Legacy of a Benevolent Lord
Chapter 56: Lone Sword Tomb.

Chapter 56: Lone Sword Tomb.

Hidden deep within the valley, shrouded by the natural formations of swirling fog and spiritual interference, lay something ancient, untouched by human hands for centuries.

A relic of a legendary cultivator.

The Sword Tomb of the Lone Sword Demon. Arguably the best swordsman to have lived in the world’s known history.

They had glimpsed it before but hadn’t ventured inside.

Night had fallen too swiftly then, and their bodies still ached from the brutal clash with the serpent; its venom had clung onto their bodies like tar.

Now, bolstered by ’reinforcements’, they returned. Time to rob a tomb.

Solwing, the Golden Crowned Immortal Crane, plummeted from the high clouds, wings slicing through the clouds in a heart-stopping descent. Nysalea’s breath caught, her arms tightening around Riven’s waist, her soft cry swallowed by the roar of the wind.

Her heart pounded from the fall and from the weight of his warmth against her.

They plunged through the mist, a thousand meters of swirling gray, until they burst into a pocket of clear air.

Before them stretched a vast, circular plain atop a cliff, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen that reflected the moonlight in ripples.

The expanse, kilometers wide, gleamed like a frozen lake, as if a mountain had been cleaved by a single, divine stroke of a blade.

And honestly... this might very well be the case.

Maybe slicing horizontally through a mountain is the pinnacle of such a being’s ability.

Solwing’s talons touched the ground gently, exhibiting a grace that concealed its weight and strength.

Riven dismounted first in a fluid flipping movement, then turned to help Nysalea and Selene.

Towards Nysalea, his hands were steady, his touch brief, gentlemanly, and respectful.

After grounding them against the surreal vastness of the plain, they stood for a fleeting moment, awestruck, facing the air with heavy, desolate history, when a sound shattered the silence.

"GOO-GOO-GOOO!!!"

A deep, guttural cry rumbled through the valley, low and resonant, vibrating the entire plane.

Then, a shadow tore through the sky, a dark shape plummeting like a comet, parting the clouds with a force that screamed the weight of a moon.

The wind howled, instantly a storm was born of its descent, whipping Nysalea’s hair across her face.

"Enemy!" she shouted, her hand flying to the hilt of her sword, fingers trembling with instinct.

Riven’s arm shot out, pressing against her hand as she reached for her sword, forcing it back into its sheath.

In contrast to the world, the man’s voice was calm and steady. "Little Crane, draw it away."

Solwing shrieked, a loud, piercing cry as it split the night. Almost as if it is trying to compete with the roar of the fellow bird.

Its wings unfurled, gleaming like white metal under the moonlight, and it launched upward, armored talons glinting like daggers.

The air exploded as it met the incoming beast, a collision of raw power that sent a shockwave rippling across the plain.

The eagle landed on the plane with a loud boom.

RUMBLE!

Dust swirled, pebbles skittered, and Nysalea’s heart lurched as Solwing staggered midair, thrown back by the force.

The creature hovered, unyielding.

It was an eagle!

A divine eagle; its feathers black as dark cast iron, eyes blazing with an ancient, unquenchable ferocity.

Its wings spanned wider than Solwing’s, each feather jagged and worn, as if scarred from battles fought before their ancestors were born.

Nysalea’s blood ran cold, her breath shallow.

This was no mere beast.

It was an apex aerial predator, a god beast of the skies, an existence with the life span of millennia.

Solwing, undeterred, wheeled through the air, in contrast to the eagle’s raw power, its major strength was speed and agility.

It dove again, talons aimed at the eagle’s head, where a grotesque, blood-red tumor pulsed like a living wound.

The eagle countered with terrifying speed, its massive wings snapping open, sending a gust that roared like a tempest.

Leaves and debris spiraled across the plain.

The eagle’s feathers were sparse and patchy, as if someone had plucked them clean over the course of centuries.

Its beak, an old curved hook, gleamed under the moonlight, promising death.

Its bare skin had many scars, gleaming in dark yellow gleams of power.

It didn’t flutter or prance like lesser birds.

Instead, the thing stalked, thick legs pounding the cliff’s edge, talons gouging cracks into the stone with each step.

The king was claiming its domain.

"Goo-goo-gooo..."

The cry came again, hoarse and mournful, yet laced with a primal majesty.

