The shards of Eryan's Rare Weapon lay scattered across the dirt, glowing faintly before dimming forever. Villagers clung to each other, terror-stricken, watching their last hope kneel in the mud.
Kael loomed above, his greatsword dripping with molten heat, eyes alight with triumph. "This is the end. You are no warrior—just a fool who thought himself more than a smith."
Eryan's chest heaved. His broken fingers clutched the useless hilt, blood dripping from his palms. His body trembled, but it wasn't weakness—it was the storm inside him.
The Cursed Blade's voice slithered like silk.
Take me. I am the fire in your forge. With me, you will rise. Without me, you will die, and so will she.
Selene's faint voice reached through the haze. "Eryan… please… don't lose yourself."
He closed his eyes. The battlefield faded. In his mind, two forges burned:
—One of light, fragile, flickering but pure.
—One of shadow, roaring, limitless, intoxicating.
Kael swung his greatsword down, a strike meant to end not just Eryan but the spirit of all who watched.
At the last moment, Eryan's hand closed—not on empty air, not on the broken hilt—
—but on the invisible hilt of the Cursed Blade.
The world shuddered.
Darkness bled from his hand, solidifying into steel blacker than night, its edge rippling like liquid shadow. The air itself recoiled, the ground cracked beneath him.
Gasps tore from the villagers. Selene's eyes widened in horror and despair. "Eryan…"
Kael's strike met the Cursed Blade.
The impact did not shatter Eryan.
It shattered Kael's attack.
The greatsword splintered in a burst of black flame, shards of molten steel scattering across the field.
Kael staggered back, eyes wide for the first time. "Impossible—!"
Eryan rose slowly, the Cursed Blade pulsing with malevolent energy in his grip. His eyes glowed faintly with the same shadow. His voice was low, steady, inhumanly resonant.
"I am no longer just a smith."
The blade thrummed.
"I am the forge. I am the fire. I am the blade."
He moved. Faster than before, faster than Kael could react. The Cursed Blade carved through the air in a blur, its edge tearing not flesh but existence itself. A black scar seared across Kael's armor, cutting through layers of enchanted steel like parchment.
Kael roared, stumbling back. "What are you!?"
Eryan's expression was unreadable, caught between man and something else. His aura spilled across the battlefield, drowning fire with shadow.
The villagers who once looked at him with hope now stared with fear. Even Selene's knees buckled, not from wounds but from the sheer weight of the darkness radiating from him.
The Cursed Blade whispered louder, triumphant.
Yes. This is your truth. This is power. With me, no rival will stand. No kingdom will deny you. We are unbreakable.
For the first time, Kael's laughter faltered. He raised the broken half of his sword, channeling his remaining flames. "Then I'll crush you before you lose yourself completely!"
The duel resumed, but it was no longer equal.
Eryan struck, every swing of the Cursed Blade sending shockwaves that tore through stone and fire alike. Kael parried desperately, his strength immense but fading against the unnatural force Eryan now wielded.
Their blades clashed, screaming with unnatural echoes. Each strike split the earth, dark fire consuming bright flame.
Eryan pressed forward, relentless, his strikes faster, heavier, sharper. He was no longer the desperate smith fighting for survival. He was a predator, his blade hungering for Kael's life.
Kael roared, blood spraying as another slash tore across his chest. "Damn you, smith!"
Eryan's eyes flared with shadowlight. "I told you. I am no longer just a smith."
The final clash erupted, sending Kael sprawling across the battlefield, armor shattered, blood painting the dirt. For the first time, the warlord struggled to stand.
Eryan stood tall, the Cursed Blade pulsing in his hand, its whispers a chorus of victory.
Strike. End him. Forge your legend in his blood.
The villagers stared, frozen between awe and terror. Selene whispered, tears streaming down her face, "Eryan… come back…"
Eryan raised the Cursed Blade, shadow coiling around him like wings. His heart thundered, torn between mercy and the intoxicating urge to kill.
Kael looked up, half-defiant, half-broken.
