want...if you have the knack.” (Headmaster)
Patting down the dummy on his side, the Headmaster taunts her with a daring glare, goading her into showing off even more of her power and making a bigger bang. After all, just one time getting the Dojo completely obliterated is worth it for the future of forever pristine.
It maaaay be getting a little bit short-sighted.
Meanwhile though, even while replying to Headmaster properly, she still has her eyes glued to the old rusty sword she held in her hand. Noticing that, the Headmaster goaded her even further, going completely in the mood of a local bully wanting to get his face slapped.
“Oh? Of course we aren’t going to give you a proper sword just for a demonstration, do we? Well, a master like you should be able to use any weapon, no matter how unsuitable, righttt?” (Headmaster)
“(Oi, Headmaster is going overboard here. Does he want her to break as much stuff as possible?)” (Peanut crowds)
"(At this rate, it isn't just the Dojo that will be getting wrecked...We need to find a way to get out of here fast before Headmaster earn the ire of Her Majesty again)"
As the sideline instructor preemptively looked for the nearest exit door, standing hidden behind the row of onlookers wanting to see where it end up, Rose still stuck her eyes onto the sword, feeling the rusted groove with the palm of her hand, seemingly unaware of Headmaster’s cocky smallfry face.
"Well, of course I can completely destroy the dummy with this old sword…" (Rose)
“(Of course you can, I am goddamn counting on you to make my retirement-)” (Headmaster)
“...But, you don’t know what this sword is?” (Rose)
Suddenly being asked the question, the Headmaster momentarily drops his facade, seemingly confused.
“? It's just a random old sword that we have had for decades now. As far as we know, it's a surprisingly hardy blunt sword, so we have been passing it around to the newbie for them to train." (Headmaster)
“...Ah, is that so. Just a random old sword, I see…” (Rose)
Hearing the answer, her face turn sentimental, as she look solemnly at the blade she gently held, like a warrior looking at an unmarked grave.
Surprised that she make such a look, Headmaster inquired further upon her in curiosity. Something in his instinct tell him that something is up.
“What’s with your look? As far as I can see, it’s just a regular old sword I have in spade in the warehouse, with it only just tougher than average.” (Headmaster)
"Ah, it's nothing...Considering that it has forgotten itself, I guess it makes sense that you can only look at this blade like that." (Rose)
“??” (Headmaster)
“But, the scar won’t forget...No matter how much the rust ghoulishly grabs onto the very bone of the blade, it will never hide away the mark of countless battles, and the care and attention of countless heroes…" (Rose)
"?I guess it also gets used a lot by many talented disciples back in the day, seeing that it's also really balanced for some reason. But isn't that just it?" (Headmaster)
“That’s just it, huh...So, once the glory faded, and the shine slowly dimmed out with scratch and rust, even a great blade like this will be the same as every other blade, having such a quiet twilight…” (Rose)
Gazing at the blade so eaten, all of its features faded and gone away, her face, already sentimental, now wore a subtle tint of sadness. Like someone imagining where their family all will end up, as they walk through a cemetery.
Under the really confused eyes of the Headmaster, she quietly answer back after a while.
"...Oh, my apology for acting so sentimental. Some of my family members are weapons, so it's inevitable that I would be so empathetic." (Rose)
"Hm? Do you have family members that belong to the Living Weapon race?... That's quite understandable then. I heard that when a Living Weapon dies, they instantly lose all of their lusters, and their rusted forms all get quietly buried away among mass graves...Sorry if I trigger memories of great loss." (Headmaster)
“(So this place also has such kind of weapons, even though the form differ...) It's okay, though my family member is still very much shiny and sharp enough to cut away the world, I have seen through countless blades suffer the same fate beneath my hand, among many things in life." (Rose)
“I-Is that so...” (Headmaster)
Through the eyes carrying deep vicissitudes through the years, the Headmaster momentarily saw the image of a warrior slicing through mountains of corpses, giving him goosebumps. The bystander, intimidated by the pressure triggered by her memory, also find themselves shivering to their bone.
