The Reluctant Hero: Why Is Everyone After Me?-Chapter 136: Ch135 The Right Place
The demonic sword floated in the air, spinning as if the prison cell were just a nuisance.
"So," it said casually, "are we going to ignore the fact that the elven woman has been sitting like that for a long time?"
Luther leaned against the far wall with his arms crossed, following the blade’s gaze.
Elythra hadn’t moved.
She sat cross-legged on the smooth stone floor, her back straight but relaxed, hands resting loosely on her knees. Her eyes were shut, and her expression was calm to the point of being unsettling. No twitches, no sighs, no reaction to the glowing runes on the walls around them.
Luther shrugged.
"She went quiet," he said. "Really quiet. I asked. No answer. I waved my hand in front of her face. Still nothing. So I figured I shouldn’t poke the possibly magical elf knight while surrounded by people who want to stab me."
The sword hummed thoughtfully and floated closer to Elythra, circling her head like an insect.
"Well, that makes sense," it said lightly.
Luther frowned. "Makes sense how?"
The sword tilted, examining her closely. "Her aura doesn’t quite fit this place."
That made Luther sit up.
"What does that mean?"
"It means," the sword replied, drifting past her face, "that this land is very old, very pure, and very selective. Your companion—while definitely elven—is... newer."
"Newer?" Luther echoed. "She’s not fresh out of the forge."
"Compared to this?" the sword said, gesturing at the glowing walls, the humming air, and the barely contained magic. "She might as well be."
Luther glanced back at Elythra. She still hadn’t moved.
"So you’re saying this place is... affecting her?" he asked quietly.
"Not aggressively," the sword corrected. "More like gravity. She belongs to a later branch. Different rules, different shaping. Being here is like standing in a memory that doesn’t fully remember you."
That idea unsettled him.
Luther pushed himself off the wall and stepped forward—then stopped.
Annoyance flared.
He turned and grabbed the sword.
The sword yelped as Luther’s hand closed around its hilt, fingers tightening as he yanked it closer.
"Alright," Luther said, voice low. "Enough with the games."
"Oho—!" the sword protested. "Easy there—"
"You know something," Luther snapped. "About this place, about that tree, about why I thought I was about to unleash the end of the world and instead ended up in a very tall elf civilization with trust issues."
The sword wobbled in his grip.
"You’re squeezing," it complained.
"Good."
Luther’s eyes burned. "You don’t get to keep secrets right now. Not after I got dragged into a pit, lost you, and woke up in a cell while everyone keeps calling me a name I don’t want."
The sword was quiet for a moment.
Then—
"Well," it said nervously, "I may know a few things."
Luther tightened his grip.
"But!" the sword quickly added, "not everything. And honestly, just telling you outright would be pretty lame."
Luther stared at it.
"...Lame."
"Yes," the sword replied firmly. "Very anticlimactic. This place requires observation and understanding. You know—mystique." 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮
"Do not say mystique to me," Luther growled.
He tightened his grip again.
"Okay—okay!" the sword squeaked. "Personal space! Personal space!"
It twisted suddenly, slipping from his grasp and zipping upward, out of reach.
Luther snapped his hand shut on empty air.
"You—!"
The sword floated just beyond his reach, pretending to inspect the ceiling. "For what it’s worth, this place is fascinating."
Luther clenched his jaw. "You’re dodging the question."
"I’m promoting patience."
"I don’t do patience."
"Clearly."
The sword turned to face him again. "Besides, had you forgotten?"
Luther paused.
"Forgotten what?"
The sword’s tone changed—not dramatic, not ominous. Just straightforward.
"The spirit girl," it said. "The one who told you to go to Enferi Forest."
Luther’s breath caught.
His annoyance faded, replaced by something colder.
"Alisa," he said quietly.
Her voice echoed faintly in his mind. Calm, gentle, unyielding.
"The emeralds and the black crystal you carry—they’re linked. The explosions, your magic... it all connects."
"To uncover the truth, you’ll need to venture into Enferi Forest alone."
Her voice faded.
"I remember," he muttered.
"Good," the sword said. "Because since arriving here, haven’t you noticed something?"
Luther frowned. "Noticed what?"
The sword hovered closer.
"How quiet things have been."
Luther froze.
Slowly, he reached into his pocket.
His fingers brushed against the cold, familiar crystal.
He pulled it out.
The black crystal rested in his palm—dark, angular, heavy with corruption.
Except—
It wasn’t entirely black anymore.
A faint green mist clung to its edges, curling softly like breath in cold air. Thin veins of emerald light pulsed beneath the surface, as if something inside was waking up—or healing.
Luther stared.
"Huh."
He lifted it closer to his face.
The corruption felt... weaker.
Contained.
Not gone—but no longer screaming.
"This place," he said slowly, understanding dawning. "This is it."
The sword bobbed in a nodding motion. "Bingo."
"This is what she meant," Luther continued. "The link. The place where the black crystal started—where it was corrupted in the first place."
"Or where it was supposed to be," the sword added mildly.
Luther tightened his grip on the crystal.
"So this place isn’t just old."
"Nope."
"It’s connected."
"Very."
Luther exhaled slowly. "Of course it is."
The sword continued, almost casually, "When I was dragged down here—before I found you—I was taken aside. Briefly."
Luther looked up sharply. "Taken where?"
"Some kind of holding chamber," the sword replied. "There were elves there, staring at me."
"Staring?"
"Yes. Like scholars. Or what humans call... physicians? Or was it philosophers?"
Luther grimaced. "Those are very different things."
"Well, they had that look," the sword waved vaguely. "The ’we are examining something dangerous but fascinating’ look."
Luther frowned. "Did they say anything?"
"Not much," the sword admitted. "But they were very interested. In me, in you, in the crystal."
It paused.
"And I suspect," it added, "that if we ask the right people the right questions, we’ll get answers."
Luther looked around the cell.
Deadpan.
"Ask," he repeated, gesturing broadly at the glowing bars. "In this welcoming environment?"
The sword laughed.
"Oh come on," it teased. "They only imprisoned you. That’s practically hospitality."
"They keep calling me Yieli," Luther added flatly.
The sword blinked.
"They do?"
"Yes," Luther said. "Very confidently. Like it explains everything."
The sword was quiet for a moment.
Then—
It burst out laughing.
"Oh," it said delightedly. "That’s rich."
Luther scowled. "What?"
"They called you Yieli," the sword repeated, voice dripping with amusement. "Child of the God. Saint of the old covenant."
Luther’s temper flared. "Do not—"
"Oh, they might be right," the sword added cheerfully. "At least partially."
Luther snapped. "Do not finish that sentence."
The sword hummed smugly. "You do have the look."
"I will throw you."
"You can’t," the sword said sweetly. "We’re in a cell."
Luther pinched the bridge of his nose. "I hate you."
"Liar."
Their banter was interrupted by a sudden sound.
BANG.
The cell door vibrated violently, runes flaring bright for a moment.
The sword immediately zipped back down, settling against Luther’s hip as if it had never left.
Luther dropped his hand, posture stiffening.
Elythra’s eyes opened.
She inhaled sharply, like someone surfacing from deep water.
Before Luther could say anything, footsteps approached.
Measured.
Heavy.
An elven guard stopped outside the bars, spear resting against his shoulder.
"The priest requires your presence," the guard said coolly.
Luther met his gaze, expression carefully neutral.
"Of course he does," he muttered.
As the runes along the bars began to shift, Luther glanced down and thought quietly toward his hip—
Well, he said to the sword, maybe we’ll get answers after all.
The sword’s presence pulsed faintly.
Oh, it replied, almost fondly. You’re going to get far more than that.
