The moment Lysander crossed the temple entrance, the noise of battle faded.
The ruin was silent.
Unnaturally silent.
Dust covered the ancient stone floor. Cracked pillars stretched toward a collapsed ceiling where thin beams of sunlight pierced the darkness.
But Lysander's attention locked onto the center of the chamber.
A sword.
It stood embedded in a black stone pedestal.
A long curved blade.
A tachi.
The metal was darker than night itself.
Even the faint sunlight seemed unable to reflect from its surface.
For a moment, Lysander simply stared.
Kagekiri.
Exactly as the novel described.
His heart pounded.
Behind him, the distant sounds of battle echoed faintly.
A wolf's snarl.
A desperate shout.
Elara.
She was still alive.
But not for long.
He walked toward the sword.
Each step felt strangely heavy.
The air around the weapon vibrated faintly.
As if the ruin itself were breathing.
Lysander stopped in front of the pedestal.
Up close, the blade looked even more unnatural.
Thin.
Elegant.
Deadly.
A weapon designed for one purpose.
Killing with a single draw.
His fingers wrapped around the hilt.
Cold.
The moment he tried to pull—
Pain exploded through his body.
The world shattered.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Then a voice echoed.
Cold.
Ancient.
Female.
"Another one."
Lysander slowly raised his head.
He stood in an endless black space.
Across from him stood a woman.
Long dark hair flowed behind her like shadows in water.
Her eyes were silver.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
She wore armor formed from black steel.
A sword rested at her side.
Her gaze examined him with quiet disappointment.
"…You are weak."
Lysander exhaled slowly.
"So you're the sword spirit."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Nythera."
Her voice was calm.
"But you will never wield me."
Before Lysander could respond—
She moved.
A flash of motion.
Pain erupted across his chest.
He hit the ground instantly.
Blood spread across the dark floor.
His mind barely processed what happened.
Too fast.
Far too fast.
Nythera looked down at him.
"Unworthy."
The world reset.
Lysander stood again.
Uninjured.
Confused.
Nythera raised her blade.
"Again."
Outside the ruins—
Elara Moonveil slid across the dirt as a wolf's claws shattered her ice barrier.
Her breathing was ragged.
Her mana was nearly gone.
Two wolves circled her slowly.
The third prepared to pounce.
This can't be happening…
Her vision blurred slightly.
She raised one trembling hand.
Ice gathered weakly around her palm.
But it wouldn't be enough.
The wolf lunged.
Inside the trial—
Nythera cut Lysander down again.
And again.
And again.
Each time faster.
Each time more brutal.
After the tenth death, Lysander collapsed to one knee.
"You cannot win."
Nythera's voice remained emotionless.
"You have no skill."
"No training."
"No strength."
She stepped closer.
"You are not a swordsman."
Lysander wiped blood from his mouth.
"…Yeah."
He laughed weakly.
"I noticed."
Nythera raised her sword again.
"You should abandon this."
Lysander slowly stood.
"No."
She frowned slightly.
"Why?"
He exhaled.
"Because if I don't win…"
His eyes hardened.
"…everyone outside dies."
For the first time—
Nythera paused.
Just slightly.
Then she attacked again.
Lysander didn't try to block.
Didn't try to dodge.
Instead—
He watched.
Focused entirely on the moment her sword moved.
Perception sharpened.
Time slowed slightly.
There.
The instant before the strike.
He moved.
His hand mimicked the draw he had seen Nythera perform.
One motion.
One strike.
Silence.
Then—
Click.
The sound of a blade returning to its sheath echoed through the void.
Nythera froze.
A thin line appeared across her armor.
Then she smiled.
Just slightly.
"…Interesting."
The world shattered again.
Outside the ruin—
The wolf lunged toward Elara.
She closed her eyes.
This was the end.
Then—
A blur of black flashed between her and the monster.
For a moment she heard only one sound.
Click.
The wolf's body split cleanly in half.
Elara's eyes slowly opened.
A boy stood in front of her.
Long black hair.
Dark hollow eyes.
A black tachi resting quietly at his side.
The other wolves froze.
The air felt different.
Dangerous.
The boy spoke calmly.
"…Sorry."
His voice was quiet.
"I took longer than expected."