...Without questioning the oddity of her word, but that's neither here nor there, for the moment.
"...Ah, I have bothered you enough. I will begin my demonstration shortly.” (Rose)
Swiftly taking back her pressure, the Headmaster finds himself exhaling a bit, as if he has been released from a grip. Recovering himself, he feints back a casual tone.
“I-It’s fine. Go ahead then, since we don’t have all day.” (Headmaster)
“I will...but could I do it a little bit differently?” (Rose)
“?” (Headmaster)
“Ah no, the result will still be the same, but…” (Rose)
Standing perfectly still in front of the dummy, holding the blade perfectly straight with a tight grip, she focuses herself in contemplation.
“...I need to send this blade away, with a proper Sword's Funeral."
Then, a quiet, towering blade rises up infinitely to the sky, carrying a solemn aura.
----------------------------------------
By the time I woke up, everything around me is a murky color.
I don't know if I have woken up before. I feel like I do, but it's just as vague as the haze around me.
I don’t know if I will wake up after. The darkness around me doesn’t suggest so.
I feel like I have repeated this thought a countless times. This all feels strangely familiar.
I feel like I have only thought of this once. This all feels familiarly strange.
I have no clue where I was. I have no clue what I am. I have no clue if I even existed.
“I think, therefore I am.”
A sentence comes out of me.
It feels so familiar, perhaps I do repeat this countless times.
I am thinking...so I guess I exist.
I have a “self”.
Then, what this “self” is?
I feel like I have repeated this countless times.
Drudging through my memory once again, countless shape pop out of existence.
It’s all a blur though. Something tall, something short, something big, something small...that’s all I can see.
Strangely though, I know that all of this shape isn’t me.
So I guess I am not any of the shapes my memory shows me.
So...am I nothing? Someone with no shape?
I guess I can’t feel anything, so it must be correct.
Perhaps I have repeated this thought countless times.
Then, this “self” must have no shape, no form, no contour, no feature.
"If one has no form, one has no purpose. If one has no purpose, one can't exist."
Another sentence came out of me.
Probably another repeated thought, I do feel it's strangely familiar.
If I have no form, then I shouldn’t have any purpose. And if so, I shouldn’t exist?
But, earlier I confirm that I exist.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
So that means, I have a purpose.
So that means, I have a form.
Which form is it?
I feel like I have repeated this countless times…
“(You are a blade)”
...A sentences come out from somewhere.
A light comes out from somewhere.
I know that sentences don't come from me. Where is it?
“(You are a great blade)”
It comes from that light.
A lone light in this encompassing murky haze. Yet, it shines brightly. It shines sharply.
Piercing through the haze, it comes right at me.
An elongated shape.
2 side, sharpen to its limit, into an infinitely thin line.
A tip, so infinitesimally small, as if vanishing into nothingness.
That shape...feel familiar.
It felt really familiar.
It's as if this shape has been buried deep within me.
It’s as if this shape, is the shape I will never forget, that I shouldn’t forget, no matter what.
“(I am a blade)”
‘I am the blade’, so is this shape a blade?
“(You are a blade)”
‘You are a blade’, so...I am a blade?
Somehow, this feels deeply familiar.
For each time that word comes out of me, something within me go out. It then calls out to me, it recalls to me.
It remembers, for me.
“...I see, so I am a blade.”
A similar shape to the blade in front of me, comes out of me, and becomes me.
‘I am a blade’, this feel like something irrefutable. Something undeniable. Something unmistakable.
I am a blade, I have a form of a blade. I have a purpose of a blade.
What is a purpose of a blade?
I ask, as the light in front of me spread ever farther.
----------------------------------------
Strictly speaking, there isn’t a blade piercing through the roof of the Dojo. The Dojo is still perfectly pristine, with no damage inflicted upon it yet.
A clear, nearly invisible aura as sharp as a blade silently come out from Rose, and that aura instantly goes up, passing through the roof, and into the sky above.
