That night, Leon stood in Zenless Mammon's private chamber.
The room was luxurious—white marble walls, glossy black glass floors, crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. But Leon didn't care about the luxury. His eyes were only on the man before him.
Zenless sat in an ornate chair, fan open in his hand, a faint smile adorning his face. His golden robes shimmered under the lamplight.
"You're impressive, Zero," said Zenless. "I've never seen a contestant like you. You don't kill, yet you survive. You defeat strong opponents with strategy."
Leon didn't answer. He just stood, waiting.
Zenless snapped his fan shut. "I want you to join me. Become one of the Nexus guards."
Leon raised an eyebrow. "Nexus guards?"
"You already know of the Nexus. The place where we keep something very precious... and very dangerous." Zenless rose, walking to the window. Outside, the lower city was dark, but the upper city was still brightly lit. "I need someone like you. Strong. Intelligent."
Leon was silent for a moment. "I'll accept. On one condition."
Zenless turned. "A condition?"
"I want to bring two people with me."
Zenless chuckled softly. "Bold. Most people ask for wealth or women. But you..." he walked closer. "Very well. I'll accept your condition. On one condition of my own."
Leon looked at him. "What?"
"In this place, there is a weapon." Zenless stopped before him. "A sword that no one has been able to draw. Dozens have tried. All failed. Some even died."
His eyes fixed sharply on Leon.
"If you can draw it, I will accept your condition. If not..." he smiled. "You will still join, but you'll bring no one."
Leon didn't hesitate. "I accept."
---
Zenless led Leon through corridor after corridor, descending winding stone stairs. The air grew colder. The lamps grew dimmer. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the stone walls.
"This sword has been here since before I was born," said Zenless. "Not even my grandfather knew who embedded it."
Leon didn't answer. His eyes observed their surroundings. Ancient stone walls, covered in carvings he couldn't read. Some depicted winged creatures, some depicted battles.
Finally, they reached a vast underground chamber.
In the center of the room, a black stone altar rose.
Leon approached.
Upon the altar, a sword was embedded.
The sword was straight, slender, and elongated with an extremely sharp point. Its color was bluish-black, with glowing cracks like pulsing veins. At its hilt, black ebony wood was bound with white cord. Its guard was a simple but elegant symmetrical circle.
The strangest thing was that the sword felt... alive. As if breathing. As if waiting.
Scattered around the altar were bones.
Dozens of skeletal remains of living creatures lay scattered, some intact, some shattered. The bones encircled the sword within a radius of several meters—as if they had died trying to approach, or upon touching it, or upon failing to draw it.
Leon stood at the edge of that circle of bones. "They all tried to draw this sword?"
Zenless walked among the bones, occasionally stopping to pick up an intact skull. "Those who tried had their mana drained. Their bodies dried up. Muscles shrank. Bones became brittle."
He pointed to one skeleton in a half-sitting position, its hand still reaching toward the altar.
"Some died on the spot. Some managed to flee, but didn't last long. Their mana kept draining even after they stopped touching the sword. Like a curse."
Leon stared at the bones. "Why not just destroy it?"
Zenless smiled faintly. "Because no one can approach it without losing mana. And because..." he looked at the sword. "...this sword is too valuable to destroy."
Leon walked toward the altar. The bones beneath his feet cracked. The air grew colder. The sword seemed to call to him—not with sound, but with a vibration in his chest.
He reached out his hand. His fingers touched the hilt.
Cold. Very cold. But not like ice—cold like death itself.
He pulled.
It didn't move.
He pulled harder.
Suddenly, the sword reacted. Not moving—but opening. From its hilt, from the cracks in its blade, from its sharp point, Leon's mana was sucked in. Flowing into the sword like a waterfall.
Leon was startled. His hand couldn't let go. His arm trembled. And slowly, the muscles in his arm began to shrink—shrivel, dry out, like flesh losing water.
He tried to release it, but his hand seemed glued. Mana kept flowing. His body grew weaker.
"Boy," Satan's voice sounded in his head. "You can't fight it with force."
Leon gritted his teeth. "I can't let go!"
"Don't let go. But don't fight it either. Let it take."
Leon blinked. "What?!"
"This sword is hungry for mana. The more you resist, the more it takes. If you let it..." Satan paused. "...perhaps it will become full."
Leon wanted to argue. But he had no choice.
He sighed. Closed his eyes. Released the tension in his body. Let the mana flow—not held back, not resisted.
The sword kept taking. Leon's mana kept flowing. But without resistance, the flow became... stable. No longer painful. Like a river flowing to the sea. Like blood flowing through veins.
"Now," Satan whispered. "Pull."
Leon opened his eyes.
His hand gripped the sword's hilt. The shrunken muscles in his arm began to recover—the mana that was taken flowed back. Not from the sword, but from within himself. From a source he had never realized before.
He pulled.
CRACK.
The sword moved. Slowly, inch by inch, the bluish-black blade emerged from the stone altar.
Leon gritted his teeth. His arm trembled. But he didn't stop.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Each inch felt like tons of weight. But each inch also felt like... victory.
With one final pull, the sword came free completely.
The air in the chamber vibrated. The bones around the altar scattered. And Leon stood in the center of a dust vortex, sword in his right hand, its blade glowing faintly.
Zenless clapped his hands. Slowly, unhurriedly. His fan was already closed, tucked at his waist.
"Incredible," he said. "I've seen dozens try. Some were stronger than you. Some were smarter. But none succeeded."
He walked closer, his eyes fixed on the sword in Leon's hand.
"The sword chose you."
Leon stared at the sword in his hand. Bluish-black blade, glowing cracks like pulsing veins, a point sharp enough to pierce anything.
"What will you name it?" Zenless asked.
Leon didn't answer immediately. He observed the sword—its shape, its color, its vibration. A sword hungry for mana. A sword that had waited for thousands of years. A sword that had chosen him.
"Lokantaka," he said.
Zenless smiled faintly. "Lokantaka. A fine name. Weighty. Fitting for such a heavy blade."
He extended his hand. "You win. I accept your condition."
Leon grasped Zenless's hand. A strong handshake, brief, full of meaning.
"You may bring two people with you into the Nexus," Zenless continued. "But remember—inside the Nexus, there are rules. If they break them..." he didn't finish.
Leon nodded. "I'll take my leave."
Zenless raised an eyebrow. "Where are you going?"
Leon sheathed Lokantaka into a scabbard that suddenly appeared at his waist—as if the sword itself had created it.
He turned, walking toward the door. "To someone."
He stepped out of the room, leaving Zenless still standing among the bones. His fan opened again, hiding his smile.
"To someone," Zenless repeated softly. "I'm curious, Zero... who is that someone?"
Leon had already vanished beyond the door.
On his chest, the pendant still glowed.
At his waist, Lokantaka pulsed softly—like a second heartbeat, like a promise, like the beginning of something new.
=== CHAPTER 22 END ===