The Godking's Legacy

  The Godking’s Legacy

  by Virlyce

  © 2018, Virlyce

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:

  virlyce@gmail.com

  Visit the author’s website at www.virlyce.com.

  This book is dedicated to Frederick J. and Philip Y..

  Prologue

  "I was the greatest man in the world.

  I killed an elder dragon with a single slash of my sword.

  I resolved the eternal war between the three factions.

  I tamed the untamable creature—the phoenix.

  I created a new branch of magic that heralded an age of magicians.

  I concocted pills that brought the dead back to life.

  I forged the strongest weapons in the world.

  I owned the sword of legends—Durandal.

  And then, when I was at my peak,

  I died."

  -The Godking's Epitaph

  ***

  Some people say my master was the greatest man in the world: The bards sing of his accomplishments in taverns. The parents tell their children stories of his deeds. The youths in training aspire to be as strong as he was. The people made him into a legend, an undefeatable existence that represented the strength of humanity. But I know that’s all bullshit. Strongest in the world? More like most shameless.

  My master was famous for a lot of things, but his crowning achievement as a swordsman was slaying an elder dragon with a single slash. He slew an elder dragon in a single strike. Are you kidding me? People really believe that? He, a two-meter-tall man, slew an elder dragon, a castle-sized, fire-breathing lizard with impenetrable scales, in a single strike. Read that again and tell me that’s not bullshit. I’ll tell you the truth—he didn’t even try to fight it. He hired the demons to make a potion of great strength with a side effect of sleepiness, which he then fed to the dragon. It hasn’t awoken yet, but when it does…, oh boy.

  Aside from his (bullshit) achievements in swordsmanship, my master was heralded as a savior of the world because he established peace between the three major factions: the humans, the demons, and the fae. If they knew how he did it, would he still be called a savior? He kidnapped the emperor’s son, the demon lord’s daughter, and the fae queen’s nephew. But wait. Hold on. Isn’t that pretty impressive in itself? No. He lured the three of them with a piece of candy, a puppy, and a trail of shiny coins. Then he threatened to feed them to a dragon unless they signed a peace agreement. By they, I mean the children, not the parents.

  But, narrator, why would he do something like that? Doesn’t that make him a real savior? Maybe. I don’t know. I do know he really liked a dessert the fae made called ice cream and wanted to buy it legally. It definitely wasn’t for any magnanimous reason like ending the eternal war or solving world hunger. He was too selfish of a bastard to do something like that.

  Amongst the beast tamers, my master was heralded as a god for taming a phoenix. Little do they know, he kidnapped a hatchling and tricked it into a contract with fried phoenix eggs. He fed fried phoenix eggs to a baby phoenix. Do you know how immoral that is? Disregarding the fact that he was unusually good at manipulating children, he practically turned a phoenix into a cannibal. Have you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome? That poor phoenix was a captive.

  Abuse of animals aside, my master became a genius magician in the public’s eye. He was a human—a human becoming a genius magician when demons are the kings of magic. How? Simple. He kidnapped the demons’ leading researcher’s daughter and exchanged her for the new branch of magic that was under development. The demons tried to protest, but given my master’s incredible track record, no one believed them.

  Famous alchemist? He should be called famous kidnapper. The prodigal child alchemist at the time magically went missing, and my master became a grandmaster at pill making. I wonder what happened. I can tell you it starts with ‘Stockhol’ and ends with ‘yndrome’.

  Godly weaponsmith? He blackmailed the dwarven king and bribed the elvish archbishop to create enchanted weapons which he sold under his name.

  Owned a legendary sword with the strongest weapon spirit inside of it? That’s the only part that’s true. My name is Durandal. I am that sword.

  1

  As a weapon spirit, I have a corporeal form—all spirits do—which allows me to interact with the world, but only up to a certain distance away from my weapon body. It’s a weapon spirit’s duty to teach their owners everything they know. We spirits learn from our owners and pass their legacies on to the newer ones. As Durandal, the legendary weapon of the Godking (my previous arrogant asshole of a master), I am doing my best to impart my knowledge to my new master. At least, that’s what I would be doing if I had one.