Just for the newbie around, this feat is already impressive enough. It felt like some sort of final finishing move is going to come out, and smash the dummy to smithereens.
‘No, it ain’t it.’ The Headmaster thought otherwise, through his emerald eyes.
“(An aura in the shape of a blade...One can be mistaken that she’s invoking sword energy. If so, probably anyone with a good head on their shoulder would be rightfully terrified of this massively sharp sword aura in front of them...But, this ain’t it.)” (Headmaster)
“(Sword energy, the accumulation and manifestation of blade elements, is inherently sharp and destructive. It would cut at anything it touch, and my poor Dojo would have already been cut apart like tofu.)”
“(But this isn’t exactly the same. While her aura is extremely sharp, it isn’t destructive at all, and instead it's precisely controlled so that it will pass through anything, and leave everything untouched.)"
“(Instead, it should be carrying a certain type of emotion…)”
The blade, infinitely extending beyond the sky, doesn't come out with the intention to harm. To cut, nor severe everything in its wake.
Instead, this blade, so unmistakenly sharp and fine, come with the intention to call.
To seemingly invoke upon all the blades within the universe, to bear witness.
To look upon a blade, nearing its end, making its final cut.
Through the medium of the blade that is herself, all the blades around get the chance to point their gaze at her and at the blade she held in her hand, looking in silent and calm.
“A sword’s end is usually quiet and unassuming. Once broken, they’re either buried among the corpse, or melted away to make another, or simply left alone to rust and rot, and quietly return to earth.” (Rose)
“A sword’s funeral is always brief, direct, and certain. It shouldn’t be made with much fanfare or ceremony, for a sword doesn’t need more than a thought necessary. A sword, made to be sharp, should end sharply and cleanly, leaving only a single mark on its grave..”
"So, forgive me for stretching this out much more than it should be. For this blade still doesn't remember itself as a blade, I need to call out its true nature, so that it could still meet its end as a blade."
Quietly calling out to the world, the world responds.
All the sword responded to her word, albeit slightly. From the sword in the warehouse, to the sword on the chick's waist used to show off, to the sword outside the dojo, oblivious to what happened inside.
A sword’s funeral should never be grand or overdone. As such, the influence is intentionally slight. The best a swordsman should feel is a slight tug on the tip of his blade, and the edge being a bit blunter than usual.
Still, the slight change is felt all over the world.
Beyond the border of the capital, beyond the scope of the continent, in every corner of the world.
And, as the aura blade quietly stretched out to space, perhaps even the universe was tugged.
From slight skirmish to large battle to duel to the death...Such a slight change is enough, to lull the drive of conflict everywhere, on all sides, for only a moment. Aside from the top of the top, no one in the heat of their moment can feel it enough to change the course of fate.
Quietly calling out to the world, only the world responds.
And respond, it was, for the blade element of the world all quietly come to the Dojo to witness.
“You are a great blade.”
“You have served in the hand of countless heroes, stretch since the first battle began.”
“You have aid in defeating countless enemies, saving countless allies, and defending the dominion, peace, and prosperity of your land.”
“You have withstand countless trials, bear against countless wounds, and stand against countless curses, as it eats slowly from your edge and leather, down to your core.”
“And still, even when you lose your feature, your luster faded and replaced with rust, your glory be forgotten and left behind...the shape which unmistakenly defined you as a blade still remains."
The blade element, corralled within the wide Dojo space, resonate with each of her words. The thin, leaf-like line float to and fro around her, dancing in different frequency.
The blade knows of her word.
The blade remembers the past.
The blade praises the achievement.
The blade mourns at the present.
Going wildly, the sharp atmosphere condenses within this space slip freely between the skin and hair of all the people within, flying through every gap. Intimidated by the leaf floating in front of their eyes, as thin as a razor, they stuck standing still, not wanting to lose a finger or an eye.
Yet, they never did cut. For all the effort they use to dance erratically, they’re always a distance away from touching.
