The walk back to Oakhaven was considerably less cheerful than the walk out. Silas's side throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, a reminder that while his health bar was full, his actual body was still bruised under the magical healing.
Elena walked a few paces behind him, her eyes darting around the road. She had changed. The scared street rat was still there, but she moved with a predator's grace now, her hand never straying far from the hilt of her Void Dagger.
"You're limping," Elena observed bluntly.
"I am not limping," Silas corrected, forcing his stride to straighten. He immediately regretted it as a spike of pain shot through his ribs. "I am walking... asymmetrically. It's a stylistic choice."
"You almost died," she countered.
"Almost is the most exciting word in the dictionary, Elena," Silas grinned, though it was tight-lipped. "Besides, we leveled up. We're rich. We're famous. Well, we will be famous once I finish writing the ballads about my heroism."
They reached the city gates just as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple and orange. The guards waved them through—D-Rank adventurers were common enough to be ignored, which suited Silas just fine.
They headed straight for the Guild Hall.
The hall was rowdier than usual, filled with the evening crowd. Silas marched up to the reception desk, dropping the massive, crystallized mandible of the Weaver onto the wood with a heavy thud.
Livia jumped, her ink pot toppling over. "Silas! Must you be so dramatic?"
"Proof of completion," Silas declared, striking a pose that emphasized his broad shoulders and hid his wince. "One Crystal Weaver, deceased. We expect full payment."
Livia adjusted her glasses, looking from the mandible to Silas, then to Elena. She scribbled on a form and slid a heavy pouch across the counter.
"Fifty gold. And the Guild thanks you. That thing was disrupting trade."
Silas weighed the pouch. It was heavy. Beautifully heavy.
"Pleasure doing business, Livia." He turned to leave, but Livia cleared her throat.
"Silas. A moment."
He paused. "If this is about the noise complaint from the Alchemist's Guild, I swear that explosion was an accident."
"It's not that," Livia lowered her voice.
"I am Concerned," she said, her eyes sharp. "Fast growth attracts attention. The Church of Light has been scouting for 'anomalies' lately. And the noble houses are looking for fresh meat for their private wars. Keep your head down."
Silas tapped his nose. "My head is always down, Livia. It's just so handsome that people tend to look at it anyway."
He grabbed the gold and swept out of the hall before she could lecture him further.
Outside, Silas's jovial expression dropped.
"Church of Light," he muttered. "Great. The guys with the burning swords and the smug attitudes. Exactly who I don't want to meet."
"Are we in danger?" Elena asked, falling into step beside him.
"Not yet. But we need to be stronger," Silas said. "And more importantly, I need a new sword. The Last Resort is chipped, rusty, and frankly, insulting to my aesthetic."
He led Elena away from the main streets, down into the Artisan's Quarter. This was where the smiths, enchanters, and carpenters worked. The air smelled of coal, ozone, and hot metal.
Most of the shops were closing, their heavy shutters coming down. But one shop at the end of the alley still had a light on. A flickering sign read: Thorne's Salvage – We buy broken things.
Silas pushed the door open. A bell jangled overhead.
The interior was cramped, cluttered with piles of scrap metal, chipped shields, and dusty books. Behind the counter sat an old man with wild grey hair and an eyepatch, polishing a bent helmet.
"We're closed," the man grunted without looking up.
"Then you shouldn't have left the light on," Silas said, walking in. "I'm looking for a sword. Something sharp. Something deadly. Something that doesn't look like it was fished out of a swamp."
The old man—Thorne—looked up. He had a scar running down his neck. [Sovereign's Gaze] flickered in Silas's mind.
[Target: Thorne]
Level: 45
Class: Rune Blacksmith (Retired)
Status: Mana Depleted.
Thorne scoffed. "You don't have the coin for my good stuff, boy. Try the general store."
"I have fifty gold and a freshly killed Crystal Weaver," Silas countered. "Show me what you have."
Thorne paused, eyeing the gold pouch. He grunted, stood up with a creak of old bones, and pointed to a rack on the wall.
"Take your pick. Standard steel. Reinforced iron. Nothing fancy."
Silas walked over to the rack. He drew The Last Resort and compared it to the options. They were better, certainly. Sturdy, well-balanced. But they were... empty.
With his Intelligence at 46, Silas could sense the flow of mana in objects. These swords were stagnant. They were dead metal. If he tried to channel Void energy through them, they would likely shatter.
"Garbage," Silas muttered.
"Excuse me?" Thorne bristled.
"I said, garbage," Silas turned around. "I don't want a metal stick. I want a weapon that can keep up with me. Don't you have anything... unique? Cursed? Haunted? I'm not picky."
Thorne stared at him for a long moment. "You're a weird one. I can see why the mana in here feels cold."
He walked to the back of the shop, rummaging through a pile of junk. He pulled out a long, narrow object wrapped in dirty cloth.
"This was brought in by a scavenger from the Northern Ruins. Can't sell it. Nobody wants it."
