"Are you calm now?"

The sword's voice carried an edge of mock boredom, its crimson glow dimming to a lazy pulse as it rested against a wooden crate in its full form.

(Damn! I'm getting tired of switching forms)

The sword was tied in Luther's cape, so as for those who were efficient in monster hunting to not recognise a demonic sword when they saw one.

Luther sat cross-legged on that very crate, arms folded and expression flat. Around him, the once-rowdy square had gone eerily silent. The crowd had long dispersed, leaving only the heap of unconscious thugs sprawled on the cobblestones like discarded sacks of potatoes. The faint smell of singed fabric hung in the air where the thug's s magic had struck moments earlier.

"I'm calm," he muttered. "Just… annoyed."

The sword gave a low hum that almost sounded like laughter.

"For once you wanted to do something good and it bit you back, huh?"

Luther threw it a deadpan look. "You sound way too happy about that."

"I'm just stating the obvious," the sword teased, its voice now sharper, livelier. "You're acting like a child sulking over spilled milk."

"I am a child," he shot back.

"You're two years from adulthood," the sword countered smugly. "Close enough."

Luther opened his mouth to argue but stopped when a shadow fell across him. He looked up to see the mercenary leader towering over him. Behind the man stood his team, still looking a bit battered despite Alina's healing.

Luther tilted his head, unimpressed. "If you're here to hit me or shout with admiral love too, you'll have to get in line. I'm booked till morning."

The mercenary leader blinked, confused, before letting out a dry laugh. "Not quite, kid. We just wanted to say something."

Alina stepped beside him, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek as she pointed at the tied-up thugs. She was explaining something to the town officials, probably defending Luther's actions. The guards seemed unsure whether to arrest him or award him, but Alina's confidence made the decision easier. She turned back toward Luther with a relieved smile.

"They want to tell you something," she said gently.

As if on cue, the mercenary group bowed.

"Thank you for saving us!"

Luther jumped up, startled. "O–Oi! What's this for?"

He scratched the back of his head, unsure what to do with their sincerity. "Didn't you already say that? You don't have to—really."

Alina chuckled softly, hiding her amusement behind her hand. The mercenaries glanced awkwardly at each other, as though unsure whether they'd overdone it. The leader coughed into his fist, trying to recover their composure.

"Right, uh… actually, there's something we wanted to ask."

He glanced at the others for encouragement before continuing. "Is there anything we can do to repay you?"

Before Luther could respond, the group's mage jumped forward and clapped her hands around Luther's. Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Join us!" she blurted out.

Luther blinked once. Twice. "…Join you?"

"Yes!" she beamed. "You took down those thugs in seconds! You'd be perfect for our team! Think about it—me, the great mage, and the mysterious boy with overpowered kicks! We'd be unstoppable!"

The sword snorted from where it rested. "Unstoppable? More like unhinged."

The mercenary leader turned red and practically peeled her off Luther, muttering apologies under his breath. "Forgive her, she gets… enthusiastic."

"She bit a noble once," added the archer flatly.

"I didn't bite! I nipped," she protested.

Luther blinked, then exhaled. "You people are something else."

"You're not wrong," the sword chimed in cheerfully.

Luther gave it a warning glance, but that only made the blade hum louder in amusement.

The mercenary leader rubbed the back of his neck. "Anyway, don't mind her. We just… wanted to show gratitude. Not every day a stranger saves your hide for free."

"Free, huh," Luther murmured. His eyes were half-lidded, exhaustion beginning to drag at him. "Feels like I just earned myself a headache."

"Comes with the hero job," the sword teased.

"I'm not a hero," Luther muttered. "I just wanted a quiet walk and maybe some action but not this kind. Next thing I know, I'm gaining followers and my damn title hasn't even been announced yet."

That got a few chuckles from the mercenaries. The tension around them eased. For the first time since the fight, the town square didn't feel suffocating.

"So," the leader ventured again, "anything we can do for you? Food, transport, a favor?"

Luther's mind began to drift. He stared blankly at a distant rooftop, clearly thinking about something else. The sword sighed audibly.

"Earth to blockhead," it said. "You're being asked a question."

Luther blinked back to focus. "Ah… sorry, I was just thinking about how I'll get to the outskirts of Noia Town."

That caught the leader's attention. "Noia? You're heading that way?"

"Something like that," Luther said vaguely.

The leader grinned. "Then you're in luck. We're headed toward the capital to cash in a bounty. Noia's on the way. We can take you there if you don't mind traveling with us."

Before Luther could respond, Alina's eyes brightened. "That would be wonderful! It's dangerous for him to travel alone."

Luther stared at her flatly. "You're assuming I'd die first."

"Wouldn't you?" the sword whispered, not helping.

Luther kicked at the crate. "You're the one who'd get scrapped first, you rusty butter knife."

That drew a snicker from the mercenary archer who was still confused who Luther was talking to "Kid's got a mouth."

"And a brain that runs on sarcasm," the sword replied.

Luther sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why am I arguing with a sword in public?" he whispered.

"Because you love me," the sword cooed.

"I'll melt you down into spoons."

"Promises, promises."

Luther foamed, he didn't look amused—just deeply, existentially tired. He rubbed his temple and muttered, "I need sleep… and maybe a priest."

"You are the closest thing to a priest," the sword reminded him. "proclaimed child of god oh holy saint, remember?"

"Don't remind me," he groaned.

While Alina continued chatting with the mercenary group, Luther's attention was drawn to the guards dragging the thugs away. One of the bandits was still yelling threats, claiming their boss would avenge them.

The guard smacked him with a pole. "Save your yapping for the cell."

Luther smirked faintly. "Efficient."

"Reminds me of you," the sword said. "Minus the competence."

"I swear," Luther muttered under his breath, "one day I'll silence you."

He shifted his weight to stand, ready to leave the square when something caught his eye—a glint, faint but distinct, reflecting sunlight. A small black object had slipped from one of the thug's gloves, hitting the ground with a soft tink.

Luther paused. The sword, ever perceptive, noticed the hesitation.

"What's wrong?" it asked.

"Something… fell," he said slowly, stepping closer. The crowd noise dimmed around him, replaced by a faint ringing in his ears. "It's... a crystals?"

"Careful," the sword warned, suddenly serious. "That's not ordinary mana residue."

Ignoring the blade's tone, Luther crouched. His shadow fell over the object—a small shard, crystal-like, smooth and perfectly cut, dark as obsidian but pulsing faintly with an inner light. It shimmered like liquid night.

Behind him, Alina was still talking with the mercenaries about travel arrangements.

"When do we leave?" she asked.

"Later today," the archer replied. "We need to repack our things."

Luther only half-heard them. His focus was fixed on the crystal, his fingers hovering above it.

The sword whispered, "Luther… that's—"

He picked it up.

Warmth spread instantly through his fingertips, but it wasn't comforting. It was cold and heavy, like something alive was breathing beneath the surface. The faint pulse synchronized with his heartbeat.

Luther stared at it quietly. His eyes narrowed, blue irises flickering faintly with light. The crystal gleamed back—mocking, curious, almost alive.

"What…" he murmured, turning it between his fingers.

"What are you?"

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