  When that asshole was on the cusp of death, he announced to the world, “I’m dying. Only the luckiest of the lucky and the best of the best can accept my legacy,” and I was promptly stuffed into a miniature dimension created by spatial magic. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue, but over a few millennia have passed and no one’s found me yet.

  The miniature dimension is pretty small: there’s a warehouse for a bunch of random items, a side room for weapon and armor storage, a library with books on magic, martial arts, and miscellaneous topics such as forging, pill making, enchanting, love making, origami folding, manipulating children, robbing, bartering, fishing. You know, the basics. I’ve read through all of them multiple times and memorized their contents. There really isn’t much to do when you’re trapped by yourself when you can’t even sleep, eat, or drink. I can’t even kill myself. Well, I could, but that would be painful.

  So now, I’m waiting. To pass the time, I’ve been doing body strengthening exercises. Yes, even though I’m a spirit, I can improve my body. But that’s only thanks to the abundance of wealth the Godking left behind. There used to be a mountain of spirit stones: the floor used to shine, the walls used to glow, even the sky was always as bright as the sun. I say used to because I absorbed every single stone for my survival and personal growth. Although he was shameless, I have to admit he was very good at making money.

  And there’s—

  “Is this it?”

  Holy shit. A voice? Was that a person?

  “I think we found it!”

  Wait. Wait. I’m not ready. You know how people like walking around naked in their own homes? Yeah. Weapon spirits are like that too. Before I could return to the room with my weapon body, a group of people pushed open the metal gates leading into the dimension.

  I stared at them.

  They stared at me.

  A woman screamed. Despite the fact that I was over thousands of years old, my corporeal body never aged. Even when I absorbed the spirit stones and enchanted my weapon body, my corporeal body has always retained its handsome, rugged looks. I didn’t understand why she was screaming instead of swooning. Could the perception of male beauty have changed in the millennia that past me by?

  “Who are you?” the leader of the group asked. He was a youth—not old enough to be an adult, but not young enough to fall for the Godking’s tricks. Beside him, there was a rotund fellow that could be mistaken for a bear if he had hair. Behind the leader, there was a group of guards wearing sets of white armor. I couldn’t recognize the metal they were made out of. In the midst of the guards, there was a female beastkin with a squirrel-like tail and bright, round eyes. On her back, there was a bag that was nearly four times her height and width. A luggage-carrying slave. She was probably the one who screamed.

  I pointed at myself and tilted my head. This was my house, and they had the audacity to ask who I was?

&
nbsp; “Are you Durandal?” the rotund fellow asked.

  I smiled at the group and placed my hands on my hips. “I’m Durandal.”

  The youth’s brow creased. “You’re the Godking’s legendary weapon?”

  My eye twitched. “What? Don’t believe me?”

  The rotund fellow grabbed the golden axe hanging from his waist. He brandished it into the air and shouted, “Fight me, Durandal! My name is Forseti!”

  A sigh escaped from my lips. Looks like he was one of those weapon spirits—battle maniacs, the lot of them. I glanced at the youth by his side who had an identical axe in his hand. It looked like he didn’t have any intention of stopping his weapon spirit. I guess I should fight. Don’t I have some kind of obligation to guard my previous master’s … warehouse…?

  “What’s wrong?” Forseti asked when he saw my head droop.

  “Just take it,” I said and raised my head. “Take everything. I don’t care.”

  “Huh?”

  While laughing, I turned around, ignoring their puzzled expressions, and entered the room where my sword was sheathed. I put on my robes and tied my belt before sitting next to my weapon body, resting my arm over it. I looked at the group. They hadn’t moved since I left. The hell were they doing? Hurry up and pick up my body so I can leave this godforsaken place.

