Chapter 8: The Sword of Pleiades
Time continued to pass, but within the Pleiades Tower, everything seemed to stand still. Arneb Vantus walked down the endless white corridor, the space around him shrouded in a hazy mist. Each step he took echoed steadily, but no sound reverberated back. Every time he paused, only a thick, indistinct silence enveloped him.
The corridor never changed. The cold, pristine white walls seemed to have no end. He could feel clearly that he was being guided, unable to stop, unable to turn back. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, his sole objective being to ascend to the next floor of the tower.
Each floor of the Pleiades Tower was a trial, and Arneb Vantus knew that, no matter how painful, no matter if he died, he had to keep moving forward. What he had witnessed, what he had endured, was only a part of this journey. And when he reached the next floor, everything would be revealed.
When Arneb entered the next room, he felt as though he was being suffocated by an indescribable heaviness. The smell of metal, cold and sharp, filled the air. This room was different from the previous ones. It was no longer an empty space, but rather a strange structure, formed from countless swords embedded deep into the walls, floor, and ceiling, as though this was the place where deadly weapons were forged in the darkness.
Thousands of swords, from small daggers to long, razor-sharp blades, were stacked upon each other, creating a dark, dangerous scene. They stood upright everywhere, resembling a forest of swords, where only death reigned. These swords reflected the dim white light in the space, casting eerie shadows on the walls and floors.
At the center of the room, a gigantic sword stood out, placed upon a rectangular stone slab. The entire room seemed to revolve around this sword, and even the air around it grew denser, as if shaken by an invisible force radiating from the blade.
This great sword was a terrifying masterpiece. It was longer than any sword Arneb had ever seen, measuring about three meters in length. The blade was incredibly sharp, as though it could cut through not just flesh but even slice through souls. The blade had a dull black color, as if forged from ancient black stones, covered in tiny cracks, adding to its mystique.
The tip of the sword reached high, straight as an arrow, with a faint glow emanating from the blade, as if it contained an infinite source of power. The point of the sword was perfectly sharp, so flawless that it seemed capable of piercing through anything it touched.
The hilt of the sword was intricately carved from a strange material, a glossy metal that looked like jade. The engravings on the hilt swirled like waves, possibly representing an ancient symbol of a long-lost civilization. The pommel of the sword was made of a jet-black material, reflecting light faintly like a shattered mirror, creating a feeling of coldness and immense power.
As Arneb gazed at the sword, he felt an unusual pull, as though this sword was not merely a weapon, but a living entity, a mysterious being tied to both life and death. A dark force radiated from it, as if it was waiting for the worthy one to claim it and fulfill some so-called destiny.
Arneb stepped towards the great sword. Each of his steps seemed to shatter the silence of the room. He knew that to move forward, he had to face it, this challenge. His eyes never left the sword, the coldness it emanated spreading through his body. Every small detail of the sword, from the hilt to the blade, drew him closer, as if it was calling him to approach.
His hand extended, gripping the hilt of the great sword. The moment he touched it, he felt the chill of death, but also a strength, like an unavoidable meeting with fate. The sword did not react, but Arneb could sense a rush of energy emanating from it, as if it was awakening a storm within his body. He knew that only by wielding this sword could he continue his journey.
Suddenly, the room began to tremble. The swords on the walls and floor started to move, as if they possessed a life force, waiting to strike anyone who dared to invade. Each sword became sharper, like waves of stormy wind, eager to consume the one who drew near.
Without hesitation, Arneb pulled the sword from the stone slab. The screech of the blade echoed as it was drawn, like the cry of souls long dead. The power radiating from the sword caused the entire space to quake violently. The swords on the walls leapt up, shooting towards Arneb like sharp arrows. But he was not afraid; his eyes blazed with a cold light, and his grip on the great sword tightened.
Now, the true battle began.
