I crinkled my face, as something tickled the end of my nose.
It still wouldn't disappear so I cracked my eyes open to glare at it but regretted it almost immediately as sunlight shone directly into my eyes, forcing me to shut them again and grimace in pain.
This time prepared, I forced my eyes open and glared at the culprit. A single blade of grass, paint gold by the light of the setting sun or the coming dawn. It fluttered in the slight breeze, rubbing against the tip of my nose as it did so.
Taking a deep breath before I puffed the offending grass away, observing with contentment as it leaned away. Watching it for several more seconds to make sure it won't be blown back, I let loose a sigh of contentment as I buried myself deeper in the patch of warm grass beneath me, my tired aching body demanding rest.
Just as I was about to shut my eyes and fall back to sleep again, I caught sight of a pair of yellow eyes looking back at me. It took me a couple of seconds to realize they were my own when I noticed the strands of blue hair framing it.
Before me, just inches away from my eyes was a blade, buried tip first into field of grass beneath it. I dumbly stared back at my startled face that was reflected on its surface for a few moments before I gathered my wits about me and tried to remember what had just happened.
Placing my hand one good hand beneath me, careful not to jolt my broken arm too much, I pushed myself into an upright position and examined the sword that was planted onto the grassy field before me.
"…Beautiful." The words slipped past my lips, as I stared in disbelief at it. How can a sword like this possibly exist?
I could feel the power radiating from it, far more than any sword I had ever seen before, yet it was not oppression or overwhelming. It was warm, almost welcoming, something that I had only sensed from Holy Swords in the past, yet I knew each and every single Holy Sword in the world and this was not one of them.
It was sword without peer, without equal. I had walked through the vaults of the Vatican and witnessed all of its treasures, yet none could match this one's splendor.
Its edge was flawless, free from any blemishes or imperfections and looked sharp enough to split light itself. I stared at the patch golden grass that was reflected on flat of its blade, its polished steel acting better than any mirror. Its hilt was the colour of the purest gold, wrapped around by a fine green hide I could not recognize and ending a jeweled pommel.
Yet for all of its beauty and almost delicate appearance I knew that this was a sword crafted for war. Knew it had seen it, been wielded in it and thrived there as it bathed in the blood of its enemies and emerged victorious every time. Knew that its unchipped edge did not reflect its lack of use but was a testament to its power, that none it had ever faced had ever been able to leave its mark upon it.
And suddenly I knew the sword's name.
"Durandal."
That was its name, I was sure of it. But this blade was not Durandal, could not be it. It was not my Durandal, the Holy Sword that had chosen me as its wielder when I was eleven.
And yet, and yet the achingly familiar longing that I felt in the heart of my soul as I looked upon it, the way it called out to me left me in no doubt. This was Durandal, the blade of Saint Roland just as surely as my own was.
How? How can two swords, both of them originals exist?
*thud*
My back thumped against something slender and solid as I had leaned backwards without meaning to. I turned around to look at what I had ran into and found myself looking at another sword. Before I could so much as examine it I caught sight of another planted into the ground next to it, and another next to that one and still another after that.
I looked around to find myself surrounded by swords. Easily a dozen and more surrounded me, sprouting out of the ground as if they were trees. There were so many of them that they blocked the sight of the world around me, caging me between their blades and inadvertently creating a curtain of steel around me.
Cradling my broken arm to my chest I pushed off the ground with the other, forcing myself to my feet. I wobbled for a moment, my legs having trouble holding up my weight, before I regained my balance and planted both my feet firmly on the ground.
After sparing my feet one final glance, satisfied that they'll hold up for now, I raised my head and look at the scenery around me and what I saw was…
… a world of endless swords.
They rose out of the ground like tombs of a grave, standing tall, proud and ever vigil under the rays of the setting sun. Each one was an unparalleled masterpiece, a peerless blade. They were laid out before me in their thousands, stretching out in every direction towards the distance horizon and beyond, far father than my eyes could ever see.
Wars have been fought for such swords, entire nations were brought to their knees by their strength and legends were born on the might of their steel. History had been rewritten time and again by the ones who wielded them and kings who owned mountains of gold would look upon their owners with envy.
Men had died for the right to hold a single one of these blade. Heroes journeyed the globe to battled Devils and Demons alike to prove worthy of one. And now they were laid out before me in their untold thousands, in numbers beyond continuing, beyond understanding, even beyond limit.
An Unlimited Blade Work.
A gentle breeze flew past me, blowing the bangs of my hair past my face. The grass beneath my feet swayed with the wind, their calf-high stalks bending in the breeze, sending a slow rolling waves running through the fields of grass that surrounded me.
The grass rose out from the ground as far as I can see, standing side by side with swords of steel that littered the land they grew from. There was nothing else in this place, nothing but a land of rolling grass and sharpened steel. It should have been a world of green, this place of grasslands and blades.
But this world was anything but green.
Dyed under the rays of the setting sun, the world around me was painted the colour of crimson-gold. The steel of the swords reflected the rays of the sun, setting them ablaze with a crimson fire as they continued to stand over the fields of rippling gold.
It should have been a beautiful sight, a wonder to behold but I felt no joy at the sight of it. Instead my eyes water and vision blurs as an emotion I could neither name nor understand swelled in my chest. For a reason I did not understand my soul ached at the sight of those swords.
I knew that they were just swords, unloving and unfeeling steel. But as I continued to watch them standing with their hilts help up to the sky, as if they were waiting for someone to come and wield them, as if they were patiently waiting for the arrival of the one who may never appear, my heart just broke and I felt a single teardrop run down the side of my cheek.
Lonely.
That's what I feeling, they looked lonely. Though they were countless of them, those swords unmoving and unbending as their hilts reached out for the sky, they looked as if they stood utterly alone.
Before I could ponder more on the matter, I was distracted by the sound of grinding gears coming over head. I looked up, my eyes scanning the sky but there was nothing unusual there. Just the red and orange hues of the dusk sky.
Still, I knew I heard something, so I kept looking. I kept looking until-
"Oh my God," I almost lost my balance as I leaned my head further back to look at them, "what happened to the sky?"
In the gold and crimson skies above me, hung massive metal gears. Larger than any building, they must have weighed thousands of tones easy, but they hung there in the sky above me as if they were weightless, suspended above me like the clouds themselves.
With nothing holding them up they turned ever slowly, rotating and grinding against one another. Their metallic exterior was so smooth that it act like mirrors, reflecting the sky and the clouds around them on their surface, allowing it to blend in with the rest of the sky.
"Xenovia," a voice called out from my left. I turned and found Irina standing next to me, looking around in bewilderment, "where…where are we?"
She wasn't the only one who was there either. I could see Griselda sitting on the ground a little further off, and the rest of the Devils from the Gremory and Sitri Peerage not too far behind her. Many of them were too injured to move, and instead remained were they sat or lay on the ground.
I turned my head as I caught a flicker of movement off the side and spotted the Host of Fallen drifting not too high off the ground much further away from where we were, with Kokabiel standing firmly on the ground beneath them. They too were looking around in confusion.
When did they get here? Were they always there and I didn't notice or did they just appear?
"What is this place?" Despite the words, Kokabiel did not sound confused so much awed as he looked around him. His eyes locked onto a sword before him and, after a moment of contemplation, he tentatively reach out his hand towards the hilt but a voice called out, interrupting him before he could grab it.
"My soul." The voice answered.
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AN :
Hey guys! The problem with Patreon is fixed now. Sorry for the delay ;)
...
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