Chapter 95: The Holy Right Sword, Athos
"The demons were forsaken by the gods! How could a god allow them their faith?"
"But it is the truth," Olivia said softly. "Our army was destroyed by a Divine Strike from the demons. And that is a spell that can only be bestowed by a god." The Sky-Winged's own Divine Strike had been a gift from their Goddess, and the demons' god had given them the same. But the demons had twisted it, made it into something more destructive, more annihilating.
"The Great Elven Forest was destroyed by a demon's Divine Strike. You all saw its power, did you not?" Serie added.
The hall fell silent once more. This truth was even more despairing than the fall of the Sky-Winged. If the demons truly had the favor of a god, then the allied army was not just facing a powerful enemy, but a divine power they could not hope to match.
The Dwarven King, Dwalin, suddenly strode over to Rhodes. "Org," he said, addressing the sword, "if you have chosen this human, then the dwarves will follow your will." He then looked up at Rhodes, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Tell me, human, have you ever fought against a god?" This human and his companions clearly knew more than they were letting on. If they knew that the demons also had a god, then they must have encountered that god before, perhaps even fought it. Even though he knew it was a long shot, he had to ask.
"Yes. We have fought the god of the demons," Rhodes said, and a wave of joy and surprise washed over the Dwarven King. "Though we were utterly crushed, I can promise you that one day, we will stand before him again, and with this sword, Org, we will strike that damned god down."
It was a promise not only to the Dwarven King but also to Serie. From just a game of god-slaying, it had become a fated confrontation. This was a path he had to walk.
"Hahaha! Good lad!" the Dwarven King roared, the despair in his heart eased a little. His eyes burned with a renewed fighting spirit. "Then what do you need from the dwarves? Just say the word, and we will follow you."
"In fact, there is nothing I need from you. But there is a favor I would ask of the Elven King."
The Elven King, who had been watching from his throne, was taken aback. Did this human want the elves to follow him as well? That was impossible. He had drawn Org, the Divine Right Sword, not Athos, the Holy Right Sword. Why should the elves obey his command?
"I need the power of the Holy Right Sword, Athos," Rhodes said, his gaze fixed on the uncertain Elven King.
Though he didn't know its power yet, the fact that the Goddess had told him to draw it meant that it was important. Perhaps, like Org, it was waiting for him.
The Elven King's gaze sharpened. "Human, do you know what you are saying? You may have been acknowledged by Org, but Athos is the holy sword of the elves. An outsider could never be acknowledged by it!"
"How do you know if you don't even try?" Rhodes said, not backing down. He held up Org, its ancient runes glowing. "Org chose me, a non-dwarf. Perhaps Athos will do the same."
"Impossible!" an elven elder shouted. "Since ancient times, Athos has only ever responded to the call of an elf! There has never been an exception!"
"Then I will be the first."
"Insolent fool!" The elder stood up in a rage, but was cut off by Serie, who had stepped forward.
"Have you ever considered why, in all these thousands of years, Athos has not responded to a single call?"
The Elven King flinched. A thousand years was not a short time, even for an elf. And in all that time, Athos had not responded to a single one of them. Could it be that it was waiting for this human?
"Rhodes is the chosen one," Serie said, her voice filled with an unshakable conviction. "The one from the legends, the one who will slay the god."
After a long silence, the Elven King finally raised his hand, silencing the other elders. He gave Rhodes a long, hard look. "Human, if you truly believe that you are the chosen one..."
He turned and, from a hidden magic barrier behind his throne, took out a longsword wrapped in silver vines. "...then try."
There were two steps to drawing Athos. First, you had to be acknowledged by the holy elven vines that wrapped around its scabbard. Only then could you try to draw the sword itself. In the long history of the elves, only a handful had ever managed to draw it. Most could only use a fraction of its power by just unwrapping the vines.
The Elven King held the sword out, his eyes filled with a complex emotion. "But I warn you, if you try to force it, its power will turn against you."
Rhodes took a deep breath, handed Org to Serie, and then reached for the sword. The moment his fingertips were about to touch the scabbard, the vines began to stir, as if they were alive, making a soft rustling sound.
The elves all held their breath. The holy vines were slowly unwinding. This human hadn't even touched the sword, and the vines were already releasing it. It was something no elf had been able to do. Could he really be the one Athos was waiting for? Even Serie clutched Org tighter, her breath catching in her throat.
When the last vine had fallen away, the full form of Athos was revealed. The sword radiated a sense of profound stillness and weight, its scabbard a deep emerald green, a fitting color for the elves. But the sword itself was a little dull, like Org had been when its mana was depleted.
"The demons' attacks have been relentless. Athos's power has been greatly diminished," the Elven King explained.
Rhodes just nodded and grasped the hilt.
(End of chapter)
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