  When the intruders realized I wasn’t going to do anything, the guards spread out and picked up the miscellaneous items lying around. There wasn’t much because of me: Bored out of my mind, I had used up all the medicinal ingredients to concoct pills. The bones infused with magic had been drained dry while I practiced enchanting items. The weapons were worthless heaps of scrap because I extracted their raw materials to practice smithing. Only the books had any value, but even those had become unreadable due to the passage of time.

  The youth approached me. “I am Bryant Ravenwood, the seventh prince of the Ravenwood Empire,” he said. The guards had finished scouring the desolate place and lined up behind Bryant. “I think you understand the hardship I went through to get here.”

  Nope. I don’t. I don’t even know where that asshole stuffed the miniature dimension.

  I picked my ear with my pinky and noticed the squirrelkin girl glaring at me. What was her problem? Bryant froze for a second before continuing his speech while extending his hand forward. “Will you be my sword?”

  “I refuse.”

  “Pardon?”

  I ignored his dark expression and picked up my weapon body. A weapon spirit was unable to hold itself for prolonged periods of time, but it was still possible. I took a step forward, and Forseti made a motion to stop me. I glared at him and placed my hand on the handle of my metal-self. The rotund fellow gulped and took a step to the side. I lowered my hand and patted his shoulder as I walked past him. Out of fear or respect, Bryant stepped aside with beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. His guards parted as well as I walked towards them.

  My footsteps echoed through the miniature dimension. When they stopped, I was standing in front of the squirrelkin girl. She shivered and let out a squeak as her shoulders froze up, her hands in front of her chest like a t-rex.

  I pushed my weapon body flat against her torso, causing her to stumble backwards. “Accept my sword.”

  “Eh?” The girl subconsciously grabbed the sword when it was rammed against her body. Her eyes widened as she looked down at the weapon and then back up at me. “Eeeeh!?!?”

  ***

  My name is Lucia. Just Lucia—I lost my last name when I became a slave or, maybe, I never had one at all. I was too young to remember. When I was four, my parents sold me to the traders because they couldn’t weather the winter with an extra mouth to feed and I was the weakest of the litter. From there, I was shipped to the human capital where I was bought by a wealthy noble. Due to his status, he was afraid of his daughter going out to play, but she was lonely and needed a friend. That was me.

  Even though I was tasked to be her friend, that didn’t change my status as a slave. I did the chores around the house: cooking, cleaning, dishes, laundry. When the noble’s daughter, Irene, wanted to become a knight, I was told to accompany her. I don’t mean to brag, but I was an exceptional knight compared to Irene. That may or may not have been due to my beastkin traits.

  As I got older, Irene’s family fell into harder and harder times. Eventually, I was sold to the Ravenwood army. I was a strong fighter, but as a beastkin, I could only be relegated to the role of a practice dummy or a luggage bearer. When Prince Bryant announced an expedition to the rumored treasure trove of the Godking, I was one of the first to volunteer. They let me come because every year someone would announce the location of the Godking’s treasure, but it was always fake. I never suspected we’d actually find it.

  When I was younger, I used to be enchanted by stories of the Godking. He started off as a commoner and, through hard work and perseverance, became the strongest person in the world. The Godking was my idol. During the dark times of my life where I cried myself to sleep every night, I used to think about him and how he overcame all the difficulties he faced. Like everyone else my age, I imagined myself finding Durandal, his legendary sword, and inheriting his legacy.

  So when we pushed open the metal gates to the miniature dimension, I knew right away that the handsome sword spirit was Durandal: those washboard abs, those tight pectoral muscles, those toned biceps, those fierce eyes, and that magnificent third le—. Ahem. Anyways. I realized that such a perfect spirit had to be Durandal. There was no way he could be anyone else. I’m ashamed to admit I let out a squeal.

