CHAPTER 159: THE BLADE OF WAR!

The sword’s oppressive aura pressed down harder, like an invisible mountain crushing her bones.

Each step forward felt heavier than the last. Her knees buckled, sweat streamed down her body, and every breath burned like fire in her lungs. Yet, she advanced.

Step by step.

Until at last, she reached the altar again. With both hands, she gripped the hilt.

And the moment she did—

The ground shattered.

The moment Elysia’s hand brushed against the hilt of the ancient sword, her vision was swallowed whole.

The cavern, the altar, even the air in her lungs vanished into nothingness.

She found herself standing in a vast, endless void. Shadows and light flickered around her like dying stars.

The air was heavy, oppressive, and her chest tightened as though a thousand unseen eyes watched her.

From the darkness, a colossal figure emerged—so tall it seemed to touch the heavens of this strange world.

Clad in blackened armor etched with scars of countless battles, the figure radiated an aura so ancient and powerful that Elysia’s knees almost buckled.

Its face was hidden, a hollow abyss beneath the helmet, but in its gauntleted hands, it carried the Oathblade.

The blade pulsed with a dull crimson glow, like a heartbeat.

When it spoke, the void trembled.

"Why do you seek me, child? Your blood alone does not grant you the right."

The voice was thunder, cold and merciless, yet not without a strange weight of sorrow.

Elysia’s breath caught. Her hands trembled, but she forced herself to kneel, her head bowed.

Even so, her voice did not waver.

"Because I refuse to remain weak. I will not be caged by prideful men or used as a pawn in their games. I will carve my own fate and protect what I love... even if it costs me my life!"

The armored figure tilted its head, the sound of grinding metal echoing through the void.

"Protect? Do you even know the weight of the word? Power is never freely given. Every oath demands a sacrifice."

It raised the Oathblade, and its glow intensified, searing against Elysia’s eyes.

"Tell me, girl—what will you sacrifice for this oath?"

Her throat tightened. Fear surged inside her, raw and suffocating, but she clenched her fists and forced her voice out.

"My blood. My body. My soul. If that is the price... then I will give it."

Silence fell. For a long moment, the colossal figure said nothing. Then, a sound rolled out from its hollow helm—low, rumbling, neither approval nor rejection.

The blade pulsed, brighter now, as though alive.

But instead of offering it, the figure lowered the weapon and planted it into the void itself.

The ground beneath them cracked, and visions spilled forth like rivers of memory.

Flames.

Screams.

Endless battle.

Elysia staggered back, gasping, as the void reshaped into a battlefield scarred by chaos.

Thousands of corpses littered the ground—humans, demons, beasts. The sky burned crimson as though the heavens themselves had been wounded.

The armored figure spoke again, its voice heavy with memory.

"Long before Celestial Royal bloodline was born, this blade was forged in the fires of the First Demon War. The Oathblade was not a weapon of kings or nobles—it was a covenant. A pact between mortals and the heavens. It chose warriors who swore to fight not for glory, not for crowns, but for the survival of all."

The battlefield shifted. Elysia saw a warrior standing tall amidst the carnage, wielding the Oathblade as it cut through tides of demons.

Every strike carried a blinding light, tearing apart creatures of shadow that no ordinary weapon could wound.

"Millions of us died"

Elysia said, "died from whom?"

"From demons. I can still feel its demon’s presence even now. They are vast and big"

But then, the vision darkened and turned the topic.

"Yet power breeds hunger."

She saw another warrior, crowned and armored, who took up the blade not to protect, but to conquer.

Armies knelt before him, kingdoms burned in his wake. The Oathblade, once bright, dimmed and turned blood-red in his grasp.

The armored figure’s voice thundered.

"He betrayed the oath. He used me to enslave the innocent and shatter the balance of the world. For that sin, he was devoured by the very power he sought to command."

The vision showed the tyrant screaming as the blade’s light consumed him, leaving behind only ash.

Elysia shuddered.

The colossal figure turned back to her, its hollow helm tilting down.

"Do you understand now? This is no mere sword. This is a burden. It will demand everything of you—your strength, your resolve, your very soul. Fail to uphold your oath, and you will share the tyrant’s fate."

Elysia’s lips parted, but no words came. For the first time, she hesitated.

Her heart pounded. She thought of her father, of her friends, of the endless gazes that looked down on her as nothing but a symbol of her bloodline.

She thought of the cage she was born into, the suffocating pride of her clan. She thought of her own weakness, of the countless times she had been powerless to change anything.

The Oathblade shimmered, its glow beckoning her. Yet with that call came fear—a fear of losing herself, of being consumed.

She whispered, her voice trembling. "What if... I fail?"

The colossal figure stepped closer. Its presence was crushing, like a mountain pressing against her chest.

"Then you will be destroyed. Body, soul, memory—erased. Your name will vanish from history.

Only silence will remain."

Her knees nearly buckled. She clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms.

"I... I don’t want to disappear..." she admitted, as she turned her head sideway.

The figure lowered itself slightly, as though studying her more closely. For the first time, its voice softened—barely.

"Then do not fail."

A heavy silence hung between them.

Elysia’s mind raced. To take the blade meant walking a path from which there was no return. To refuse it meant remaining powerless, forever trapped in the shadows of others.

She gritted her teeth. "Why me? Why now? There must be others—stronger, braver, more worthy!"