Chapter 97: The Tomb That Defied the Gods
The rumor arrived in whispers. Not carried by banners or broadcasts, but by breathless traders, traveling bards, and guild scouts who suddenly had trouble sleeping.
A tomb had been found—not just any tomb, but a sealed ruin buried for two thousand years.
And it belonged to a swordsman so powerful, gods had to kill him before he could join them.
Isaac sat at the inn's quiet corner table, hunched over a rolled parchment. He hadn't moved in minutes.
The scroll had come from one of Renall's private contacts—smuggled from the frontier before guilds could suppress it. The seal had been broken already, as if even the courier had wanted to peek at what lay inside.
Across the top, drawn in ancient obsidian ink, was a sigil:A crescent moon, wrapped in sweeping arcs like flowing swordlight.
It pulsed faintly with age.
Isaac stared at it for a long time, saying nothing.
Then Lira dropped into the seat across from him, a half-eaten skewer of grilled meat in her hand.
"You've been staring at that thing like it owes you money," she said, chewing loudly. "You going to tell me what it says?"
Isaac blinked and finally spoke.
"They found something," he said quietly. "Or someone."
Lira raised a brow. "Please don't say it's another cult."
Isaac passed her the scroll.
She read the first few lines, then scoffed.
"Takeshi Silverveil?" she repeated. "That sounds like a noble house. Who names themselves like that?"
"He didn't," Isaac replied. "He came from the Far East—past the Eastern Divide, where the mountains cut off our maps. His real name was longer, older. Most people here couldn't pronounce it. So when he arrived, people started calling him Silverveil. Because of his sword."
She paused. "Because of the veil of silver mist that shimmered when he drew it?"
Isaac nodded slowly.
"They say it moved like fog under moonlight. The blade flickered when he walked. Every time he drew it, it was like the world slowed down."
Lira frowned, still reading. "It says he wasn't a king. Not a chosen hero. Just… a swordsman?"
"Just a man," Isaac said. "But strong enough to terrify gods."
Her voice dropped. "You're serious."
"They called him a demigod," Isaac continued, voice quiet, deliberate. "But it wasn't enough. He trained until his skill crossed the mortal threshold. They say he touched godhood—without being chosen, without prayer. Just his sword. Just will."
Lira leaned forward, eyes sharp. "And the gods didn't like that."
"No. They feared what he'd become. So they came down. Not one god—many."
"And he still fought?"
Isaac nodded. "Killed one. Wounded others. But in the end… even he couldn't stand against a pantheon."
The table fell silent.
Lira broke it with a soft laugh. "Alright, wild story. But why are you staring at that scroll like it bit you?"
Isaac unrolled the next portion of the parchment and tapped a name.
Lira's eyes scanned the line—then widened.
Silverveil.
"The sword?" she said. "The one Sylvalen won at the auction?"
Isaac nodded. "Same name. And I remember it—the way it felt when I saw it. Like it was alive. Watching."
He looked down at his palm, remembering the soft hum when he conjured it through [Armament Phantom].
"It shimmered the same way. That wasn't coincidence. That sword… might have been his."
Lira set her food down, slowly.
"You're saying you've been carrying a copy of a godkiller blade this whole time?"
Isaac's expression didn't change. "If that blade truly belonged to Takeshi Silverveil… and the tomb just resurfaced... then yes."
She shook her head in disbelief. "You don't think Sylvalen figured this out?"
"She might have," he admitted. "But even if she didn't—she'll know soon."
The scroll continued, listing factions already in motion:
A delegation from the Elaraiyan Glade, led by Princess Sylvalen herself.
A flight convoy from the Tyranthian Skyscourge Line, led by Prince Volmyr.
Atheon, the Bastard Demigod of Lightning, reportedly left his domain with two skyships.
Even rogue Spiral cultists had been seen near the frontier. The same cult Isaac had once crushed in secret now moved openly.
"Everyone's going," Lira muttered, reading over the names.
"Of course," Isaac said. "Everyone wants to claim what's inside. Not just the blade. Not just artifacts."
He tapped the paper again.
"They want the method. The reason. How one man came that close."
Lira stared at him. "You want it too, don't you?"
Isaac didn't answer immediately.
But he didn't deny it.
That night, the wind outside Velkarth's north gate howled across the hills like breath between sword slashes.
Isaac stood on the edge of the road, the stars sharp above. Lira adjusted her cloak beside him.
"You sure you want to walk into a vault filled with old divine grudges?"
Isaac's gaze was fixed forward.
"If that sword was really his… then there's more in that tomb than steel."
Lira hesitated, then grinned. "Let's see what the gods were so afraid of."
Isaac stepped forward onto the frost-bound road.
And didn't look back.