  But enough about my embarrassment. I wanted to approach Durandal, to form a contract with him, but I knew my place. Durandal was for the prince, and even the treasures the Godking left behind were for him as well: those … empty … medicine bottles, those … rusty weapons, those moldy books…. What the fuck! Why’s everything here crap!? There’s not even a single spirit stone! I made my way to the prince and glared at Durandal, who had given up on fighting and sat down like an old person. No! He definitely wasn’t Durandal! There was no way this was the Godking’s treasure trove, and that spirit was definitely an imposter. ‘I’m Durandal’ my ass! Who would believe that?

  I started looking around the miniature dimension some more, hoping there was something worth scavenging. I was about to check out a rusty sword when all my hairs stood on end and my breath disappeared. Such savage killing intent! My palms became slick with sweat, and I saw Forseti step aside. No way, even that battle freak was scared? The crowd of guards parted, and I followed suit, lowering my head to stare at the ground. When the spirit walked, the whole dimension fell silent. I swear I could hear the heartbeats of the guards beside me. Every one of Durandal’s footsteps was like a boulder being dropped on my back.

  His foot appeared in my line of sight, and I involuntarily let out a squeak and shiver. Stupid animal instincts! I raised my head and arms, but they froze stupidly in front of my body. Durandal’s gaze was colder than ice. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die.

  Plop.

  Something cold touched my chest, and I stumbled backwards. “Eh?”

  What? I think he said something. Did he say, “Accept my sword?”

  I looked down and saw my hands holding a sword. I raised my head and made eye contact with Durandal.

  “Eeeeh!?!?”

  “You don’t want it?” Durandal asked and raised an eyebrow.

  “Want! I, yes!” My head bobbed up and down as I hugged the longsword to my body tighter. All doubts of whether he was Durandal or not were gone. It wasn’t possible for anyone else to have such a strong killing intent.

  “Drip your blood on the pommel.”

  Before anyone else could react, I had already bitten my thumb and smeared blood onto the sword. The pommel glowed, and Durandal closed his eyes and inhaled before laughing. He smiled at me. “Good.”

  “Lucia!”

  I froze. That was Bryant’s voice. I
n my euphoria, I had forgotten about him. I bit my lower lip and turned my head. All the guards were staring at me with their hands on their weapons. Bryant’s eyes seemed to be spitting out fire. My tail stiffened, and the bag I was carrying on my back felt ten times heavier. “Y-yes?” Even I could hear my voice crack.

  “Surrender Durandal or surrender your life!”

  Before I could say anything, a hand came down on my head and scratched me behind my ears. I gasped, and a little moan escaped from my mouth. Hey! I snapped my head towards the offender and saw Durandal laughing at me with his hand in my hair. “Calm down,” he said and smiled, his pearly white teeth winking at me. His face was perfect. His jawline—. Lucia! Stop. Danger.

  I shook my head and straightened my back. “Unsheathe me,” Durandal said as he undid the straps of the bag on my back.

  I pursed my lips and pulled the sword out of its sheathe. The guards gasped, and Bryant froze in place. My mouth fell open as I stared at the pulsing blade in my hands. Runes danced along its edge, and the light it emitted swallowed the world.

  “Close your eyes.”

  My eyes closed.

  “Can you feel it?” Durandal whispered. His warm breath tickled my ear, and a shiver ran down my spine. That’s when I sensed it. A thread of mana flowing through my body. I nodded. “Let it guide you.”

  My body was led by the thread of mana as if it were dancing with me. My arms and legs felt lighter than air, and shivers of pleasure ran down my spine. There was no sight, no sound, no smell. There was only me and Durandal, dancing a dance in a meadow of flowers. I twirled, I leapt, I laughed. When the thread stopped and the blissful feelings faded to nothing, I opened my eyes.

  Blood. Limbs. Intestines. The floor around me was a sea of gore. Forseti’s axe-body lay broken in twain underneath my feet. Bryant’s severed head lay on the floor in front of me, his face twisted in a silent scream. I nearly dropped Durandal out of surprise, but my hand wouldn’t let go. We hadn’t danced in a meadow of flowers. We danced a waltz of death. Durandal’s corporeal body sat on top of Forseti’s, his lips smiling at me like the devil with his hand propping up his chin.