As they crossed the barren Forest of Monsters together, Syltanaro asked,

“My lord… are you all right?”

“What do you mean?”

When Clay countered with the question, Syltanaro fidgeted, unsure if she could be more specific.

“I’m not sure if I should ask directly…”

“You’re referring to the Hero’s party, aren’t you?”

At Clay’s words, Syltanaro’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I-I was just…”

“No need to be flustered.”

Since the moment the Hero had become the Demon King, such questions had been inevitable.

“If you’re curious, ask. Even about the mage we saw earlier.”

Yuru—genius mage of the Blue Tower.

She had been named successor to the Tower Master at a young age, and rose to meet those expectations, joining the Hero’s party.

But if one asked whether she had close relationships with the others…

“She had a certain arrogance. She never bowed her head before any authority.”

“But still…”

“Right. That alone doesn’t explain what happened when I was executed.”

If that had been her nature, she should have gone on a rampage back then, destroying everything.

“In the Hero’s party, she learned how to bow her head. Or more accurately—how to suppress herself. She learned to hold back her emotions in order to act for the ‘greater good.’”

That so-called greater good crumbled the moment Clay was executed.

“After that, it seems she… twisted. Perhaps it was a backlash. Because of what she learned in the Hero’s party, she couldn’t choose based on her own emotions, even when it mattered most.”

“I see…”

At Clay’s words, Syltanaro fell silent, her face filled with uncertainty.

“Syltanaro. You look unconvinced.”

“Huh?”

“It’s fine. Speak honestly.”

Then, after a moment of hesitation, Syltanaro cautiously asked,

“What… do you think of her, my lord?”

Enemy—or ally.

If judged on that axis alone, Yuru was clearly an enemy. But Clay’s words just now still carried a trace of camaraderie. A contradiction that confused Syltanaro.

“I don’t deny my past memories.”

Clay’s quiet reply reached her—an answer to the contradiction.

“Because it was those memories and feelings that shaped who I am now.”

At the moment when he most needed their support, he received nothing from them.

The ‘greater good.’

It was supposed to be the virtue of every member of the Hero’s party. But the ‘greater good’ that paralyzed them during his execution… was nothing but a hollow excuse.

Mistrust.

That was the real reason Hero Clay had been sacrificed—because none of them truly believed in him.

They were close—perhaps too close. And so, they turned away even more harshly.

“It may have been inevitable from their point of view.”

But just because one could understand it didn’t mean one could accept it.

Because—

From the eyes of a man with a rope noose around his neck, that greater good sounded like nothing more than the cowardly excuse of someone who had chosen doubt over trust.

And so they must understand—

That this rage he held was not something he could simply suppress.

“I move now as the man who was hanged and buried, Syltanaro.”

Mistrust had led to his death. And now, the only thing he would return was that same mistrust. And its ending would, naturally, be death.

“No matter how many words you speak at a gravestone, the dead will never hear them.”

Whatever they did after the execution—Clay would never acknowledge it. They were speaking to a grave.

“I understand, my lord.”

With a resolute expression, Syltanaro nodded.

“They remain your comrades only in your memories.”

“That’s right.”

“Understood.”

Syltanaro placed a hand over her heart and said,

“I will see you as you are, my lord.”

That he too bore confusion and pain—but his path, forged with an unwavering conviction toward the end, would not be shaken by such things.

That was the image of the Demon King, the supreme being of the demons.

“…Wow, that’s intense.”

Then came a voice.

From Syltanaro’s brightly glowing hair, a small spirit emerged.

“Just listening to you gave me chills.”

Naiad.

Syltanaro’s eyes widened at her sudden appearance.

“W-What? How—?!”

“Hmm? I’m a spirit.”

“That doesn’t explain anything!”

“Spirits can inhabit objects, you know. Not all of them—but top-tier ones like me? I can dwell in someone like you.”

Spirit Possession.

A form of attribute enhancement that allowed spirits to assist a host’s physical capabilities.

Since it didn’t harm the host directly, the only way to dispel the spirit was if the host became aware and rejected them.

“That’s such a ridiculous ability…!”

“Spirit Kings can do anything.”

“Excuse me!?”

Syltanaro paled in shock.

As Naiad teased her mercilessly, Clay let out a quiet sigh.

‘Same as with Excalbren.’

That playful nature never changed.

‘Still… I suppose it’s a relief.’

He was quietly relieved that Syltanaro didn’t reject the idea of a spirit possessing the Demonic Sword.

‘It was something I had planned to ask for anyway.’

One of the easiest ways to grow stronger—was to strengthen the weapon one already possessed.

‘If I can combine Spirit Possession, Altanato’s reforging, and the proper use of the Origin Prayer…”

Even if Clay himself didn’t grow stronger, the results could be dramatic in a short time.

Fwoosh!

Before they realized it, the Forest of Monsters had ended. They had emerged into the open.