The eagle glanced at them, its burning eyes judging, weighing their worth. Each stomp was a declaration: this was its territory, and they were intruders.

Solwing answered with another shriek, soaring upward in a silver arc, his movements a dance of precision and grace.

It then dove, talons flashing, aiming for the tumor once more.

The eagle leapt back, its ragged wings forming a dome over its head. Solwing’s talons clashed with the eagle’s wings, but all it did was produce sparks of fire.

"Geez," Selene whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind. "One mountain can’t house two tigers."

Even birds, it seemed, fought for dominion.

A split second later, the eagle unfurled its wings and swung them, slashing towards Solwing.

Solwing twirled midair, evading the eagle’s counterstrike with elegant precision, his wings cutting through the night like blades.

The eagle pursued, but it was featherless and heavy.

In power, it was terrifying; no bird could match it. But over the years, it had lost what made it a bird.

Flight. The ancient eagle had lost its ability to fly.

Selene’s eyes narrowed, her mind racing. "That bird is very strong," she said, her voice indifferent despite the chaos. "And fast... but Solwing is way faster. It’s also too heavy to shift its weight at the right time."

She watched with a quiet intensity, her robes fluttering in the dying gusts. She pointed into the distance. "Look."

Nysalea followed her gaze, her breath catching.

Far across the plain stood a cylindrical pillar, its surface carved with intricate sword patterns that shimmered faintly in the darkness.

Faint characters glowed, spelling out "Sword Tomb."

Her heart slammed against her ribs. "No way... Is this really where the Lone Sword Demon buried his weapons?"

She turned to Selene, her pulse thundering.

This was sacred ground for a swordswoman like her, raised on tales of a man who wielded a wooden blade and defeated every swordmaster under the heavens.

A man who chased defeat across nine dynasties and never found it.

"Am I dreaming?" she whispered, her voice trembling with awe.

While the birds were fighting, they slowly walked towards the pillar.

Riven walked closer, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the pillar. "We won’t know if it’s real until we see for ourselves," he said, calm but edged with certainty.

"We?" Nysalea’s head snapped toward him, her eyes wide. "No, Your Highness, this is your opportunity. You and Sister Selene found it. I- I have no right-"

"Sister Nysalea," Selene interrupted her with a soft tone. "Why so formal with family?"

She reached out, her hand closing around Nysalea’s, her touch cold yet kind, a quiet warmth in her words.

Family?

The word echoed in Nysalea’s mind, stirring an emotion she couldn’t name.

Before she could respond, Riven’s arm wrapped around hers and Selene’s waist.

The wind brushed past their faces as he leapt, carrying both girls upward in a single, breathtaking bound.

They soared through the air, feeling the wind rush past them, until he gently landed on the tip of his boot, softly resting atop the pillar with not a single stone disturbed beneath his boots.

"Sword Tomb," Selene said as she left Riven’s embrace, her eyes shimmering with wonder. "It’s real."

At the center of the platform, a wooden sword stood embedded in the stone, its blade straight despite the fact that it was covered in moss and rotting.

Riven chuckled inwardly, imagining the tales of King Arthur’s sword, though this blade pierced a pillar, not a stone.

Before the sword, carved into the slab, were two lines of script that glowed faintly.

"This Sword Demon, having no rivals beneath the heavens, buries his swords here."

"Alas, heroes grow weary; sharp blades lie idle. How tragic it is. For the destined, grab her hilt. Shine this world in her light once more."

Nysalea’s heart thundered, her hands trembling as she clenched and unclenched them.

"This man... this senior... These are really his?" she whispered, her voice thick with reverence for a superior swordsman.

In reality, in the later generations, questions would arise among the mortal warriors.

Questioning if the Sword Demon is real. After all, their life spans were barely a hundred.

And most people would live out their lives before seeing an Innate ascendant.

Riven nodded, his eyes tracing the tomb’s stark design. "Even if he was a myth, this placement alone proves he was a legend."

"’Honey,’" Selene said, her voice light with excitement, "he might’ve left something. A manual. A technique. Something."

Nysalea froze. Honey?

So that was the name Selene used in private.

Her gaze drifted to Selene, her black-gold robes radiant under the moonlight, her beauty unmatched.

She’d admitted it long ago. Selene was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen.

"Sister Nysalea," Selene said, turning to her, "let’s open it together."