He unwrapped the cloth.
It was a sword, but it looked broken. The blade was a jagged, matte black material that seemed to absorb the light. The edge was dull, and there was a crack running down the center of the blade. The crossguard was made of a twisted, dark wood.
"It's called the Wailing Night," Thorne said. "Supposedly a relic from the Dark Age. Problem is, it's dead. No enchantment. No edge. It won't hold a sharpening spell. It's just a heavy, useless stick."
Silas reached out. The moment his fingers brushed the hilt, the Void in his stomach churned.
Not with hunger. With recognition.
[Unique Item Detected]
[Item: Wailing Night (Dormant)]
[Grade: Legendary (Sealed)]
[Requirement: Void Affinity.]
"How much?" Silas asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
Thorne shrugged. "Ten gold. Just to get it out of my shop."
"I'll take it," Silas said instantly, slapping the coins on the counter.
He grabbed the sword. It felt cold, like holding a block of ice. But as he gripped it, he felt a suction. The sword was trying to drink his mana.
Not today, Silas thought. We're partners, or we're nothing.
He didn't let it drink. He pushed back. He forced a sliver of his authority into the hilt.
The sword pulsed. The matte black blade shimmered for a second, the jagged edge suddenly looking razor-sharp before fading back to dullness.
"We're leaving," Silas said, turning to Elena. "Thanks for the junk, Thorne."
Thorne narrowed his eye. "You bought it? Hmph. Don't come crying when it snaps in a fight."
Back in his room at the Rustic Inn, Silas sat on his bed. Elena was in the corner, meditating—a habit Silas had told her would help control her Shadow Meld.
Silas placed the broken sword on his lap.
"Okay, you ugly piece of scrap," Silas whispered. "Let's see what you're made of."
He placed both hands on the blade.
[Skill Activated: Void Infusion]
He didn't feed the sword mana. He fed it authority. He fed it the essence of the Void Sovereign.
The reaction was violent. The sword shuddered, vibrating so hard it blurred. A wailing sound—high-pitched and ghostly—erupted from the metal.
"Silas?" Elena's eyes snapped open.
"Quiet, I'm working!"
Silas gritted his teeth. The sword was resisting. It had a will of its own. It was stubborn. It was arrogant.
Kind of like me, Silas thought with a smirk.
"Listen to me!" Silas hissed, leaning close to the blade. "I am not your wielder. I am your Sovereign. You serve the Void, and I am the Void. Now wake up!"
He pushed harder. [Void Consumption] activated in reverse—instead of eating, he was regurgitating energy into the vessel.
CRACK.
The sound wasn't the sword breaking. It was the seal breaking.
The dull, matte finish shattered like glass, falling away as fine dust. Underneath, the blade gleamed with a deep, oscillating violet sheen. The edge became impossible thin, a line of absolute darkness. The jagged cracks healed, leaving behind veins of purple light that pulsed like a heartbeat.
The wailing stopped, replaced by a low, harmonious hum.
[System Notification]
[Item Evolution Successful!]
[Wailing Night -> Requiem of the Void]
[Grade: Legendary]
[Effect: Void Edge : Cuts through physical and magical barriers. Ignores 30% of enemy defense.]
[Passive: Soul Drink. Absorbs a small portion of the target's mana on hit.]
Silas let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He felt drained—using the Infusion had cost him a chunk of his own energy. But as he looked at the blade, it was worth it.
He gave the sword a test swing. It sliced through the air with no resistance. It didn't make a swishing sound; it made a tearing sound, like fabric ripping.
"Hello, beautiful," Silas whispered to the blade. "We're going to do great things together."
He stood up, the sword feeling weightless in his hand.
"Elena."
She looked up, eyes wide at the transformed weapon.
"Pack your things," Silas said, sheathing the sword. The scabbard groaned as if complaining about the energy. "We need to move out."
"Why?" Elena asked. "I thought we were staying here?"
Silas looked out the window. He could feel a shift in the air. The sound of the City Guards shouting in the distance.
"The Church of Light is in town," Silas said, his voice dropping the humor for a moment. "And I just set off a magical flare that practically screams 'Heretic'. We should probably be elsewhere before they knock on Mrs. Gable's door."
He grabbed his pack.
"Besides," Silas added, his grin returning. "I'm Level 29. This city is too small for us. It's time to find a real dungeon."
"Where are we going?" Elena asked, grabbing her small bag.
Silas looked at his map, tracing a line with his finger.
"West," he said. "To the Sunken Ruins of Aethelgard. I hear the architecture is to die for. Literally."
He opened the window.
"Coming, Mini-Sovereign?"
Elena sighed, walking over to the window. "I hate climbing through windows."
"Climbing is character building," Silas said, vaulting out into the night.
Elena followed, dissolving into a shadow and sliding down the wall after him.
The Sovereign's Court was growing. And the world was about to learn that the Void didn't just wait in the dark.
It walked among them