Gasp

With a start, Cordellia's eyes flew open as she bolted upright, her gaze darting around the unfamiliar room.

‘Where am I? Argh, my head aches…’

Looking down, she saw that the Sword From the Stone was still in her hands. The intricately carved blade gleamed in the light pooling in the room, its surface reflecting the faint patterns of magic etched into the metal.

‘At least they did not take it from me.’

She took a moment to collect herself, her surroundings slowly coming into focus. The room was stark but not hostile, furnished simply with a cot, a small table, and a single chair. Sunlight filtered in through a small window, casting soft shadows on the walls. Dust particles danced in the light beams, adding a serene contrast to her confusion. There were no bars on the window, and no guards standing by the door.

‘This place not seem like a prison,’ she thought, clutching her head as her confusion grew. ‘What befell me after Alarice's treachery, that wretched, backstabbing wench?’

The memory of Alarice’s betrayal flooded back, and Cordellia’s grip tightened on the sword. She swung her legs over the edge of the cot and stood up, though her legs felt weak and unsteady. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and made her way to the door.

Stepping out into the hallway, Cordellia felt cool air sweep past her and saw that she was in some sort of expansive building. The walls were made of a smooth, reflective material that shimmered under the overhead lights.

‘I cannot tarry here for long. I know not when my captors shall return. First things first, I must escape.’

Moving forward as fast as she could, using the sword to help her trudge along, she began to navigate the lengthy hallway. The echo of her footsteps against the metallic floor amplified the eerie silence. A few minutes later, as she walked aimlessly through the maze-like building, she suddenly heard a voice behind her.

“Look who’s up. Our resident sleepyhead has finally decided to join the world of the living.”

Jerking her head backward, Cordellia saw a man dressed in a simple black buttoned shirt with a tie and pants walking towards her. He had orange eyes the color of molten metal and red accents in his black hair, catching the light in a way that made them glow eerily.

“Let’s have a chat. What do you say?”

Panic surged through Cordellia, her heart pounding in her chest. Drawing her sword from its scabbard, she settled into a high guard, gripping the top of the hilt near the sword's guard and her other hand near the pommel, preparing to fight. The weight of the sword felt both familiar and heavy, a comforting burden.

As the man continued to walk and entered her striking range, she swung the sword down clumsily toward his shoulder with enough force to be carried through the air, blowing the wind in the hallway back wildly. The swing was fueled by a mixture of fear and desperation, the blade cutting through the air with a high-pitched whistle.

The man effortlessly sidestepped the attack, his hair and tie swaying from the wind pressure. “You see, my name is Nanik Iman-” Turning his body to avoid a wild upward slash from Cordellia, he continued, “You seem quite bound and determined to attack me, don’t you?”

Continuing her assault, though her body refused to cooperate, Cordelia struggled to wield the sword. With a strike aimed at Nanik’s stomach, she put in as much force as she could behind her blade, causing it to slice through the air at lightning speed. Her muscles screamed in protest, each movement becoming more labored.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

However, as she thought she had finally landed a hit, her blade suddenly clashed with something, causing her to lose her grip on the hilt. The impact sent a jolt up her arms, and the sword flew out of her hands, lodging itself in the wall at the opposite end of the hallway. The metallic clang echoed through the corridor, a reverberation of her failure.

“Huh.” Staring at the sword, her only weapon and the only one she was proficient in using, lodged in the wall, Cordellia stood frozen in fear for a moment before her mouth suddenly erupted in a smile. Putting her hands together in front of her, she glanced at Nanik, who simply stood gazing at her, his expression unreadable.

“I have made a severe and continuous lapse in mine judgment. Can we still parley about this…?” she said, letting out some nervous laughter.

While speaking, she glanced to see what exactly he had used to disarm her. She managed to catch sight of what seemed to be fiery orange molten metal receding into his body before it disappeared. The sight of it was a startling preview of the power she was up against.

Nanik’s mouth curled into a smile. “Ah, so you are capable of handling this diplomatically.” He relaxed his posture and straightened his tie as he continued, “It seems you have the wrong impression of this place. You were only coincidentally removed from the transport convoy while we were attempting to retrieve a different item.”

Astonished by this turn of events, she was left speechless. “Truly?”

“Indeed. How about this: you can rest here and recover your strength before continuing on your way. As a gesture of goodwill, I’ll even return your sword.”

Narrowing her eyes, Cordellia appeared wary of his offer. “This offer seems too generous. Nothing comes without a price. What dost thou truly seek of me?”

Raising his hands in a gesture of innocence, Nanik replied smoothly, “All I ask is to hear a bit of your story. Of course, you don’t need to tell me right away. Rest up first.”

"Given my lack of other options, I shall accept your hospitality. But return my sword first. I am uneasy without it."

‘Especially since that sword is an important artifact my family protects.’

“Ah, right…”

Nanik walked over to where the sword was lodged in the wall. As he approached, the light from above caught the intricate designs etched along the blade, casting faint reflections that danced on the smooth surface of the wall. With a determined look, he firmly grasped the hilt, his fingers wrapping around it with a grip that seemed to meld with the weapon. Slowly, he began to apply force, his muscles tensing as he attempted to free the blade from its concrete prison.

Crrrk. Crack. Thump.

Cordellia watched in wide-eyed disbelief as the sword, along with a sizable chunk of heavy concrete, came loose from the wall. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding as she witnessed Nanik effortlessly pull out not only the sword but also the large section of the wall. The weight of the concrete didn’t seem to faze him at all, as if it were merely an inconvenience—a trifle easily handled by his unnerving strength.

“Huh, it seems more considerably stuck than I thought,” Nanik remarked nonchalantly. He placed the sword, along with the attached chunk of concrete, onto the floor with a solid thud that reverberated through the hallway, echoing Cordellia’s astonishment.

Planting one foot firmly on the piece of the wall still attached to the sword and bracing himself with the other foot on the ground, Nanik tightened his grip on the hilt. His expression shifted to one of intense focus, his eyes narrowing as he prepared to unsheathe the sword from the stubborn section of solid concrete. With a sudden burst of energy, he heaved upward on the sword while simultaneously pushing the concrete downward with his foot.

The floor beneath them shuddered violently from the force of the movement, cracks spiderwebbing out from where Nanik stood, some deep enough to threaten the integrity of the very structure. Dust and debris rained down from above, the entire building seeming to tremble under the sheer power of his actions.

But what truly caught Cordellia’s attention was the sword itself. Despite Nanik’s tremendous effort, the blade remained embedded in the concrete, unmoved and unyielding. Veins of yellow light began to crawl across the surface of the sword, pulsating with a strange, almost sentient energy. The light flickered and danced, illuminating the surrounding area with an eerie glow, as if the sword were alive and resisting Nanik’s attempt to separate it from the stone.

Cordellia’s shock deepened, her mind racing as she stared at the sword. ‘The sword… has it finally awoken?’

Nanik, too, seemed taken aback by the sword’s stubbornness. He straightened up, his brow furrowed as he gazed down at the glowing blade. “Interesting,” he murmured, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and respect. “It appears your sword is not so easily tamed.”