Ryle stared at the man before him, his sharp amber eyes glinting with amusement.
"Varek Durnath, huh?" Ryle muttered, twirling the sword in his hand.
Varek smirked. "Prince of the Durnath noble house. You're welcome, by the way."
Ryle raised an eyebrow. "And why exactly does a prince of the so-called 'Land of Technology' happen to have a sword that can cut through corruption magic?"
Varek's expression turned slightly more serious as he pointed to the weapon. "That sword is made from Hemlock Steel—a material exclusive to Durnath. Our craftsmen have been forging weapons with it for centuries, but recently, I discovered something interesting in an old archive."
He pulled out a worn leather-bound book and flipped through its pages before stopping at a passage filled with ancient symbols.
"This text," Varek continued, "mentions something called Blood Harvest. It's a corruption-based magic that specifically reacts to divine energy. If you noticed, the noblewoman who was possessed earlier? She wasn't just randomly chosen. She was religious."
Ryle's mind raced as he connected the dots. "So you're saying only those who believe in God can be affected by this magic?"
Varek nodded. "And Hemlock Steel is the only material capable of severing its hold. That's why your sword was able to cut through the blood harvest."
Ryle, intrigued, pulled out his notebook and scribbled down everything.
"Tell me more," he demanded.
A Trip to Durnath
Two days later, Ryle and Thea arrived in Durnath, a vast kingdom of towering forges, steam-powered contraptions, and the scent of molten metal. Unlike the medieval aesthetics of Velbrath's other noble houses, Durnath was a land of invention—where blacksmiths wielded as much power as nobles.
Inside Varek's grand estate, Ryle sat in a study, furiously writing an article on the properties of Hemlock Steel and its connection to Blood Harvest. His quill scratched against the parchment at an unnatural speed, his journalist instincts in full force.
Thea, meanwhile, was being fitted for a new weapon.
A young Durnathian maid with glasses and a cold, professional demeanor examined Thea's stance before handing her a pair of beautifully crafted dual swords.
"These blades are tempered in Hemlock Steel," the maid explained. "Their edges will never dull, and they are specifically designed to counter any corruption-based attacks."
Thea grinned as she twirled the swords. "Now this is what I call a gift!"
Ryle's Sword Problem
Varek soon returned with a gift of his own—a sleek, black Hemlock Steel sword.
"Here," he said, tossing it to Ryle. "Try this one."
Ryle caught the blade and examined it. It was perfectly balanced, its edge sharp enough to slice through steel. It felt powerful.
Unfortunately…
Ryle was absolute garbage with swords.
He gave it a few test swings—and immediately shattered the blade.
Everyone went silent.
Varek blinked. "You… broke a Hemlock Steel sword?"
Ryle slowly set down the broken pieces. "…That wasn't supposed to happen."
Varek pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're a damn monster."
Thea burst out laughing. "I told you, Varek! He's way too strong to use a normal weapon properly."
Varek sighed. "Alright, then. If you're going to use a sword, we're fixing your technique."
He snapped his fingers.
A door opened—revealing a group of beautiful maids, all wielding swords.
"Since you're too damn strong for your own good," Varek said, smirking, "I'll let my personal maids train you."
Thea gave Ryle a mocking salute. "Have fun!"
Ryle frowned. "Wait. What do you mean by—"
Before he could finish, the maids dragged him away.
What followed was pure, unrelenting torture.
The Durnathian maids were merciless.
Every day, from dawn till dusk, Ryle was subjected to brutal sword drills—his body pushed to the absolute limit. He was forced to spar blindfolded, dodge blades coming at full speed, and withstand hours of non-stop parries.
Anytime he messed up—
He got hit. Hard.
The maids smiled sweetly while beating him to the brink of death.
"Oh dear, you dropped your sword again?" one cooed, twisting his arm.
Another chuckled. "Maybe you need extra punishment?"
Ryle learned something very quickly—
Durnathian maids were sadists.
By the end of the week, he was a half-broken husk of a man.
On the final day, Ryle staggered out of the training hall, his body covered in bruises.
Thea sat nearby, casually sharpening her new dual swords.
She glanced at him and smirked. "So… have fun?"
Ryle, his soul completely drained, muttered in a deadpan tone—
"…Fun?"
He collapsed face-first onto the ground.
Thea burst out laughing.