UNMEI: Pantheon's Game-Chapter 126: The Sword In My Heart

The thick, crimson potion slid down Serena's throat in one motion. She didn't wince. Didn't speak. Just turned and slowly stepped forward, knees dropping to the ground with a practiced grace.

Her head bowed low as her hands pressed together, forming the gesture everyone knew. The act of prayer.

I watched in silence, arms crossed behind my back.

It was time.

"Mirathis-" She spoke his true name. The one etched into Neba itself. As her voice carried, the temperature in the room shifted.

A pressure built in the air. The kind that pressed down on the lungs. That made your bones feel hollow.

I glanced at Cel beside me. He noticed it too. Tension crept into his stance, even if his face stayed calm.

Then it began.

A surge of purple Neba burst from Serena's chest, violent and sudden, crackling outward like a storm contained in flesh.

Heat poured from her body, searing. Without hesitation, Cel stepped in front of me, his cloak whipping behind him. The temperature dulled instantly, though the light still danced through.

"She's doing it," I murmured.

From the center of the storm, something began to form.

Her back arched, arms spread, and her heart began to pulse with a different color, deep purple, almost alive. The prayer had been heard. The god had answered. And the sword was being born.

It wasn't summoned from the air. No... it was pulled from within her.

Serena, Soul's Mirror, gritted her teeth as her hands moved down, grasping at her chest like she was reaching inside her own ribs. Her fingers shook.

And then she pulled it out.

A sword. Smooth and brutal. Red as a dying sun, with jagged black symbols etched across its length, letters I'd never seen before. The blade shimmered with a mix of that violent purple and her own blue, two forces wrapping along its steel like tendrils of smoke.

The moment the blade left her, her body collapsed. Her eyes rolled back, and she dropped, completely unconscious. Neba drained and gone.

"She'll wake up," Cel said quietly, still standing near me.

I nodded and turned my eyes to the corner of the room. Azrael stood there, silent, arms crossed. He hadn't moved once.

"Take it," I said.

He hesitated for only a second, then walked forward. Each step he took toward the sword made the air thicker, more unstable, like reality itself was resisting his movement. But he pressed on.

When his hand wrapped around the hilt, the sword shifted.

It melted. The metal turned to a slow-burning purple fire, and the flame spiraled into his chest, disappearing into his body.

He didn't cry out. Didn't even blink. But his heart glowed faintly red and violet, pulsing with something new.

"Do you feel it?" I asked.

Azrael nodded once. "Yeah... It's there."

"Good. It shouldn't manifest until you call on it. For now, it'll stay in your heart, like an extension of your ability. That way, when you enter the trial, it won't be separated from you."

Azrael nodded, then he turned and walked out without another word.

I looked down at Serena, unconscious at my feet. Then at Cel, who raised a brow, his expression unreadable.

"It's done," I said.

Everything was in motion. The sword was born. The weapon the gods had returned.

And now... now we were ready.

Azrael walked through the heart of Rendely, the city buzzing with life even at night. Lanterns flickered from tall stone walls, and the air carried a faint metallic scent, always lingering in this place.

The Rodeny castle loomed ahead, a shadow of black marble and red tipped towers, its gates watched by statues older than the continent itself.

He didn't look up. His thoughts weren't on the city, or the guards, or the politics. They were on what now pulsed quietly inside his chest.

The sword... it's still there.

He pressed his hand over his heart.

It's nothing like carrying a blade at your hip. No weight, just this... sensation. Like a second heartbeat under my ribs.

He knew how it worked. When trials begin, everything gets stripped, gear, clothes, weapons. You're left with your own body.

That's why the Academy designed their Neba-infused uniforms. Gear that lived inside you. Woven from Neba, stored like memory.

So, when you were teleported in the trial completely naked. You would summon your own battle attire straight from your heart.

This sword is the same. I can carry it anywhere. Summon it any time. Even in the void between worlds.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

It's perfect.

They think raw strength wins trials. No. Precision does. Timing does. The right weapon, in the right moment, against the wrong enemy...

He stopped for a second, staring at the Rodeny gates.

...and they will fall. No matter how strong they are.

The guards recognized him and said nothing as the gate opened. He walked through without a word.

Inside, chandeliers lit the great hall in soft gold, painting shadows across the marble floor. Footsteps echoed from distant corridors, servants moving quietly in the corners. Nothing had changed.

His hand clenched once, lightly, over his heart.

This sword... If I can wield it, really wield it, I won't need anyone's permission anymore.

He walked deeper into the castle. Deeper into his family's domain.

And with every step, the fire within him grew warmer.