After completing everything, Enkidu's mood hadn't fully recovered, but it was clearly lighter than before.
Ophis didn't disturb her. Enkidu remained kneeling before Humbaba's tombstone, lost in memory. Quietly, Ophis picked up the golden key she had set aside earlier and stepped into the cave.
The moment she crossed the threshold, a pulse of magecraft stirred—and shattered instantly before she could even discern its purpose.
Probably some sort of defensive barrier. But as a dragon, Ophis's natural resistance to all forms of energy was on par with the gods.
Spells of that level—whether enhancements or curses—meant nothing to her.
Ignoring the faint traces of broken magic, she continued deeper until she reached what seemed to be the cave's end. Before her stretched a darkness so absolute it seemed endless. Yet Ophis could tell—no matter how far she walked forward or back, she would remain trapped within it.
The space itself was warped.
Perhaps the final trap, laid to imprison any intruder who ventured too far.
Following the faint pull emanating from the golden key, Ophis raised it and pressed it forward into the void.
It didn't merely pass through the air. Instead, the key sank halfway into a golden ripple that spread outward through the darkness.
She gripped it tightly and turned.
In an instant, golden waves rippled through the void, and the world around her changed completely.
The key dissolved, merging soundlessly into her body.
Gold—that was Ophis's first impression.
Doors, walls, floors, roads, buildings, decorations, even fabric—all made entirely of gold.
A true golden city, in every sense.
But if that were all, it would've been nothing more than empty opulence. Ophis herself could have recreated something similar by spending Uruk's entire treasury if she wished.
Yet as she walked farther, she began to notice something else glittering among the gold.
Gems—countless gems.
An immeasurable sea of jewels littered the vast plaza, each one easily worth a kingdom's fortune.
Scattered among them were golden ingots piled carelessly high.
A faint thrill ran through Ophis's draconic instincts, but only faintly. Even among dragons, she was one of the least materialistic.
At the far end of the plaza, she ascended a grand staircase, and her eyes gleamed anew.
If the lower floor embodied wealth, this one was the crystallization of human ingenuity.
Land, sea, and sky vehicles; devices for daily life; tools of war; mystic codes for magecraft—an overwhelming collection of treasures, each a product of humanity's brilliance.
Some were weapons so destructive they could erase an entire city in an instant—nuclear bombs displayed without pretense.
Naturally, the place was built from layered, warped spaces; if fully unfolded, it might have been larger than all of Uruk combined.
After a moment of silent awe, Ophis moved on.
The next level radiated a sharper presence—so intense it felt as though it could cut through her body.
Suspended in the air atop pedestals floated an impossible number of weapons.
Blades, spears, swords, halberds, axes, scythes, hooks, chains, shields, armor—every instrument of battle imaginable.
Ophis did not linger. After a brief glance around the hall of weapons, she continued her ascent.
The next several floors were filled with weapons as well.
At first, they had seemed irrelevant to Ophis—mere curiosities. Then, as she ascended, they reached the level of "possibly capable of scratching" her. Now, however, many radiated an unmistakable sense of danger.
But with each floor, their numbers dwindled. Eventually, even the layered space itself faded away, leaving barely a hundred weapons in total.
In this world's terms, every one of these would likely rank at least an A, wouldn't they?
Among them were even legendary relics—like Gungnir, the Declaration of the Great God.
…If she could freely unleash all these weapons at their full potential, Ophis could probably claim that a single dragon possessed around seventy or eighty percent of the Norse pantheon's total combat power.
Naturally, that was impossible.
Weapons of such might demanded far more than magic.
They required compatibility.
Not just vast magical energy—though that was trivial for Ophis, whose reserves bordered on infinite—but the wielder's spirit.
Excalibur had chosen King Arthur, yet even it had shattered when its wielder's resolve wavered.
That alone proved how deeply a Noble Phantasm depended on its master's heart.
A holy sword revealed its light only to one pure of soul.
A knight's blade could only reach its full potential in the hands of one with true chivalric justice.
A saint's weapon could only be drawn against an enemy who truly deserved defeat.
And divine weapons—those forged by the gods themselves—required divinity to be fully unleashed.
Not every weapon demanded perfect resonance, but any lack of harmony would inevitably dull its power.
Take Gungnir, for example.
A true spear of absolute accuracy—its strike as inevitable as falling stars or divine lightning, capable of piercing even fate itself. An EX-rank sure-kill weapon.
But that power required the hand of a true god.
Though Ophis had gained partial divinity through her Fate Replacement with the Hero King, she was still not a genuine deity. If she were to wield Gungnir seriously, its actual performance might fall below even that of Lancer's Gáe Bolg.
…Still, factoring in luck, she would probably win regardless.
In short, despite everything in this vault technically belonging to her, few of these weapons could truly be called hers.
Thinking this, Ophis turned her gaze upward—toward the final staircase.
She could feel it instinctively: this next level would be the last.
Unlike the vast halls below, crowded with countless treasures, this final chamber contained only three pedestals.
Upon the left and right stood two identical golden swords.
Individually, they appeared to be nothing more than exceptionally sharp longswords—yet the aura they exuded was unmistakable, a silent promise of annihilation.
If joined together, they would possess the power to erase an entire civilization, to summon a world-ending inferno and a flood that would cleanse creation itself.
That was their true nature.
───[Sword of the End, Enki]
Ophis named them thus, following what fate had already whispered to her.
And upon the central pedestal—
Could it even be called a sword? That description barely applied.
It had a hilt and guard, and a length befitting a longsword—but the "blade" was something else entirely. Three cylindrical segments interlocked, their dull edges twisting together in a spiral, revolving endlessly like chained worlds turning in unison.
It was not a sword, not truly—how could it be, when it was forged long before the concept of a sword even existed? This was a divine construct born before humankind, a relic that had witnessed the dawn of creation itself.
───[Sword of Rupture, Ea]
As before, Ophis named it quietly.