### Chapter 2: The Sword of Memories
I step into the vault, the heavy air thick with the scent of ancient stone and forgotten secrets. Each step echoes in the silence, the weight of my anticipation nearly tangible. The faint glow in the center of the room draws me forward—there, on a pedestal, rests the Ravien Sword. The sword I forged in the game. The sword that symbolizes my legacy.
I reach out and grasp the hilt. The moment my fingers close around it, a jolt runs through my body, and my vision blurs. Darkness envelops me, and I feel my consciousness being drawn into the sword. It's as if I'm being transported into another realm, a space where time and reality bend.
Suddenly, I'm no longer in the vault. I'm standing in a vast expanse of memories, seeing through Kzarka's eyes. It's been 127 years since his—my—death. I watch as descendants of Kzarka, each bearing the mark of our lineage, approach the sword.
Some come with hope burning in their eyes, believing the sword might hold the power to save the kingdom. They reach for it with trembling hands, whispering promises and vows, hoping to draw upon its legendary strength.
Others kneel before the sword, tears streaming down their faces, seeking forgiveness for their failures. They beg for a chance to restore the kingdom's glory, to uphold the promise made by Kzarka to create a haven for heroes and legends, a bulwark against the demonic threat.
I see each one clearly—their hopes, their fears, their unyielding determination to honor the legacy. They pour their hearts out, laying bare their souls in front of the Ravien Sword. And though none succeed in wielding it, their efforts are etched into the blade's history, a testament to their devotion.
In this torrent of memories, I feel Kzarka's strength and resolve. His unwavering commitment to his promise, to make the kingdom a place where heroes would rise, a shield for humanity against the demons. This is my legacy, a part of who I am.
As I absorb these experiences, something shifts within me. Muraka's inherent goodness and passivity blend with Kzarka's relentless drive and my own strategic mind. The crisis of identity that threatened to overwhelm me begins to fade. I understand now—I am the culmination of all these lives, a blend of their strengths and weaknesses.
The memories start to fade, and I find myself back in the vault, the sword still gripped tightly in my hand. But now, I feel different. More complete. I look at the blade, feeling a connection to it and to my ancestors who tried so hard to honor our legacy.
I exit the vault with renewed purpose. I am no longer just Ivar or Muraka or Kzarka. I am all of them, a fusion of past and present, carrying the weight of our shared history. This realization strengthens my resolve.
In the castle halls, I encounter Levina. Her eyes widen in surprise when she sees me with the sword. "Muraka... you found it."
"I did," I reply, my voice steadier than before. "And I understand now. We have a lot of work to do."
I head toward the council chamber, the guard from earlier still following me. As we enter, the nobles and advisors look up, their expressions a mix of boredom and irritation, quickly replaced by shock and awe as they see the Ravien Sword.
"Read this aloud," I instruct the guard, handing him a scroll containing one of the ancient poems. He looks puzzled but complies.
*In the realm where shadows meet,
A hero rose, his fate to greet.
Beyond the bounds of mortal kin,
He broke the chains, and did begin.*
As he reads, a faint glow surrounds him, and the power of the poem flows through him, undeniable and potent. The council watches in astonishment.
"This is what we have forgotten," I say, turning to face them. "These poems, these legends, they are not mere stories. They are our strength, our heritage."
Lord Arthen sneers. "Parlor tricks and old rhymes. They mean nothing in the face of real power."
My anger flares, resonating with Muraka's frustration and helplessness. The sword responds, a wave of oppressive force radiating from it. This is the **Primordial Force**, an instinctive power stored in the bones, violent and raw, harnessed through life-and-death experiences.
Three lives now exist within me, making my Primordial Force exceptionally high. The council members struggle to breathe under the weight of it, their faces pale with fear.
"This is real power," I say coldly. "And you will respect it."
The oppressive force recedes as I lower the sword. The nobles collapse into their chairs, gasping for breath. I turn to leave, the guard still buzzing with the power of the poem.
"We have a lot of work to do," I say to him. "But first, we need to remind the kingdom of its true strength."
As I stride through the halls, the weight of the Ravien Sword feels lighter, more familiar. The path ahead is fraught with challenges, but with the power of Kzarka's experiences and the legacy of the poems, I am ready to face them.
Our journey to reclaim the lost glory of Themera has only just begun.
I emerge into the courtyard, and my voice carries across the castle grounds. "Summon the soldiers, the mages, and all who are loyal to Themera. Gather them in the square immediately."
Word spreads quickly, and the courtyard fills with the buzz of anticipation. As the soldiers, mages, and key figures assemble, I take my place at the front, the Ravien Sword gleaming in the fading light.
I don't know if uts good or not. Cuz in my meantime i see a lots of lots webnovel that r too cliche like dude....
By the way gave ke your suggestion. I make this novel because I've seen a novel that have a lots of potential but the writer just make it shit. Like.. bro
As you guys see i think i just make it myself. lol