The moment Barion's grip settled fully around the sword, something shifted inside him.
It was not a voice. Not words spoken aloud.
Not a system window flashing before his eyes.
The knowledge was simply there.
As if it had always existed, buried somewhere deep, waiting for the correct trigger.
"Mythical Item: Sword of Damocles." Barion muttered the information that has just recently received from the sword.
"Represents the nature of a threat constantly hanging over the wielder for the use of its glory."
His breath slowed as more information surfaced, unfolding in his mind with unsettling clarity.
"It grants an additional twenty-five percent increase in strength against those with greed flowing within them. It is capable of detecting high-threshold greed in others and provides a slight boost in energy during precarious situations. The sword may be stored within the user's soul."
He exhaled slowly. The information was still revealing while he was immersing in it.
"It requires the wielder to maintain a minimum daily training threshold as dictated by the Sword of Damocles. It also requires flesh of living beings when demanded. Failure to satisfy either condition will result in the sword tearing the strands of the wielder's muscles, followed by devouring strength and flesh until only bone remains."
Barion stared at nothing. "What the hell," he muttered. "I am screwed. Boi."
His grip loosened slightly, as if the sword might suddenly bite back.
"Requires flesh. Requires training. And if I don't comply, it eats me," he said under his breath. "This isn't a weapon. This is a loaded guillotine hanging over my neck."
The name finally made sense. Damocles, A blade suspended by a thread.
He let out a dry laugh that held no humor.
"So it's a greed-based weapon," he concluded. "Fitting. Absolutely fitting."
For now, the sword was silent. It demanded nothing. No hunger. No strain. No pressure beyond its presence.
But tomorrow?
"What happens tomorrow," he wondered grimly, "when it decides I'm slacking?"
He didn't linger on the thought.
Standing up, he stepped out of the ruined cave and willed the sword away.
The sensation was strange. The blade dissolved into something intangible, sinking inward rather than vanishing. He felt it settle deep within him, not in his body, but somewhere closer to his core or whatever the soul thing was.
"Oof," he muttered. "That's… uncomfortable."
With the immediate threat gone, heavier questions surfaced.
"How do I understand the language of this world," he thought, brow furrowing, "when I don't have a single memory from this body?"
He looked down at his clothes again. The fabric was fine, well-kept, though practical rather than extravagant.
"This looks expensive," he reasoned. "But not noble-flashy. More like… an assistant? An attendant? Or maybe this is just how people dress here."
Either way, it was a problem.
"No memories. No language. No system. No cheat guide," he sighed. "Just me and my intelligence."
After a moment of consideration, Barion climbed one of the massive trees nearby, his movements still awkward but improving with each attempt. From the upper branches, the forest finally opened up.
And there it was. A village.
Roughly five kilometers away, small structures peeking through breaks in the trees.
"Good," he murmured. "At least I'm not completely stranded."
He glanced back toward the forest stretching endlessly behind him.
"What the hell was the previous owner of this body doing here anyway," he muttered. "This feels like the kind of place people come to die. Or run away to, if ghost stories are real in this world too."
Climbing down, he set off toward the village. Going through all the new type of trees and plants. Adjusting more himself to this body.
The journey took nearly four hours.
By the time he arrived, the sun was merciless, heat pressing down even through the thick vegetation. Sweat clung to him, energy draining steadily with each step.
"I think it's the hot, sunny season," he concluded. "No way this could be other season by how it's sucking my stamina swiftly."
As huts came into clearer view, he tore part of his inner shirt and wrapped it loosely over his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. Better to look like a traveler than someone recognizable.
The village itself was modest.
Most homes had bamboo-based roofing, with only three or four boasting sloped brick roofs. Smoke poured from a large structure at the edge of the settlement, machinery clanking rhythmically.
A factory.
People moved about, their clothes dirty from labor, scarves pulled high to shield themselves from the sun. No one paid him much attention. His attire blended in well enough, especially with the scarf hiding his face.
As expected, he couldn't understand a word anyone said.
Still, the way they spoke, the tools they used, the layout of the village—it all told him something.
"Late industrial," he thought. "Victorian-adjacent. Pre-modern but mechanizing."
He adjusted the scarf.
"All I need is a language book," he told himself. "Once I have that, I can handle everything else."
He cleaned his clothes a little bit to remove most of the dust because he was now heading towards public library for searching language books. One might think oh why would they keep the language books instead of some actual information. It was just his interpretation that since it was industry based Victorian era world, that means there would not be many books kept in the library. Also many people might not know how to write or read so obviously the language was absolute necessary in this period.
Since he had only ripped his inner half and now cleaned his clothes, he was little good looking, yet he didn't remove his scarf considering some might recognise him. He was already gambling with the dress has the people he know might knew as soon as they see dress, so this was compulsory for him. He began searching methodically. Public spaces. Central buildings. Places where information might exist.
And after far too much walking under the brutal sun, he finally saw it.
A modest building, sturdier than the surrounding houses, marked by symbols he couldn't read but instinctively recognized for what they were.
A public library. Barion stopped in front of it and exhaled.
"…Alright," he murmured. "Let's see how deep the rabbit hole goes."
To be continued==>