Chapter 152: The Sword Born from the Light

Death—

To Amy Ulysses, it had never been a distant or mysterious concept.

It was close at hand, within reach.

Through omens of death, he had brushed against it more than once.

But this time… he might truly die—as he had seen in that “omen” whose truth and falsehood he could not distinguish. Perhaps even more terribly than any of the varied deaths he had experienced before, his life, his soul, and everything that made him who he was would burn as kindling, becoming fire, becoming light, becoming the key that opened the door to power—

No. It was possible he would never even see that door.

With pessimism in his heart, Amy prepared himself for the worst.

Then he straightened his chest, raised his head, and faced it without fear.

Because—

It could not get any worse.

If the god beneath the deep sea were allowed to run rampant, everyone would be swallowed by the Deepest Night, and all hope of survival would be extinguished.

Perhaps he could be spared.

But Julia, Joshua, Mia, and even the whole of Hemtika would never escape unscathed.

So he had no choice.

“Miracles and magic are there.”

The young Glorybearer savored Gassu’s parting words, then shook his head. He was no linguist, and could barely decipher the meaning of the ancient tongue once spoken by the Ancients. As for whether it contained some particular reference or hidden wordplay, only scholars who had immersed themselves in the vast ocean of ancient writings could truly understand.

Amy had given up trying to think about it.

The more he thought, the more concerns arose, and the more time he would inevitably waste.

His thoughts halted there. The black-haired, black-eyed youth drew in a deep breath of air that had long since grown foul, then exhaled heavily.

Draw the sword!

The instant its keen edge emerged, it split flesh. The ancient blood inherited from the Ulysses lineage flowed down the blade, and then… through the hand gripping the sword, Amy felt the stirrings of life.

Thump—

It was no illusion. A powerful heartbeat came through his hand.

Something seemed to be gestating within the ancient, mottled short sword. A radiance that even the Deepest Night could not conceal seeped from it, like the Morning Star rising before dawn. Small yet containing infinite possibility, a sacred light pulsed and struggled in his grasp, striving to break free from the prison known as Darkblood.

“Administrator privileges detected—”

A clear, melodious woman’s voice rang out in the depths of his mind. Before the youth could form a clear understanding of this sudden change, she spoke again:

“Enter the passphrase.”

The passphrase?

What was the passphrase?

Amy Ulysses widened his eyes.

“—So listen closely. I will tell you the incantation that will make your wish come true and turn you into a hero.”

The whisper of a girl with an unusual air seemed to echo beside his ear. After a brief moment of hesitation, the youth finally made up his mind and spoke the ancient, harshly articulated spell.

“Miracles and magic are there.”

As he spoke, the language of the Ancients acquired a peculiar power. The young Glorybearer could clearly sense that some switch deep within his body had been turned on.

“Authorization complete. Designation: Gassu, No. 031—”

“Visitor privileges detected. Registered name: Ulysses.”

At the instant the voice sounded, the young Glorybearer sensed a change. His entire being—his life, memories, consciousness, soul, everything—was drawn by an immense force toward some void that seemed impossible to fill.

With it came the stifling sensation of his existence being gnawed away, along with a weakness and urgency that made him feel as though death might claim him at any moment.

Yet opposite that weakness was a strength so immense it felt inverted.

Power surged endlessly from within his body. The limits of mortality? The shackles of flesh? In that instant, they no longer existed. Amy Ulysses’s life seemed to merge with the sword in his hand. From body to soul, from memory to consciousness—even the totality of his being fused into that light of dawn.

Then a pale flame kindled deep within his soul.

“Warning. Warning—”

“Unknown force intrusion detected. Preliminary determination—”

The slightly shrill voice cut off abruptly.

Then consciousness rose.

Upward—higher—higher still!

It broke through dimensions, through planes, through the constraints of time and space.

The young Glorybearer ascended beyond the abyss that devoured all things. In an instant, he crossed a resplendent world ablaze with countless lights in the darkness, stood at the summit of this world, and ascended the supreme throne.

That was the kingdom of the gods.

That was the kingdom in heaven.

That was His domain.

Then he saw—

He saw winged people soaring freely through the sky upon their outspread wings. He saw magnificent sacred mountains floating along the horizon. He saw countless airborne islands crisscrossing one another, and the young men and women living upon them.

Without exception, they were beautiful beyond compare. Some wore shimmering silk robes; others adorned themselves with pearls and shells. Some were completely naked, displaying without restraint the beauty of their bodies. They played and frolicked. When hungry, they plucked wild fruit from the trees; when thirsty, they cupped their hands in the streams. There was no desire in their eyes, only the purest innocence and guilelessness. They chased one another through the mountains and forests, rested beneath the trees, and endlessly enjoyed a happiness without end.

