Chapter 5 — The True Sword Fiend
The cavern cracked.
Not all at once—first a faint tick, like glass stressed too far, then another, deeper and heavier, until the sound layered over itself and became a low, crawling groan. Thin fractures raced across the stone floor beneath Kelvin's boots, spreading outward in jagged lines. Pebbles trembled. Dust lifted, hanging unnaturally in the air as though gravity itself had hesitated.
Then came the pressure.
It pressed down from every direction at once—thick, suffocating, ancient. Kelvin's breath hitched as if the cavern had suddenly sunk beneath a deep sea. His chest felt tight, his limbs heavier, his instincts screaming in a way they hadn't before.
This was different.
Silvia staggered back a step, her spellbook snapping shut on its own as the runes dimmed. "Kelvin…" she whispered, her voice strained. "This presence—this isn't the same thing."
From the darkness beyond the shattered stone, something moved.
Heavy footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate. Each one landed with authority, as though the cavern itself was being forced to acknowledge the figure's right to exist. Shadows peeled away as a towering armored form stepped forward, black metal etched with faint, corroded symbols that drank in the green glow of the crystals rather than reflecting it.
Then—
A slit eye opened.
Blood-red. Cold. A gaze sharpened by countless deaths.
The Cursed-Supreme Swordfiend had arrived.
The air screamed.
Kelvin felt it instantly—a predator's focus locking onto him alone. Not Silvia. Not the cavern. Him.
"Human…"
The voice was layered, distorted, as if several echoes spoke slightly out of sync.
"…impressive…"
The Swordfiend tilted its head, studying Kelvin the way a blade-smith might examine flawed steel.
"…but this is where you fall."
It moved.
Not with the clumsy weight of the Sword Servant—but with terrifying precision. The Swordfiend's blade-arm carved through the air, and the cavern howled as the strike displaced space itself.
Kelvin reacted on instinct alone.
He twisted, boots scraping stone, body bending just enough for the blade to miss his throat by a breath. Pain flared a heartbeat later—hot, sharp.
A shallow cut burned across his shoulder. Blood welled instantly.
"Woah—" Kelvin hissed, skidding back. "Too close…"
The Swordfiend didn't press the attack immediately.
It watched.
The slit eye narrowed.
Something had changed.
Kelvin felt it too.
The familiar cool flow of energy beneath his skin—the calm, controlled blue he'd grown used to—was boiling. Heat surged through his arms, crawling down into his hands. His grip tightened on the sword as color bled into his vision.
Blue faded.
Crimson ignited.
The aura around him flickered violently, red veins of power threading through a darker, deeper shade—something void-like, silent and hungry.
The Swordfiend froze.
Its massive frame stiffened.
"A blade aura…?"
For the first time, uncertainty crept into its voice.
"Impossible…"
The eye widened slightly, locking onto Kelvin's sword.
"That… that is…"
Its voice trembled.
"Scripture Seven…"
A pause, heavy with something close to dread.
"…Edge of Ruin…"
Kelvin didn't understand the words.
They slid past his thoughts without meaning, like a language he had never learned—but his body answered anyway.
Crimson and void energy coiled tightly around his blade, spiraling together in unstable harmony. The air near the edge distorted, bending faintly as though reality itself had thinned there. Every breath felt sharper. Every sound carried farther.
Kelvin exhaled slowly.
His heartbeat steadied.
"Then I guess…" He raised the sword, the weight of it suddenly perfect in his hands.
"…I'll just cut through everything."
He launched forward.
The moment he moved, the cavern erupted.
"Thousand Flowing Blades—"
His voice rang clear, cutting through the pressure.
"Crimson Fang Storm!!"
The sword moved.
Once.
Then again.
Then too fast to count.
Dozens of crimson arcs tore through the air, each one screaming as it sliced forward. They overlapped, twisted, and converged, turning the space between Kelvin and the Swordfiend into a storm of slashing force.
The Swordfiend roared, raising its arms to defend.
Too late.
The arcs struck.
Metal screamed.
Cracks splintered across the Swordfiend's armor, glowing briefly as the crimson energy carved through cursed plating meant to endure centuries. The massive figure staggered backward, its steps gouging trenches into the stone.
Kelvin pressed in, breath burning, muscles screaming as he forced his body to keep up with the power surging through him. Each swing felt like balancing on the edge of collapse—exhilarating and lethal all at once.
The Swordfiend dropped to one knee.
Smoke hissed from its shattered armor.
Its slit eye dimmed—but did not close.
A whisper slipped through the chaos, bypassing sound entirely and brushing against Kelvin's soul.
I will be watching you…
Kelvin faltered for half a breath.
In that instant, a puff of black smoke peeled away from the Swordfiend's core, thin as a shadow, and slipped into his chest—silent, unnoticed, leaving no trace behind.
The Swordfiend's body convulsed once.
Then collapsed.
Silence crashed down.
The pressure vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Cracks stopped spreading. Dust settled. The crimson aura around Kelvin flickered violently before retreating, leaving his limbs trembling and his breath ragged.
At the center of the ruin lay a broken core—dark, fractured, still pulsing faintly with residual energy.
Kelvin stepped forward.
His instincts screamed don't.
He ignored them.
When his fingers brushed the core—
BOOM.
Energy detonated outward, then inward, flooding his body in a violent surge. His vision went white. His knees buckled as power poured through every pathway he had, burning, reshaping, overwhelming.
Somewhere behind him, Silvia shouted his name.
Kelvin couldn't hear her.
All he felt was the echo of the blade…
…and the sense that something had begun.