The man brandished his longsword, charging straight for her neck.
Katarina felt her scalp tingle, hastily raising her lance to block.
What happened next defied belief—the plain-looking sword sliced through her tempered steel lance as if it were butter.
For half a year since fleeing the capital, this formidable knight who had survived dozens of ambushes now tasted death for the first time.
It was like a nightmare.
Katarina couldn't comprehend how the man who had cowered like a rat mere moments ago had transformed into a beast thirsting for blood in the blink of an eye.
CLANG!
The metallic clash echoed across the sky.
Katarina, clad in full plate armor and weighing over 80 kilograms, was sent flying from her horse like a punctured balloon.
Crimson droplets scattered through the air as her body tumbled across the ground before slamming into a windpeach tree.
Her thick pauldron had been cleaved open, blood gushing from the gaping wound.
A red rivulet snaked across the earth, bisected by the broken sword embedded in it like a silver reef.
Siegfried glanced at the shattered blade in his hand, recalling its appraisal.
Holy Sword [Balumuke]Type: WeaponRarity: Unique
The hero Balumuke was a human raised by an ancient dragon. When he set out on his journey, his draconic mother gifted him this sword—plundered from an adventurer—as a farewell present.
This unremarkable blade accompanied Balumuke for a decade, severing evil, shattering injustice, and slaying the Demon King.
At journey's end, the hero returned with his companions to establish Windpeach Village, where this humble sword was passed down through generations.
Effects:
1 . Greatly enhances the wielder's physical abilities.
2 . Reveals its true power against demonkind.
3 . Possesses innate affinity with dragons.
4 . Exerts natural intimidation against magical beasts.
WARNING! This holy sword will shatter if used to attack beings of the Order alignment.
Note: It is not that the holy sword chooses the hero, but that the hero's choice makes the sword holy.
When Siegfried had arrived in this world seven days ago, the sword was already at his hip.
His memories told him it was a coming-of-age gift from the village elder when he turned eighteen—a preparation for the day he might become the hero to save the world.
The so-called "Village's Finest Blade."
Its plain appearance had led Siegfried to overlook it until his Wanderer's Handbook revealed its origins.
Now, his heart ached with regret.
Just as the appraisal warned, the hero's sword was meant to protect order and humanity. Using it to harm others had broken it.
But he'd had no choice. Without it, he was powerless. To secure his mission, he needed to demonstrate his strength—even if only once.
"Lady Katarina!"
A shout came from Siegfried's side. The blond soldier, Lem, stood frozen in shock.
He had forgotten to confirm something earlier and turned back alone—only to witness this scene.
"You d*mn—"
Lem stepped forward, but his rage chilled the instant he met Siegfried's gaze.
Those eyes—calm, fathomless, black as an abyss.
The last syllable of his curse died in his throat. Trembling, he raised his spear.
Siegfried snorted. Without the female knight, these ragtag soldiers could be beaten to death by villagers with hoes.
Flicking blood off the broken sword, he advanced.
With each step forward, Lem retreated two.
Again and again, the soldier mustered the courage to fight—only for it to vanish in those bottomless pupils.
Finally, Lem's back hit a wooden hut. His grip on the spear faltered.
"I—I'm a soldier of the kingdom! Do you know what you're doing? This is—"
A fist slammed into his gut, cutting off his bluster.
Lem collapsed, vomiting the last of his meager rations. Clearly, he hadn't eaten in days.
Siegfried picked up the spear and brought it down on the curled-up soldier.
"Stop—"
A weak voice came from behind.
Siegfried ignored it, striking again—right arm, left ribs, back, right leg, kidney... all the spots where he'd been struck earlier.
"STOP!"
The voice grew urgent.
Only then did Siegfried lower the spear, wiping nonexistent sweat from his brow.
Under the tree, Katarina gasped for air. Her helmet had fallen off during the tumble, revealing disheveled chestnut curls and a pallid face.
Her once-gleaming armor was caked in mud and blood. Her left arm hung limp, dripping crimson into the earth.
"Lady Katarina!"
"What happened here?"
The soldiers who had heard the commotion finally arrived.
Before them lay Katarina, bleeding profusely; Lem, unconscious on the ground; and Siegfried—the only one standing, clearly the culprit.
The battle-hardened soldiers saw red, weapons raised.
Siegfried's expression darkened. He pressed his boot against Lem's throat.
The threat restored some rationality. The soldiers formed a protective circle around Katarina, spears still trained on Siegfried.
He wasn't afraid. Even broken, the holy sword's residual power surged through him.
Without Katarina, these soldiers were mere rabble. He could kill them all in under two minutes.
But if pushed to desperation, they might grab villagers as hostages.
"Stand down! Cough—"
Katarina was furious. A warrior of her caliber, yet today she'd done nothing but take hits and plead for mercy.
She met Siegfried's gaze, voice earnest. "Sir, please release him. He's no threat now."
Siegfried ignored her implicit negotiation. Instead, he increased the pressure on Lem's neck, drawing a sickening crack.
Katarina paled. "All of you—drop your weapons!"
"But—"
"NOW!"
"...Yes, ma'am."
Reluctantly, the six soldiers tossed their spears toward Siegfried.
He gathered them and dumped all but one into a nearby well.
Katarina watched bitterly.
This man was intelligent, cautious, formidable, and ruthless—the worst kind of enemy.
How could such a backwater village produce this monster?
And that sword—how could a plain blade shatter her prized lance?
Those eyes, too... black as—
Wait.
Black?
A preposterous suspicion exploded in her mind.
Her throat tightened. The question slipped out unbidden:
"Who... are you?"
Siegfried smirked, yanking off his headscarf and tossing it aside.
The early spring breeze carried the fabric away, stirring Katarina's curls—but bringing her no warmth.
Black. It really is black.
"Meiran!"
One of the soldiers shrieked. Instantly, chaos erupted.
"No way..."
"Why is a Meiran here?!"
"The Hero? He's the next Hero?!"
"So that sword was a holy sword?!"
"Shut up, all of you!"
Katarina's breath hitched.
Every soul on the continent knew what black hair and eyes signified.
They heralded an ancient legend.
A Meiran?
What was he doing here? Had the next Hero already begun his sacred journey?
Impossible. The last Demon King fell twenty years ago. The next Hero shouldn't appear so soon.
He's a fake. He must be.
Otherwise, not only would none of them escape—even Her Highness in hiding would be endangered.
Katarina gnawed her lip, scrambling for denial. But her paling face betrayed her dread.
Siegfried didn't miss it.
As expected, his appearance paired with the holy sword's power could pass him off as a true Meiran.
"I have... ties to this village." He tilted his head, voice laced with mockery. "Why so nervous?"
"M-Master Meiran..."
Despite her disbelief, the title slipped out.
All Katarina could do now was stall, hoping their scout nearby would escape to warn the others.
But Siegfried raised a finger to his lips. "Patience. We're still missing someone."
Dread coiled in her gut.
As if on cue, shouts rang out:
"Hey—Big Brother Siegfried!"
Three burly youths approached, grinning as they hauled a bound dwarf.
"We did as Little Tova said and checked the west hut. Caught this rat sneaking around!"
Katarina's face drained of color.
She strained to identify the captive, but Siegfried's amused smirk filled her vision.
"Now, Knight," he murmured, "care to explain?"