Perhaps, they don’t feel like cutting today, as they’re witnessing the twilight of the blade.
Most likely, they get heavily told not to, being watched over and suppressed by the towering blade in the middle.
(Blade Concentration (sharpening the blade), Blade Manifestation (revealing the blade), Blade Dominion (controlling the blade),…)
(If I were to borrow the terminology from the Mae continent, she would be considered a monster-level swordsman to be able to perform all 3 at the same times, as such a high level of mastery...No, she is also doing something different on top of that, so she would be on the level beyond those monster, huh...)
Mumbling to himself, the Headmaster quietly (and resignedly) freaks out over the ludicrousness that is happening in front of him.
Either way, he can only keep watching, as the rust steadily peeled away little by little, scrape away by the aura she injected within…
----------------------------------------
More and more blades started to come into this brightening world, all of them eager to tell me a story.
A story of how I landed in the hand of countless heroes, from the first to the present.
A story of how I slay countless monsters and evil that stand to threaten everything.
A story of how I remained in my shape, even when the wound pile up on me, to the point I forget myself.
Through the story, memory is restored back to me. Through the story, my shape returned back to me…
Through the story, I remember who I am.
I remember where I came from, I remember what I did, I remember what I am now…
And I know my time is up.
“Is this heaven, then?”
Another sentence came out of me. One of the last I would say, I presume
I have heard of the tale of heaven, from the many people that I have come across.
A land of light, where eternal bliss awaits. Where your soul lands as its final destination, for the one that's righteous and true.
Where you will meet your god, who will be affirming your every deed.
“So, are you my god?”
I ask the blade in front of me.
The blade neither confirms nor denied.
So, it must be depending on my thought.
This blade in front of me...is perfect beyond all compare.
With an edge that can cut even darkness itself and a tip that can pierce through the void, even the image of a perfect blade one can conjure up, pale in comparison to what is in front.
Looking at how every other blade in here seemingly bows and stay proper in front of this blade, it must be superior to all others.
However, blades don't worship a god. For a blade can cut god.
Neither god nor devil, neither mortal nor divine, neither the world nor even the universe...a blade cut all, so a blade worship none, not even itself.
For obviously, a blade can also cut itself, and cut other blades.
Yet, the grand blade in front of me seems uncuttable.
Despite being so incomprehensibly sharp, this blade can't be cut by others, no matter what.
It's as if, deep within the steel which made this blade, is an infinite and endless depth, of which no blade can pass through. A surface so infinitely fine, no imperfection can be cracked open.
And even still, greedier for more, this blade is constantly sharpening itself, intend to be sharper than the infinity it houses inside, and on its edge. Constantly destroying itself and reforging anew, going beyond the peak barely anyone can comprehend.
A blade that forges on a path completely separate from every other.
A blade that garners respect from all other blades, through sheer force of will and countless cuts.
A blade, beyond blades.
“A blade beyond blade…”
In the end, it’s the only conclusion I can make during my short remaining time.
All I can know, is that I am in the presence of perhaps the greatest blade I have ever known.
All I can know, is that we meet by sheer force of fate, crossing paths in a way we shouldn't.
All I can know, is that the greatest blade has awoken me.
For what purpose?
Even if I am awoken, my time is nearly due. Soon enough, my shape will crumble, my form will be lost, and with it, any sort of purpose I have left for the world.
The darkness will reclaim me soon enough, and this time will be the last.
Answering my curiosity, a certain object shows up, like a black blob staining the light.
Vaguely shape like a person, it is one of the toughest objects I have ever seen.
My instinct said so, through this body that eats through countless bones.
In my current body, once the edge of my blade touches heavily against the object, I will immediately snap and crumble, without even being able to nick a chip.
My last cut, will end in such a useless way.
...Something in me silently cry out.
“Would that be it?”
“Would my final cut, be performing such an end?”
“To slam feebly, and break before even landing a scratch?”
My instinct cries out against this fate.
Or perhaps, it’s just my nature to challenge this fate.