Arneb stood firm, the sword in his hand like a part of his soul. He was ready to face the new trials within the Pleiades Tower, and no matter what came next, he would not retreat. The storm of the sword and the swords surrounding him was but a small part of the long journey ahead. The tower's secrets were far from fully revealed, and Arneb Vantus knew that only by completing this path would he uncover the truth about himself and what awaited him.
The echo of clashing metal still rang in Arneb Vantus's mind when suddenly—the greatsword he had just pulled from the stone pedestal slipped from his hand like a gust of violent wind. Not because he lacked strength. Not because he let go. The sword left his hand on its own.
At that very moment, the entire room flared with the light of swords. Thousands of blades embedded in the walls, ceiling, and floor began to tremble violently, as if resonating together in a chorus of some ancient war hymn. Then, like an army responding to the call of a warhorn, each sword left its position, rising into the air, twining together, colliding, merging—until they formed the shape of a person at the center of the room.
A flash of light. The air thickened with pressure. Arneb couldn't even react—someone now stood there.
A sigh drifted across the room. It wasn't Arneb's—it was the sigh of… the figure who had just appeared. The man stood tall in the center of the room, unmoving, as solid as a statue of some ancient deity. A majestic presence radiated from him, compressing the very air in the chamber, weighing down on Arneb like a thousand invisible blades.
"Ah… Another one who dares to grasp my sword."
That voice echoed through the chamber, as though it came from some distant place beyond time itself. Arneb instinctively stepped back half a pace—not from fear, but out of… respect.
The man who now stood before him was none other than Reid Astrea.
Reid Astrea—the name thundered in Arneb's mind like a storm of legends.
> A living myth from over 400 years ago.
The one who reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship: the Divine Sword.
The man who singlehandedly slew a hundred dragons in the Battle of the Demon Howl Mountain.
The undefeated champion of 6,000 consecutive matches on the duelist island Ginunhive of the Vollachian Empire—a feat no one dared to dream of.
The man who once downed sixteen barrels of strong Kurgu liquor and remained sober enough to knock out a drunk god in a fight.
Arneb clenched his fists and swallowed hard.
Reid's appearance didn't match the polished image of a hero in paintings, yet he radiated a coolness no one could ever imitate.
He had fiery red hair like a blazing sunset, wild and untamed as if he'd never owned a comb. His eyes were a brilliant sky blue, shimmering like sapphires—but with a strange, lazy gleam. Reid wore a deep crimson kimono, only half-draped over him—the entire right side bare, revealing solid, battle-hardened muscles wrapped loosely in a white sarashi, carelessly tied as if he couldn't care less who was watching.
A dark eyepatch covered his left eye, decorated with a childish scribble of a design. Arneb had read somewhere that Reid didn't wear it due to injury… he wore it because he thought it made him look cooler.
And honestly, it totally did.
"Who are you?" Arneb asked, though he already knew the answer.
Reid shrugged, lips curling into a smirk like this was just his lunch break.
"Just an old guy who got too good with a sword… and died 'cause no one could beat me."
The air stretched tight, like a bowstring on the verge of snapping. Arneb looked Reid in the eyes—unflinching.
"Then… do I have to defeat you to move forward?"
Reid snapped his fingers. A sword flew from the air into his hand.
"No, kid. You don't move forward by defeating me."
He leaned in slightly, smiling, a wild spark flickering in his eyes.
"You move forward by surviving."
Boom!
Reid dashed forward like lightning—so fast Arneb could only dodge by sheer instinct. A slash whistled past his shoulder, slicing the air like it was tearing through reality itself. The wind from the strike scattered dust across the floor. Arneb slid backward, raising his sword defensively, breathing heavy.
Reid didn't stop.
"It's on now, boy of the Pleiades Tower!"
He laughed heartily, like he was savoring every second.
"Let's see how long you can keep up!"
The clash of swords rang out across the chamber, light flashing like thunder in a midnight storm. In this whirlwind of metal and speed, Arneb Vantus—the one who entered the Tower to fulfill his wish—now faced a living legend.
And only one question remained:
How do you defeat a man… no one's ever beaten?