Lord of Caldera - Chapter 70

Chapter 70: Chapter 70
Logically, Ulrich suspected it was the bandages of their founder, Leonic. However, after having his previous scheme fail, Oscar hesitated to suggest it directly, wary of losing Ulrich’s trust further. He wasn’t entirely sure, and guessing wrong again could lead to more embarrassment.

“So, he wasn’t truly chosen by the sword. If we uncover the secret of that ancient magic, then…” Ulrich trailed off.

“Then we can proceed with the original plan,” Oscar finished.

“Good. That’s not bad at all.” For the first time in a while, a smile returned to Ulrich’s face. Despite the setback, knowing that they could still recover and even turn the situation to their advantage gave him a sense of relief.

“In that case, we need to figure out what that artifact is first…” Ulrich began.

“Lord Ulrich,” came the voice of a maid from outside the room, interrupting their conversation. She was one of the senior maids directly serving Count Leonard.

“What is it?” Ulrich called out.

“The Count has summoned you,” the maid informed Ulrich. “He said it’s urgent, so please hurry.”

“Father?” Ulrich tilted his head, puzzled. It was the dead of winter, the time of year with the least activity. What could have possibly happened?

At that same time, Sylas had called Toby and Max to examine the sword he received during his coming-of-age ceremony. Toby gazed at the cursed sword, impressed by its appearance.

“The sword is incredibly beautiful just to look at,” Toby said.

“Don’t touch it—it’ll burst into flames,” Sylas warned.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Toby replied, stepping back. He had no ancient artifact to protect him from fire, and he had no interest in being reduced to ash by the flames that had enveloped Sylas the day before.

“So, the cursed sword still doesn’t recognize you as its master?” Toby asked.

“I’d assume so, given that it hasn’t spoken a word. It seems to have given up on burning me, though.”

—…

Since the ceremony, the cursed sword had spent most of its time cursing at Sylas. With no strength left to summon flames, all it could do was hurl insults. Sylas, however, had found a simple way to deal with the sword’s rage.

‘You know the flames don’t work on me, right? Ready to accept me as your master?’

—Shut up…! Never…!

‘Got it.’

He promptly sheathed the sword and went to eat. After a leisurely meal and some tea, he returned to the sword.

‘Ready to accept me now?’

—Don’t make me laugh…!

‘Alright.’

Again, he sheathed the sword. He repeated this process several times—before bed, after breakfast, always asking the same question.

‘How about now?’

—…

Eventually, the cursed sword stopped responding altogether, seemingly finding it more tolerable to remain silent than suffer the humiliating routine of rejection. Thankfully, even after regaining some of its strength, the sword had remained quiet.

If the sword had continued to flare up at random, Sylas would have found it much more troublesome.

“But what is the sword waiting for? Does it have a specific master in mind?” Toby asked.

“It’s not waiting for anyone. It’s just refusing to choose anyone,” Sylas replied.

“There’s no one in this era worthy of being its master, then?” Toby suggested.

“No, it’s just not going to pick anyone,” Sylas clarified.

Artifacts, especially those with self-awareness, were usually created with the purpose of being used. Most such relics accepted that they existed to serve. But every now and then, there were exceptions—like a malfunctioning piece of artificial intelligence.

“Sometimes, these artifacts with minds of their own go haywire. They don’t like their existence,” Sylas explained.

“I suppose being trapped in an object for centuries would frustrate anyone…” Toby mused.

“No, it’s not that,” Sylas corrected. “Some of these relics develop a superiority complex. They believe they should be revered for allowing their masters to achieve greatness.”

“Wait, are you saying the sword wants people to grovel if they want to use it?” Toby asked, stunned.

“Pretty much.”

“Wow, even objects can go mad when they develop personalities.”

—That idiot…!

The cursed sword, which had been silent until now, ignited in a burst of flames at Toby’s comment. However, when it realized Sylas wasn’t reacting, the flames quickly died out again. There was no point in wasting energy on someone who wasn’t affected.

“So, what do you plan to do with it? Right now, it’s just a dull blade,” Toby pointed out.

If the sword only retained its flame ability, Sylas might have been able to use it as a reliable weapon. But the cursed sword dulled its own edge, rendering it useless even as a basic weapon.

“We can’t exactly sell it after making such a spectacle at the ceremony,” Toby added.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan for it,” Sylas said.

“You know how to make it accept you as its master?” Toby asked, curious.

“No.”

Artifacts with self-awareness often set their own arbitrary criteria for choosing a master. Sometimes the creator determined it, but in many cases, the artifact itself decided. This sword was the latter, and there was no way it would ever accept Sylas.

“But I can make use of it in another way,” Sylas said with a knowing smile.

—What are you plotting…? the cursed sword asked, clearly unsettled by Sylas’s cryptic words. Sylas didn’t answer, simply sheathing the sword as Max entered the room, accompanied by one of the Count’s servants.

“Sir, the Count has summoned you,” Max said.

“Father?” Sylas asked.

“Yes, he said it’s urgent and to hurry,” Max explained.

Sylas nodded. Though he feigned ignorance, he knew exactly what the summons was about. The event was still vivid in his memory—the major incident that had occurred right after his coming-of-age ceremony.

Sylas quickly prepared himself and headed to the Count’s office, where Ulrich and Dani were already gathered.

“You’re all here,” the Count said, his expression grave as he looked over his sons.

“A serious issue has arisen in the territory. I’d like to handle everything myself, but two problems have occurred simultaneously, and I’ll need you to take care of one of them,” he said.

“What exactly is happening?” Ulrich asked, his face tense. It wasn’t often that their father was forced to intervene directly in matters. If the Count had to step in, it was no trivial matter.

The Count responded to Ulrich’s question in a heavy voice.

“A demon has appeared in our territory.”