The week passed by in a blur, each day blending into the next as Edward threw himself into his routine. Classes in the morning, afternoons spent honing his forging skills, and evenings hanging out with his newfound friends. He clung to the simple rhythm, trying to push aside the burden of the truths he now carried.
Yet, no matter how much he laughed with Argus, quietly collaborated with Rosa, or traded jabs with David, the weight of his knowledge lingered. At night, he'd sit at his desk, staring at the glowing swords he'd forged, replaying the visions of Gilgamesh, Hastur, and the gods over and over.
Still, he knew he couldn't afford to falter. If Gilgamesh believed in him, then Edward would find a way to live up to that trust—even if it meant facing the impossible.
The buzz of excitement in Class B began early Monday morning, fueled by the long-awaited announcement from their homeroom teacher, Instructor Susan Graves.
"Alright, listen up," Graves barked, her gravelly voice silencing the chatter in an instant. She waved a sheet of paper with the official school seal stamped on it. "The annual Heroic Academy Festival is just around the corner, and that means one thing for all of you: competition."
The room erupted into cheers and whispers. Edward could feel the energy shift as students leaned forward, eager to hear more.
"As you know, this isn't just about showing off," Graves continued. "The festival is your chance to prove yourselves in front of representatives from the Heroic Council, national associations, and private sponsors.
Your performance here could make or break your future career as heroes . So, I'm asking—who's willing to sign up for the battle segment?"
The question wasn't even out of her mouth before every hand in the room shot into the air, including Edward's.
Graves raised an eyebrow, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and skepticism. "Really? All of you? Even the ones who couldn't hit a training dummy last week?"
The class laughed nervously, but no one lowered their hands.
"Fine," Graves said, smirking. "Just remember: these battles are no joke, and you can get hurt badly . If you think you can half-ass your way through this, you're in for a rude awakening. Dismissed."
As the students began to chatter excitedly about the upcoming festival, Edward left the classroom to find a seat in the gardens. Anastasia appeared at Edward's side, her usual calm demeanor tinged with concern." I guess you have signed up for the battle segment? " She looked at him with an annoyed expression.
Edward chuckled, " You know me so well, Ana."
"Are you sure about this, Edward?" she asked, her piercing blue eyes studying him. "The competition is going to be intense this year. Even with your progress, you're going to be up against some of the strongest students in the academy."
Edward shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Why not? Worst case, I get my butt handed to me and walk away with a learning experience. Best case… well, let's not get too ambitious."
Anastasia frowned. "I'm serious. You're not just up against the A-rankers this year. There are three S-rankers in the lineup."
Edward raised an eyebrow. "Three? That's more than usual, they are really going all in this year? I heard there was one S ranker, but they managed to entice two more?"
Anastasia nodded. "Yes. It's rare to have more than one or two at a time, but this year…"
She sighed, crossing her arms as she listed the names. "First, there's Carnilla Delthanna. She's the only S-rank in Class A, and she's awakened the heroic spirit of Scáthach, the legendary Celtic warrior and teacher of heroes. Her skill with spears is… terrifying. She was transferred from Ireland."
Edward whistled low. "Alright, that's one."
"Then there's Artemisia Berrick, who's another S Rank. Her heroic spirit is Semiramis, the Babylonian queen of poison. She's cunning, ruthless, and specializes in long-range attacks. People say she's practically untouchable. They transferred her from United Academy in Arizona "
"Semiramis, huh?" Edward muttered, his mind briefly flashing to the golden visions of Babylon he'd seen. "Poison queen sounds fun. And I'm assuming that guy is the last one?"
Anastasia's expression darkened. "Helios Grant. He's the strongest student in the academy, hands down. He possesses the S-rank heroic spirit of Heracles, the invincible demigod. They say he's never been defeated in a fight, even against A rank heroes."
Edward leaned back, letting out a low whistle. "Heracles? Really? They're not pulling any punches this year."
"No, they're not," Anastasia said. "Which is why I'm asking if you're sure about this. I know you've been working hard, but…"
She trailed off, her concern clear in her expression.
Edward smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't worry, Ana. I know my limits. I'm not expecting to win against powerhouses like them. But I have to at least try. Who knows? Maybe I'll surprise myself."
Anastasia hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Just… be careful, okay?"
"I'll do my best," Edward said, standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some forging to do. Gotta whip up something flashy for the big day."
The academy's forge was quiet that evening, most students too busy preparing for the festival to spend time crafting. Edward relished the silence as he laid out his materials, his mind already working through possible designs.
He knew he wouldn't win the competition with brute strength—he couldn't go toe-to-toe with someone like Helios. But he could outthink them. He could craft weapons that leveled the playing field.
He picked up a chunk of mithril ore, his vision flaring with the glowing outlines of its structure. "Alright, Ahnavat," he muttered. "Let's see what we can do."
As he worked, the rhythmic clang of his hammer echoed through the forge, blending with the flicker of the flames. Each strike felt purposeful, a step closer to not just the competition, but to something greater.