And, of course, he saw the light.

The light that stood high above, illuminating all living things and showing mercy to the world.

That was…

The flame that followed swallowed his consciousness completely. Light and fire intertwined. A twelve-winged divine being whose face could not be seen wielded a hammer of iron, weaving a body from order and law.

No—not a body.

Its body.

It was an unfinished form.

An unfinished form sublimated and shaped within light and flame.

This was the memory of the short sword Darkblood, its first memory.

Amy understood.

Just as he had seen the history of the Black Death through the plague authority of the dark wizard Alfred, he now traced the passage of time by reading Darkblood. He had ascended into this unbelievable world and would witness its birth.

The twelve-winged divine being swung the hammer.

Though it ought properly to be called one of the winged people, merely by gazing directly at the circles of incomprehensible radiance surrounding it, the young Glorybearer instinctively knew that this was a terrifying existence far above Hydra, Pandora, Dagon, and even the sealed Old Ones.

Like the first ray of light at dawn, tearing open the veil of night.

The Supreme Light.

Rather than forge the short sword Darkblood, it was more accurate to say that the being wove the weapon. Every blow of the hammer shaped its form while also weaving and arranging the laws engraved upon it, imprinting its power and the essence of its life upon the blade.

Yes, Darkblood had not originally been a short sword. It had once been a long sword roughly seventy centimeters in length.

What style of long sword it had been was impossible to discern through the blazing light and fire. The only certainty was that it had been entirely different in style from the battered short sword he knew. If not for the faint sense of bloodline affinity between them, he would never have connected the two.

It was too magnificent.

Even though only fragments of it were occasionally revealed, its beauty—beauty that surpassed art itself—had already conquered him.

But the twelve-winged divine being remained unsatisfied. It continued to swing the iron hammer tirelessly, gradually bestowing life and consciousness upon the weapon within that divine kingdom where there was no night and where the passage of time could not even be felt.

He could feel it.

He felt the birth of a new life, its growth, and its final completion.

It was not a dim, ignorant consciousness. Forged by a deity of inconceivable power, this sword of light and flame had already become a true, mature life before it was even truly born.

It had its own thoughts, its own will, and its own emotions.

And when this life had truly emerged from nothing and grown capable of standing alone, the twelve-winged divine being ceased its hammering and reached into the searing light and flames.

A slender, fair hand, perfect as white jade.

As if welcoming their king, as if welcoming their god, the light and flames parted directly to either side.

Then the hand closed around the sword.

A sudden whirlwind caused the light to hang suspended and extinguished the flames. The golden holy sword, together with the heavens, blazed into brilliance.

Intricate floral ornamentation, exquisite patterns, a slender blade—

The god, whose features could not be seen clearly, toyed with the sword in its hand. Its fingertips brushed lightly over the blade, thin as a cicada’s wing, then paused over the golden wings that fanned gently at the hilt.

And then the god bestowed upon it the first—and only—name it would ever bear in this world.

At that moment, the vision collapsed with a roar.

Amy Ulysses opened his eyes, their pupils faintly breathing golden light.

Then he swung the sword.

The ancient, mottled blade was no longer its restraint. The sword of divinity that had slept within its sheath had awakened.

“Lucifer!”

Calling its name in a low voice, the youth lifted the final seal upon it.

And so—

The sword was born from light.

A radiance brilliant as the stars pierced straight through the darkened heavens, tearing apart the endless night that had cloaked the Realm of Order for nearly a thousand years.

The long sword cleaved through the darkness.

Just as it was depicted in the epics of the Ancients’ descent, the divine sword from the kingdom above shattered the darkness and chaos.

Light poured down from beyond the world.

The clouds churned and surged, gathering around the descent of the sacred radiance.

Distance was meaningless. Terrain could not conceal it. The entire Realm of Order—from the sacred city of Hammurabi, to Canaan, where the Order’s headquarters stood, to the Black Zone, where all order had been overturned and confused, and even the Lost Royal Capital of Prometheus, swallowed by the Beast of Six Six Six, symbol of the end—saw the light in that instant.

They saw the most sacred and purest Supreme Light, descending from the direction of Hemtika.

The sword Amy Ulysses swung was aimed not at Dagon of the deep sea, but at the darkness before him, at the Deepest Night that had shrouded Hemtika and the entire Realm of Order for nearly a thousand years.

And so the long night receded.

He had done it. He had accomplished this unbelievable feat.

But it was only natural.

Lucifer.

The Lightbringer. The Bringer of Dawn. The Morning Star—

That was its true name.