♧

Altanato.

A legendary blacksmith who had lived in the Age of Gods.

He was said to be asleep within an ancient ruin located near the center of the continent.

“We’ve arrived.”

Ancient Ruin: Dramatuel.

Hidden deep within a dark forest, finding it had taken considerable time. As Clay exhaled a long breath, Naiad—who had been fluttering nearby—spoke up.

“The Blood Lord has probably already passed through several cities.”

“Naiad.”

“All right, all right, I won’t jinx it.”

“That’s not it.”

Clay raised Syltanaro, who had returned to sword form.

“To meet Altanato, you’ll need to go back inside Syltanaro.”

“Eh? Again? I’m a spirit, you know!”

“Only a weapon and its wielder can reach Altanato.”

Of course, someone might wonder if having Naiad inside Syltanaro technically meant there were three beings involved. But it wouldn’t be a problem.

He’d heard it when the Holy Sword was forged.

To dwarves, a weapon—regardless of how many souls it contained—was still seen as a single object. Their philosophy prioritized final form over internal details.

And that wasn’t a philosophy they came up with lightly.

Dwarves cherished tradition. That mindset had clearly been passed down for generations. The dwarves who forged the Holy Sword once said that their words were akin to the will of their ancestors.

Even if they joked while drunk on ale, they never joked about forging weapons. They were deadly serious in that domain.

『Not that this feels great for me, either.』

Syltanaro muttered with a bit of a grumble.

『But if I can’t enter without merging, I suppose there’s no choice.』

“Don’t use that word.”

Naiad recoiled in disgust.

“I’m not merging with you. At most, I’m just riding on your back. That’s completely different.”

『Fine, climb aboard then. I’ll show you the respect an elder deserves.』

“What?!”

Clay sighed as the squabbling resumed, “Naiad. If you won’t cooperate, go inhabit one of the trees nearby.”

“What? A tree?” Naiad opened her mouth wide in disbelief, “You think I’m some squirrel that should just tuck into a cozy tree crevice?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“That’s what you meant!”

Clay calmly closed his eyes, unfazed by her usual noise.

“Hey, Clay, are you seriously ignoring me?!”

『Just come inside already.』

After several minutes of bickering, Naiad finally merged with Syltanaro.

『Ugh, this is humiliating.』

While Naiad grumbled, Syltanaro’s voice had grown noticeably cheerful.

『This really does feel like my body’s improving.』

『Huh? You didn’t even notice last time. What’s so great now?』

『No, now that I’m aware, I can definitely feel it.』

Syltanaro sounded certain.

『It’s like a river formed inside my body. A new kind of flow, steady and alive.』

『Don’t lie. I didn’t even lend you any power yet. What could you possibly feel?』

『Oh? I think I can access something…』

『Oh no—wait—hyaaack?!』

Suddenly, water particles misted out of Syltanaro’s form. Clay’s eyes widened.

She can actually harness Naiad’s power?

Normally, when a spirit inhabited a weapon, the best they could do was resonance—elemental enhancement through harmony.

But this…

It exceeds expectations.

Support was always just that—support. It could never match direct control.

But if Syltanaro could draw on that power at will, guided by her own judgment—

It would be enormously efficient.

『Aaaaack—!』

Naiad, who had willingly entered, now found herself trapped. She tried to leave, but Clay extended a hand.

“Bear with it, Naiad.”

『Eh?!』

Naiad, half-pulled from Syltanaro, stared at him in horror as he pressed her glowing head back down with one hand.

『W-What are you doing?! She’s hijacking my power!』

“I know. I’m telling you to get used to it.”

『Ugh! No! It tickles!』

After a few failed escape attempts, Clay managed to push her fully back into Syltanaro.

『Dammit…! Hrghhaagh!』

“Syltanaro. Let her breathe.”

『Ah, I’m sorry, my lord. It’s just… I didn’t expect to feel this power. It’s fascinating…』

『I swear, I’m not letting either of you off later…!』

As Naiad fumed, it happened—

Wuuuuuum…

Ancient symbols, hidden beneath the weeds, began to glow faintly.

“What’s this?”

Centered around Clay’s feet, a trail of blue light formed, outlining an arrow that pointed forward.

He followed it.

【I will grant you one chance to turn back.】

As he stood before the ancient hammer statue, a voice burrowed into his mind.

【I know you possess the qualifications to be here. But that only speaks to your worth.】

The voice pressed on his shoulders with a heavy force.

【If your weapon does not share that worth… you will leave this place empty-handed.】

Empty-handed.

Clay knew what that meant.

“Syltanaro.”

He looked down at the blade in his hand.

“Forgive me for placing the burden of pain entirely on you.”

Syltanaro was ready to accept that without hesitation—

But that didn’t apply to the spirit who had been forcibly dragged along.

『Eh?』

(End of Chapter)

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