Something in me refused to let it go, and ran wildly, thirsting to run my edge straight through.
“(Offer your all. Abandon your form.)”
Then, responding to my innate desire, the blade beyond blade speaks.
Abandon my form?
Without my form, I have no purpose. Without my purpose, I can’t exist.
How can I cut, if I can’t exist?
“(Exist, not as a blade)”
“(Exist, only as a cut)”
Instead of responding further, the blade beyond blade demonstrates.
Throwing away everything toward the blob, its perfect form fade and crumble away.
Instead, only an edge remained.
The edge, sharper than infinity, sharpen itself even more.
Throwing away the form, every single essence of the blade beyond blade concentrates only at the edge of edge.
That edge, as its absolute thinnest, as its absolute sharpest, is as its absolute peerlessness.
Flinging itself against that dark blob, the edge completely devoured the blob, cutting it into absolute nothingness.
“(Offer your all, abandon your form, leave only the edge.)”
“(Leave all to the essence, then…)”
...Transcend.
----------------------------------------
In a manner of time both short and long, the blade finally reveals itself fully once again.
A simple double-edge blade of immaculate silver sheen. With a fuller in the middle to lighten the heavy blade.
A simple guard of dark metal, a handle wrapped in black leather, a pommel dense as tungsten.
Simple and unremarkable, it's made for delivering the sharpest cut, and nothing else. For all the newbies around, used to seeing weapons of myth much more flashier than this, they only find themselves tilting their heads, without much impressions aside from simple speechless awe.
But for the Headmaster, it’s a different story, as his eyes lay wide open.
A hero needs their weapon, and the First Hero is no exception. By her side is Justicia, the Holy Blade she wields to defeat all evil through terrifying power and a mighty light.
It isn't her first weapon, however, unlike what the tale might say, about how she's destined to be a hero the moment she pulls it out of a crevice.
Instead, she used to have another weapon: A trusted partner she wields, back when she was a famed adventurer and warrior, who explore the entirety of Centras with overwhelming talent, overwhelming skill, and overwhelming power.
A simple blade, whose only purpose is to cut. In the hand of a terrifying person like the First Hero, it shows horrifying might which carve apart countless monsters, cut up mountains, and literally changes the map. This single-minded sharpness is something even the First Demon Lord feared, as she use both Justicia and this blade to hack and strip him of all his armor and flesh, before burning him with the light of justice.
After her personal battle against the First Demon Lord is over and she successfully sealed him away, while she kept Justicia by her side, she left this blade under the care of the Dojo at her time, in hope that this blade will be able to aid future heroes in their quest to defeat evils. A favorite first arms of the hero, many have used this as their first weapon, before they can truly find a weapon they called their own, and returning it to the Dojo each time.
However, times are unkind. Clashing too much against the hide and armor, and bathing in too much blood, its blade has gone dull, and its luster has all gone away, until only a rusted blade remains, kept inside the chamber of the Dojo for safekeeping and memorial.
Going through the millennium, the Dojo has been destroyed and rebuilt countless time throughout the age, and in the midst of all that, the blade disappear from the possession of the Dojo, never to be seen again. Then, it slowly disappears through the annals of time, and not even the name remains.
Used to be known as the First Blade of the hero, also known as the Inheritance Blade, before it was known as the Fallen Blade, and finally the Forgotten Blade...
Who knew that, mixing among all the old training blades for the newbie, it has hidden in slumber all this time, before coincidentally fall into her hand, and through her might revealing itself once again, returning to its former glory…
‘For only a moment’, the Headmaster thought, his eyes once again isn’t just for show.
The shining gleam the blade is showing right now, is just a final dying glow. Even if the rust is removed, the blade has been eaten deep inside too much, without any sort of maintenance over the age to at least mitigate this.
To even keep its shape like it was back then, is already miracle enough. Under his keen eyes, he can clearly see that it's just a hollow shell, ready to collapse at any moment's notice.
