NOVEL FROG Chapter 12: Little old rusted sword like me
In the depths of the forest, a black-haired woman walked calmly along a winding path. Her steps were deliberate, yet unhurried. She had been traveling toward the capital for a few days now, choosing to move by foot despite her ability to fly using sword intent. There was something peaceful about slowing down and immersing herself in the life of an adventurer.
Camping by rivers, foraging berries, and navigating through different terrains had brought a sense of serenity to her journey. It reminded her of her days before ascension, walking the path toward godhood with nothing but her sword and robe. Back then, she had believed that mortal pleasures were distractions—anchors that would only hinder her progress.
But now, she saw things differently. The mortal life was fulfilling in ways that godhood never was. If she had experienced this simplicity earlier, she might have chosen to remain a mortal.
As she walked, lost in her thoughts, a rustling in the nearby bushes snapped her attention back to the present. Her divine sense extended instinctively, revealing several small humanoid figures lurking just beyond the foliage.
The figures had elongated faces and ears, their small, disfigured bodies clad in nothing more than tattered cloths. They held crude weapons—clubs and spears fashioned from stones and sticks. She sensed their malicious intent even before one of them spoke.
"Yahq yahq, etq zafuoqp!" one of the creatures shouted, and they all emerged from their hiding places.
"Iq saf m nqmgfk ftue fuyq mdagzp," another said, eyeing Blade with a leer, its gaze full of lust.
"U imzf rudef dagzp—" Another started to speak, but its words were abruptly cut off as a sword, seemingly made of glass glowing with a rainbow shine, appeared behind her. In one swift motion, the sword flashed toward the creatures, severing their heads in a single swing. The weapon then returned to Blade before dissipating into particles of light.
Without a word, she resumed her journey. However, something caught her attention as she expanded her divine sense.
Beyond the fallen creatures, nestled within the dense foliage of the forest, was a sword resting on a pedestal.
Intrigued, Blade approached the mysterious weapon. The sword's surface was coated in rust and moss, a testament to the passage of time. The leather grip was nearly torn away, exposing the metal underneath.
But what intrigued her most was the faint, dim mana of time emanating from the blade. Time-related energy was exceedingly rare, usually wielded only by powerful beings. To find such an armament here, in this forgotten corner of the forest, was surprising.
She expanded her divine sense, scanning the area for any signs of danger or irregularity. Yet, there was nothing—no hidden runes in the dirt, no lingering enchantments in the air.
Only some footprints from the monsters that had tried to remove the sword.
When she placed her hand on the hilt, she sensed something even more intriguing.
'Ah, a human, at last,' a masculine voice echoed in her mind.
"Who are you, sword?"
"I am a sword, as you can see. But as for why I became one, I don't know. All I remember is dying and then turning into this sword."
"I've been stuck in this pedestal for months now. Plenty of goblins tried to pull me out, but they failed. Not surprising though—those twig arms can barely lift a stone, let alone a rusty sword like me."
"So, miss, what's your story? Why are you in this part of the forest? Not many people come around here—just a few goblin camps and, well, me, the rusted talking sword."
Blade sensed that this sword might be a chatterbox, and she was already dealing with one—two is where she drew the line. She loosened her grip, intending to move on.
"Wait, wait, please hear me out," the sword pleaded, catching her attention. It was the first time she had encountered a talking sword, and curiosity got the better of her.
"Pull me out of this pedestal. I've been bored out of my mind here. I'll be your sword. Just get me out of this damn place."