"Do it, smith. Show them what you truly are."
The blade trembled in Eryan's grip. His decision would shape everything.
The battlefield smelled of blood, smoke, and ash.
Kael lay sprawled on the ground, his once-mighty armor broken, his crimson flames extinguished. His chest heaved, every breath ragged. The proud warlord, who once seemed invincible, now bled into the dirt.
Eryan stood over him, the Cursed Blade humming in his hand. Its edge dripped with shadow, whispering its demand.
Finish him. Claim his strength. This is the forge of kings.
The villagers held their breath. Some prayed for Kael's death. Others prayed Eryan would not fall deeper into the abyss.
Selene's trembling voice cut through the silence: "Eryan… please. Don't let the darkness define you."
Kael's gaze met Eryan's. There was no fear—only weary acceptance. He coughed, blood staining his lips.
"You've won, smith," he rasped. "I thought you were just a fool swinging steel. But you… you carry fire fiercer than mine."
He dropped the shattered remains of his sword, letting them clatter into the dirt. "I have no more strength to fight. If you wish my death, take it."
Eryan's grip on the Cursed Blade tightened. The whispers howled, urging him to strike, to bathe in Kael's blood. His arm trembled.
But then—Kael's lips curled into a weak, bitter smile. "You remind me… of the man I once was. Before ambition burned me hollow."
The words struck Eryan harder than any blade.
The Cursed Blade pulsed violently.
Weakness! End him!
But Eryan lowered the blade. His voice, strained but firm, cut through the darkness:
"No. I'm not your executioner. I'm a blacksmith. I forge, I don't destroy."
The villagers gasped. Even Kael's eyes widened slightly.
Eryan tossed the blade aside. It shrieked in his mind, furious, but he ignored it. He extended a bloodied hand toward Kael.
"Live. If you want redemption, seek it. Not through fire, not through blood—but through rebuilding what you broke."
Kael stared at the hand for a long moment. Then, with effort, he grasped it. His calloused fingers closed around Eryan's.
"…You're a damn fool," Kael muttered. But his eyes softened, if only slightly. "Perhaps… the kind the world needs."
With Selene's help, Eryan and the villagers treated Kael's wounds. It was strange, surreal—moments ago he was their terror, now he sat silently among them, bloodied but no longer a monster in their eyes.
That night, by the fire, Kael broke the silence. His voice was low, heavy with regret.
"I've taken lives I cannot return. Burned villages that will never forgive me. But today… you showed me something I thought lost. Mercy."
He bowed his head to Eryan, an act unthinkable for the once-proud warlord. "For what it's worth… I'm sorry. To you, to them."
Eryan's expression was weary but sincere. "Then start by making it right. Help rebuild, not destroy."
Kael nodded, his eyes glinting with a promise. "I will. Not because I must, but because I choose to."
The next morning, the villagers returned to their homes, weary but alive. Eryan walked among them, his hands bandaged, his body aching, yet his heart strangely light.
Selene walked at his side, relief softening her features. "You did it… without losing yourself."
Eryan smiled faintly. "Not without struggle." His eyes flicked briefly to where the Cursed Blade lay buried beneath rubble, still whispering faintly in the back of his mind. "The fight isn't over. Not with him, not with myself."
As they entered the village gates, the people erupted in cheers. Not for a hero, not for a warlord—but for their smith, who had stood between them and despair.
Kael followed behind, his head bowed, no longer a conqueror but a man seeking redemption. Some villagers eyed him with distrust, others with cautious hope.
For now, there was peace. Fragile, uncertain—but peace nonetheless.
That night, in the forge, Eryan rekindled the flames. He set the broken shards of his Rare Weapon on the anvil, staring at them with quiet resolve.
"Broken… but not beyond repair. Like him. Like me."
Selene's voice came softly from behind. "You'll forge it again, won't you?"
Eryan nodded. His eyes glowed faintly with determination. "Yes. Stronger. Purer. This time… it won't break."
And as the hammer rose and fell, sparks lit the forge once more—symbols of a new beginning.