“(Now I see why she called whatever she is doing a Sword’s Funeral…)”
This blade is already at the end of its life. Neither the legendary blacksmith skill of the dwarve, nor the unimaginable technology of the Mectalblitz continent can restore it back to its former glory.
It's clear that whatever cut it will make, will be its last.
And its final opponent is the Orichalcum Dummy, the toughest dummy in the continent that he knows of. Common sense would dictate that the blade would just slam feebly into the dummy and instantly broke to piece, ending its glory in a feeble end.
But Rose has an affirmation, that the dummy will be destroyed, no matter what. Considering the absolute confidence she exudes, just as much as her terrifying power over the blade, her statement can be nothing but the truth.
So now, all he can do is to watch, with a calm face and a deep expectant, holding back the surging emotion about to flow out of his eyes.
“(Though I only know about it now...please do it properly.)”
Perhaps in response to his word, Rose continued on.
“The blade has remembered, that it's a blade."
((So now, no more word is needed))
Keeping their thought to themselves, Rose then held the blade up high, tightly, as if pressing a spring, while her foot planted firming to the ground.
The atmosphere turns silent. Only the silent glowing shine of the blade made any sort of noise.
Originally, a sword’s funeral is always like this.
Then, she swings.
Perfectly, from up to down, all of them felt as if a line have been made to perfectly split the world in half. In fact, the sword element would have mistakenly made it so, if not for Rose personally scolding them down.
Instead, only the dummy is cut.
Perfectly straight from top to bottom, the cut then spread out and cracked through the dummy, as if devouring it whole. Before it can even fall apart in half, it smoothly turns to dust.
The final cut has been made.
Finished with her swing, she properly stand up again, holding tightly in her hand an empty hilt, its glow no more.
“(So, it is over…)”
It’s all too sudden.
From her sudden action, to the sudden revelation, to the swift and quiet end. When he knows about what the blade truly is, it already meets its end.
To witness something that monumental to the kingdom meet such a quiet end in a blink of an eye...He doesn't know what to properly think, once again. Trapped in the turbulence of emotion, he stands still as Rose comes to him.
"Thanks you for letting me borrow this sword and perform my demonstration. Now we can own a spot at the dojo?” (Rose)
“...Ah! Right, I will keep my word.” (Headmaster)
As usual, she replied with tranquility and grace, as if nothing has happen before, as she handed over to him the bladeless hilt, under the quiet stare of people.
This also, is the necessary ritual for the funeral, in order to cut it cleanly and let the past be the past. No mourning is done, for no mourning is needed to be done.
Yet, it doesn't mean that one can't feel any emotion. As if there is no exception, her subtle face becomes slightly filled with remorse.
That slight change of emotion doesn't escape his eyes. Briefly thinking through what word he should say, he then opens up.
“...May I ask. Is this a good blade?” (Headmaster)
“It’s a great blade, like I said before.” (Rose)
A frank answer is all it needed.
For nothing but the fact need to be said.
Removing all extraneous matter, a simple word is the best sign of respect she would give.
“Is that so...I'm glad to hear that. And this sword would have loved to hear that as well." (Headmaster)
Understanding her word, he replied just as frankly, with his sharp eyes looking straight.
"However, we people, unfortunately, can't just cut quite as straight. I need to report this to Her Majesty, and then I need to give this back to its proper place and…" (Headmaster)
“? You can still use this sword though?” (Rose)
Tilting her head to the side, she talks back to him, trying to dispel any confusion.
...With a slight sullen look on her face.
“?? I mean you definitely can make another blade to fit onto this hilt, but wouldn’t it be improper in trying to make use of a cor-” (Headmaster)
Confused by what she have said, the Headmaster tried to figure out what is going on…
In response, the bladeless hilt jumps out of his hand, and into her grasp.
And with a swift motion of her hand, a clean glowing blade is instantly made on her side, under the astonished eyes of everybody.
“...How?” (Headmaster)
"...I have made a mistake." (Rose)
Even with the eternally cool face she always wore, a slight red on her cheek could be seen.