A heavy silence descended upon the scene.
Elliott, glancing down at his hands, felt a deepening confusion wash over him, his breath becoming increasingly erratic. His feet felt as if they were glued to the ground, and even when he opened his mouth, only ragged breaths escaped, failing to form any coherent words.
Lloyd, too, remained frozen in place, unable to move. His mind struggled to comprehend a sight he had never imagined until yesterday. At least it was a small mercy that only he, Elliott, and Powell were present; had there been a larger crowd, chaos would surely have erupted.
It was Powell’s voice that shattered the silence, directed at Lloyd.
“Your name is Lloyd, is it not?”
“…Yes.”
Observing the two, Powell seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation. He followed Lloyd’s gaze, staring at the same point of concern.
“I have one question for you… Do you have any idea why this is happening?”
Lloyd finally regained some composure at Powell’s calm tone, though he could only shake his head in response.
“Hmm. It would be best if neither the king nor anyone else becomes aware of this just yet. It would be quite troublesome for you if you were bombarded with questions without even knowing the reason yourself.”
“Yes… That is true.”
Lloyd managed to squeeze out a low reply before turning his gaze back to Elliott. Elliott remained frozen, his pale face marred by confusion.
“You two should stay here for a moment. I’ll send the others back with some plausible excuse.”
With that, Powell mounted his horse with surprising agility for his age and galloped toward the opulent carriage where the king and the chancellor awaited.
Left behind, Lloyd guided the still-dazed Elliott to a nearby rock, urging him to sit.
Elliott appeared utterly lost, unresponsive even when addressed. Lloyd knew he needed to sheathe his sword, so he reluctantly released his grip on the Holy Sword, only to furrow his brow once more.
—It feels light…?
When Elliott had first acquired the Holy Sword on the battlefield, it had become so heavy that no one but him could lift it. Now, it felt no different from an ordinary sword. The implications of this realization sent a chill down his spine.
Lloyd, too, had experienced feelings of inferiority and jealousy over why it was Elliott who wielded the Holy Sword and not himself. Yet now, as he could lift it without difficulty, he felt no joy—only an indescribable dread.
The blade, as it slipped into its sheath, seemed to dull the engraved Ivy Relief, as if its very essence was fading. He forced himself to maintain a calm facade, even as his mind raced.
—What has happened? Why is it like this…?
Though he longed to voice his questions, it was clear from Elliott’s expression that he, too, was lost in confusion.
After a while, the sound of hooves approached, and Priest Powell returned.
“I’ve instructed them to handle the aftermath and conduct an investigation. Well, it’s true that some investigation is necessary regarding this matter as well.”
Powell glanced at the remains of the Undead Beast they had just defeated, stroking his chin in thought.
“Did His Majesty say anything?”
“No. Neither the king nor anyone else noticed a thing. They were quite a distance away. It seems they mistook the reflection on the water’s surface for the light of the Holy Sword, so I left it at that.”
Powell chuckled wryly, his face creased with age. Lloyd felt a wave of relief wash over him, grateful for Powell’s ability to assess the situation without asking questions, using his position to navigate the crisis.
“Thank you for your consideration, Powell. So… do you know anything about this?”
Powell lowered his brows, offering a sympathetic smile as he shook his head slowly.
“…I’m afraid not. The last time the Holy Sword manifested was, if I recall correctly, one hundred eighteen years ago… during my grandfather’s time. And it wasn’t even in this country, but in a small nation to the south. What’s worse is that stories like this tend to be kept secret unless they are auspicious. Researching past occurrences won’t be easy…”
“I see…”
Lloyd hung his head, and Powell regarded him with pity. After a moment of contemplation, he crossed his arms and exhaled.
“Perhaps the Vessel of Steel could no longer bear the burden of the great blessing it contained, or maybe the blessing has been stripped away. If it’s the former, then there’s still hope…”
At Powell’s murmured words, Lloyd lifted his head, a glimmer of hope igniting in his eyes.
“However, this is merely speculation; do not get your hopes up. But if you understand that, then… there’s an old weapons merchant who has been around for ages near the west gate of the Royal Castle. His name is Goliath. Take that sword to him and ask him about it. He might have some clues.”
“Yes…!”
Behind Lloyd, who seemed to have found a ray of hope, Elliott finally lifted his gaze from the ground.
Without delay, the two young men mounted their horses and set off toward the Royal Castle, their figures receding into the distance as Powell let out a long sigh.
“…I, too, do not truly know anything. However, there is one thing I am certain of. But…”
He recalled Elliott’s face, which had departed without uttering a single word, still caught in a whirlwind of confusion.
“If the very person involved cannot even realize it… then the Holy Sword shall never return to his hand again.”
Powell’s whispered words faded into the air, unheard by anyone, dissolving into the wind.