To proving himself.
To uncovering the truth.
To becoming the kind of person Gilgamesh would be proud to call his successor.
Edward wiped the sweat from his brow, holding up the blade he'd been working on. It wasn't perfect yet, but it was progress.
"Heracles, huh?" he said to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Let's see if even the invincible can handle this."
With the festival looming closer, Edward's resolve only grew stronger. One step at a time, he would rise.
And when the time came, he would carve out his place among the legends.
Edward stood in his private workshop, the dim light of the forge casting flickering shadows across the room. His aunt, Julia, had come through for him, as always, securing rare ores and materials that most students could only dream of accessing.
Before him lay a small mountain of raw resources: mithril, orichalcum, and even a fragment of adamantine, glowing faintly in the forge's heat. Despite the abundance of materials, Edward's nerves were on edge. The Heroic Academy Festival loomed just a day away, and his mind raced with possibilities.
"You've got this," Edward muttered to himself, gripping his hammer tightly. "If I'm going to stand a chance out there, I need something big. Something legendary."
The hours passed in a blur of hammer strikes and frustrated groans. Edward poured all his focus into his work, trying to visualize the perfect weapon. He tried crafting swords, spears, and even a massive greatsword inspired by some of the mythological weapons he'd read about.
None of them felt right.
One attempt after another ended in failure. Either the weapons lacked balance, shattered during testing, or their enchantments fizzled out before they could fully activate.
"Damn it!" Edward growled, throwing his hammer onto the workbench. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his arms ached from hours of relentless forging.
The workshop was littered with discarded weapons and half-finished projects, a testament to his frustration.
"I'm running out of time," he muttered, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was already past midnight.
He slumped against the wall, staring at the glowing embers of the forge. His mind wandered, thoughts drifting to Gilgamesh and the monumental expectations placed on him.
I can't afford to fail. Not now. Not ever.
Edward closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He let the noise of the workshop fade away, focusing only on his breathing and the faint hum of magic that always accompanied his forging.
As he concentrated, a vision began to take shape in his mind.
He saw a massive, ancient tree standing alone in a field of gold. Its gnarled branches reached toward the heavens, and embedded in its trunk was a sword. The weapon radiated a divine brilliance, its blade glowing with golden light and etched with intricate runes that seemed to pulse with life.
"What is this?" Edward whispered, his heart pounding.
The image felt impossibly vivid, as though the blade were calling out to him. He didn't know its name, but he could feel its power—its legacy.
Without realizing it, his hands moved to gather materials from the pile. Mithril, orichalcum, and a fragment of adamantine were laid out before him, and he began to work.
Edward poured every ounce of focus into the blade, guided by the vision in his mind. The forge blazed hotter than ever, the flames flickering with an almost otherworldly glow.
His hammer rang out in perfect rhythm, each strike resonating with the hum of the materials.
The mithril and orichalcum melded together seamlessly, while the adamantine served as the blade's unbreakable core.
The hours slipped away, and Edward lost himself in the process.
As the final piece of the sword came together, an intense surge of energy filled the workshop. The weapon glowed brighter and brighter, the light becoming so blinding that Edward was forced to shield his eyes.
Then, with a deafening boom, a shockwave erupted from the forge, sending Edward flying across the room.
He hit the wall with a grunt, sliding to the floor as the light began to fade.
"What the hell…?" he muttered, groaning as he pushed himself to his feet.
When he looked toward the forge, his breath caught in his throat.
The sword floated in midair, its blade gleaming with a golden hue. It was beautiful, elegant, and undeniably powerful.
Edward approached it cautiously, reaching out to take it in his hands. As his fingers closed around the hilt, a rush of energy coursed through him.
The sword felt… alive.
A single word echoed in his mind, clear and resonant.
Merodach.
Edward's eyes widened. "The prototype of Excalibur, the sword in the tree…"
He tested the blade, swinging it experimentally. The sword was light yet incredibly durable, its balance perfect. The golden runes etched into the blade shimmered faintly, resonating with his energy.
"It's not it's original S-rank," he realized, examining it closely. "But… A-rank. That's still incredible."
Despite the immense pride swelling in his chest, Edward knew he couldn't stop there.
Emboldened by his success with Merodach, Edward set his sights on another legendary weapon—one that was far more subtle but just as dangerous.
He visualized Rule Breaker, the dagger wielded by Medea, the Witch of Betrayal. A weapon known for its unique ability to sever magical contracts, blessing , and negate enchantments.
"This one's going to be tricky," Edward muttered, gathering a smaller set of materials.
Rule Breaker required precision above all else. The dagger's magic wasn't about brute force; it was about finesse, control, and the ability to unravel spells at their core.
Edward's first few attempts ended in failure. The mithril snapped under the strain of the enchantment, and the dagger's runes refused to activate properly.
But he didn't give up.
He adjusted the enchantments, reinforced the blade's core, and focused on perfecting every detail. His hands moved with precision, guided by both his knowledge and the faint whispers of Ahnavat's wisdom.
