Strongest Among the Heavens-Chapter 539: Choosing The Best Weaponry

This was the Vault of Singulars. Holding within its cages were weapons thought to be lost to history. Sealed by a knowledgeable collector.

So much to choose from, Dasha thought. He passed one blade with a bone hilt etched in cryptic angelic script. This was known as the Bone Severance and it was found in a dungeon within the Realm of Dungeons. Its one and only function was to slice apart contracts, nothing more.

Dasha gave Alþjófr a meaningful look. Put simply, this was the one and only weapon capable of breaking their bond. This was Alþjófr’s one and only hope.

"I want it."

Dasha ordered. Dasha received.

The process to unravel the sword was not lengthy. All five of Alþjófr’s rings were required, pressing into the semi-transparent barrier holding the weapon, and an incantation within the Dwarf language meaning: "Open."

Alþjófr walked inside, had to utter another incantation, and the Bone Severance lost its levitation and was almost about to fall into his hands. Dasha did not wish to chance it and caught for himself. He examined, he cocked his head, and he placed it into his inventory.

[ Weapon Name: Bone Severance

Rank: SS

Attack: 10

Magical Might: 300

Current Value: ?

Description: Once upon a time during the Chaotic Era, there was a player who wished to save his family from a great contract that forced them to be enslaved. He prayed to the gods. His prayers were miraculously met and he became an instrument of the gods. He gained their blessings, to no help of his enslaved family. The player received trial after trial. He killed and killed, until he was fed up. He approached the divine enforcer of oaths, Horkos, and rather than ask him for aid, he struck him. He managed to get a piece of his flesh and bone, and with hit, he constructed a sword made of steel and the bone that could nullify any and all oaths. ]

"A fascinating story," Dasha said to himself. "Did you know that this was a relic of the Chaotic Era?"

Alþjófr was pissed. "Of course I did! This weapon became a matter of contention thirty some years ago. A few of my Master Thieves heard of it and wished to use it to rid themselves of their sigils."

"Did they?"

"One of them did. The rest, I killed."

"While retrieving this sword, hm?"

"I almost contemplated destroying that forsaken weapon," Alþjófr said. "And now..."

"Now, it is mine."

Further down, Dasha found another weapon of interest: Velkuth’s Fang, a jagged obsidian sabre. The room needed to be stretched in height in order to fit it. It was a giant sword that was over fifteen feet tall.

"Velkuth’s Fang?" He looked up and down. It felt bigger the longer he analyzed it. "What is this?"

"The Current of Darkness is nearly impossible to traverse, but over the centuries, there have been some lucky ones. Those that have managed to bring back pieces of the monsters that lurk. This one here..." Alþjófr raised a shaky finger. "Came from a chipped piece of teeth from a mammoth the size of a planet."

Dasha wanted to snort. "The delusions of the survivor. Planet-sized. As if."

Alþjófr actually snorted. "You have a lot to learn if you believe the stories of myth are simply that."

"I can expect a god or the World Serpent Jörmungandr to exceed that of our universe, but some silly unnamed mammoth?"

"You have no idea the dangers that lurk within the Current of Darkness. There is a reason no god dares to conquer another’s Territory. Think, if they could, they would. They are arrogant and proud and mighty. Yet, the simply reason why they cannot is because they cannot. Traversing the Current of Darkness, whether you are Ares or a Cultivator or a Sorcerer, it is the same risk."

Hrm.

Dasha kept walking. Wielding a weapon of that size would be inconvenient at best. He kept going until his eye caught something. He stopped and turned left. His Qi stirred. He saw a sword. Every case was unique and this was no different, bound in black glass with seven protective seals burned in. The plaque was unnamed.

The blade inside was simple at first glance, a single-edged shortsword with a matte steel finish and a handguard shaped like a raven’s wing.

"What is this one?" he asked.

Alþjófr replied, "It has no name. The legend is that it was made by a blacksmith with the flesh of a child god. It was...a great sin."

"A child god. Which god?"

"A son of Odin’s. The moment Odin learned of what happened, the blade was coincidentally completed and the Supreme God Odin came down and killed the man, leaving only the blade behind and the blacksmith’s soul behind. He then become one with the blade, cursing it."

There wasn’t solely a barrier. There was a blackglass too. A double-layer of protection, when with most weapons only the barrier was necessary.

"What effect does it possess?"

Alþjófr wet his lips, reluctant to speak of the weapon. "Its effect is not one you can wield lightly, Professor. The blade does not simply cut flesh or armor. It cuts... presence. It cuts...something deep. A man holding it can erase another’s existence piece by piece. Memory. Shadow. Even their name. What remains of them after being struck is only what the wielder allows."

Dasha tilted his head slightly. "To be struck is to be unmade?"

"Precisely. But," Alþjófr’s voice dropped to a whisper, "the curse is the same for the wielder. Each time you call upon the blade’s true edge, you surrender a fragment of yourself to the soul trapped within. The blacksmith is still inside, gnawing, waiting to consume whoever dares hold it."

Dasha didn’t answer. His hand pressed against the blackglass case, Qi pulsing faintly in response. He was not a man who balked at curses. Curses could be outwitted, broken, tamed.

"Unlock it," he said finally.

Alþjófr grimaced but obeyed. All five of his rings burned with dull red light as they pressed against the barrier, black case, and finally the seven seals. The locks cracked one after another like bones being broken. A wave of icy air spilled out from the case. The shortsword dropped forward, as if eager to be held.

Dasha caught it.

The chill went straight into his bones, sinking into his arm and deeper still, brushing against his heart. He ignored it. He raised the sword slightly, watching the dull steel ripple faintly as though breathing.

His System flared alive:

[ Weapon Name: Veitðr ("The Hunted")

Rank: SSS

Attack: 1200

Magical Might: 4200 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Current Value: ?Description: Forged in sin from the flesh and soul of a child god, Veitðr severs not only the body but the truth of existence. Each cut steals fragments of what makes the victim whole: their Khet (body), Ren (name), Ba (personality), or Shuyet (shadow). Wielding Veitðr exacts a price—each activation of its true edge binds the wielder’s essence deeper to the cursed blacksmith’s soul. If the blade is allowed to feast without restraint, the wielder will be erased, and the blacksmith reborn. ]

The details etched into his mind like hot iron. Dasha’s lips curved into the faintest smile behind his mask.

’Presence itself... a blade that devours essence.’

He rotated it in his hand. It was lighter than expected, but every swing left a faint drag in the air, as if the world itself resisted acknowledging its passage. He tested the edge by letting a droplet of his Qi fall against it. The energy was swallowed whole, vanishing without ripple or recoil.

"Magnificent," Dasha murmured.

Alþjófr shifted uneasily. "It will destroy you in time. Every man who tried to wield it... died."

"They died because they were not me." Dasha slid the blade back, letting it hang loosely in his grip. "I am not so easily unmade."

The dwarf scowled but said nothing more.

The System text flickered faintly in his vision again, as if emphasizing its warning. If the blade is allowed to feast without restraint, the wielder will be erased, and the blacksmith reborn.

A weapon that could erase essence itself was worth every ounce of risk.

He slid Veitðr into his inventory. Already, he could feel its hunger scratching faintly at the back of his mind. It was patient. He would feed it when the time came, but in the way that was expected of it.

Turning, Dasha glanced down the Vault once more. Rows of weapons, each screaming of their own histories and curses. All waiting. All forgotten.

"So much to choose from," he repeated softly.

The Sword of Liquid Mercury...

An idea was brewing in his head.