Finally, as dawn began to break, when the first ray of sunlight fell upon it, the dagger was complete.
Edward held Rule Breaker in his hands, marveling at its intricate design. The blade was small but lethal, its surface covered in delicate runes that glowed faintly with a soft, blue light.
"Another A-rank weapon," Edward murmured, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. "I actually did it."
He placed Rule Breaker next to Merodach on the workbench, stepping back to admire his creations.
Two legendary weapons, forged by his own hands.
Edward felt a surge of pride, but it was tempered by the weight of what lay ahead. The festival was just hours away, and he would be facing opponents who far outclassed him in raw power.
But for the first time, he felt truly prepared.
"These aren't just weapons," he said softly, his gaze steady. "They're proof that I can do this. That I can stand on the same stage as the strongest."
With a renewed sense of purpose, Edward extinguished the forge's flames and stepped outside, the morning sun bathing him in its golden light.
Weapon description
The Sword of the King
Merodach, often referred to as the "Prototype of Excalibur", is a blade shrouded in myth and legend, its origins rooted in the dawn of humanity's understanding of heroism and divine power.
It is said to have been forged long before the advent of the more famous Excalibur, created as an archetype for divine swords that would embody the ideals of kingship, justice, and power.
Merodach is attributed to the Babylonian gods, particularly the god Marduk, who was revered as the supreme deity of order, justice, and victory. According to legend, Marduk crafted the blade during his rise to power in the battle against the primordial chaos dragon, Tiamat. The sword was said to hold the essence of cosmic order, imbued with the power to cut through chaos and reshape the world.
Unlike other divine swords, Merodach was not forged for deities alone—it was meant to serve as the first blade of a mortal king, a prototype for all kings who would follow. It symbolized the balance of divine will and human ambition, bridging the gap between gods and mortals.
Merodach was passed down through the lineages of early kings who were deemed worthy of wielding such power. It was a blade meant to inspire kings to rule with justice and courage, as well as to defend their people against the forces of chaos, be it physical or spiritual.
However, Merodach was not without its flaws. The gods themselves viewed the sword as a trial, a blade that demanded the wielder be both righteous and wise. Those who succumbed to hubris or corruption found the sword's power turning against them, consuming their minds and reducing them to hollow shells.
Merodach was eventually lost to time, overshadowed by its descendant, Excalibur, which would become the perfected symbol of kingship. Yet, whispers of the blade endured in ancient myths, and some believed it still lay dormant, waiting for a mortal with the strength and resolve to wield its immense power.
The Blade of Betrayal
Rule Breaker, the infamous Dagger of Medea, is a weapon born of betrayal and despair. Unlike most legendary weapons, which are revered for their strength and heroism, Rule Breaker is feared for its subtle, insidious power—the ability to sever magical contracts, negate enchantments, and unravel even the most sacred of bonds.
The story of Rule Breaker begins with Medea, the legendary sorceress of Greek mythology. Betrayed by the man she loved, Jason, after she sacrificed everything to help him achieve glory, Medea's heartbreak turned to fury. In her despair, she poured her considerable magical talents into forging a weapon that would reflect her pain—a weapon that could undo the promises and oaths that had been broken against her.
Using forbidden alchemy and magic learned from the goddess Hecate, Medea forged the blade in secret. She used adamantine, an unbreakable metal said to be favored by the gods, and tempered it with her own blood and tears. The runes she carved into the blade were ancient, drawing power from the underworld itself.
Rule Breaker was not a weapon designed for direct combat. It lacked the raw strength, range and elegance of a sword or spear. Instead, it was a dagger of subversion, capable of rendering even the mightiest spells and pacts useless. Its ability to cut through magical bindings made it one of the most feared artifacts in history.
In the hands of Medea, Rule Breaker became the ultimate tool of vengeance. She used it to unravel the magical defenses of her enemies, leaving them vulnerable to her wrath. Yet, the dagger's power came at a cost—it was a reflection of its creator's pain and betrayal, and those who wielded it often found themselves consumed by the very despair it represented.
Over time, Rule Breaker became a symbol of defiance against the gods and their authority. It was said that even divine contracts were not immune to its power, making it a weapon feared by both mortals and deities alike.
Though it vanished from the pages of history, Rule Breaker's legend persisted. Scholars whispered of its existence in hushed tones, warning that the blade's power could destroy not just spells, but the very foundation of order itself.
Though vastly different in origin and purpose, Merodach and Rule Breaker share a profound connection in their symbolic meanings.
Merodach represents creation, order, and the potential for humanity to rise above its limitations. It is a weapon that inspires kings to be just and wise, a blade meant to shape the world through noble ideals.
Rule Breaker, on the other hand, represents destruction, subversion of magic, and the price of betrayal. It is a weapon that tears down the structures of power and magic, undoing what others have built.
Together, they embody the balance between creation and destruction. To wield both is to hold the power to slay even the strongest of heroes.