The Godking's Legacy

by Virlyce

  Durandal was a demon. I became a murderer. So why did I feel so happy?

  ***

  The squirrelkin girl was impressive. Or maybe it was just my leading that was awesome. Regardless, it seems like my edge hadn’t deteriorated with the years. A trivial squad of guards wanted to stop me? Dream on. There weren’t even any magicians.

  The fat body underneath me began to disperse into thousands of motes of golden light. I had seen the death of a spirit weapon hundreds of times, yet it never ceased to make me feel a sense of loss. Like one more brother devoured by the winds of time. A sigh escaped from my lips as I stood up, Forseti’s body fading away into nothing. “Let’s introduce ourselves,” I said and extended my hand towards the squirrelkin girl. Why did she look so … lascivious after slaughtering a platoon of soldiers? Was she a psycho? My hand faltered for a second, but thankfully, she didn’t notice. It would’ve hurt my pride to back down from a girl who wasn’t even a hundredth of my age. “I’m Durandal.”

  “L-Lucia!” the squirrelkin girl said as her back stiffened. She saluted me in a style similar to the armies’ of my time. Looks like their traditions were long-lasting. The perverted look on her face disappeared, replaced by a serious one with slightly narrowed eyes. Good.

  “Just Lucia?”

  Her expression dimmed. “Just Lucia,” she said, her head lowering.

  I smiled at her and placed my hand on her head. I furrowed my brow and closed my eyes. There was no mana flowing within her body. “Like a spirit,” I said and scratched her ear.

  “Huh?” Lucia asked with red cheeks. Why did her face look so lewd again? Was this going to be a problem? Did I make a contract with a pervert? Wait. Wasn’t she the one that screamed? I shook my head. Forget it. She was the only viable candidate amongst the intruders.

  “D-Durandal? Can I ask you something?”

  Even if I said no, you’d probably ask anyway, right? I stared at her and waited. She gulped.

  “You’re the sword of the Godking, correct?”

  No shit. I nodded.

  “Then that means this is his treasure trove?” Her head tilted to the side as her tail curled.

  Obviously. Was my new master a bit slow? I nodded again.

  “Then … where’s the treasure?”

  “Think about it,” I said. Her face scrunched up as she seriously listened to my words. “What kind of treasures can last for thousands of years?”

  “Eh?”

  “Can you name any? Other than me.”

  “But”—she bit her lower lip—“it’s only been eighty years since the Godking died?”

  What. I stared at her, and her shoulders stiffened. Her body trembled and a low squeak escaped from her throat. I asked, “Really?”

  Her head moved like a stiff doll, nodding once.

  What the hell!?!? Did that asshole make the dimension’s time pass at a slower rate? Was he trying to kill me? That fucker! Just because you can’t use me anymore since you’re dead doesn’t mean you have to take me with you, asshole. I closed my eyes and groaned. This was totally something that spiteful bastard would’ve done. If I hadn’t used up the spirit stones powering the dimension, who knows how many more millennia I’d have to wait?

  “D-Durandal?”

  I glared at the girl who was standing in a puddle of her sweat. Wait. That wasn’t sweat. The poor squirrelkin girl had tears in her eyes, and her lips were pressed together. She sniffled.

  I exhaled. “Stop crying. That’s an order.”

  “Yes!” she said and saluted. A tear ran down her face, but she refused to acknowledge it.

  “Clean yourself up.”

  She nodded and rummaged through the giant bag the army had brought along. At least she was pliable. It felt good to have someone who listened to my commands. No wonder why that bastard was so bossy. But only eighty years have passed since he died, huh? If we had taken out the spirit stones earlier, would I still be the only one left? Couldn’t we all have made it?

  “I’m done.”

  I raised my head. Lucia had changed into a set of armor. “The miniature dimension had some special characteristics. Thousands of years have passed in here, so all the treasures rotted away.”

  “Would the Godking make a mistake like that?” Lucia asked and blinked.

  “It wasn’t a mistake. That asshole did that on purpose.”

  “A-asshole?” Lucia asked and took a step back. “The Godking?”

  “Yup. He was an asshole.”

  “No way.”

  I shrugged. The legends were too prevalent for me to change her mind so quickly. It didn’t matter if she believed me or not.

  “Then,” she said and frowned. “What about the other weapon spirits? Didn’t he have a literal army of them? How come you’re the only one left? And what about the spirit stones? Those don’t rot.”

  I sighed. I could easily brush off her insensitive question, but why would I want an ignorant master? “A weapon spirit needs a contractor to sustain their life. The Godking died. We lost our contractor. We could’ve sustained ourselves with spirit stones for an indefinite period of time, but there were too many of us. The weaker spirits taught their techniques to the stronger ones and chose to disperse, leaving the spirit stones untouched. In the end, I was the one who lasted the longest, so I used all the spirit stones to preserve myself for as long as possible.”

  I was going to continue talking, but Lucia walked up to me and hugged me. Her armor dug into my skin. She whispered into my chest, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry? For what?” I placed my hand on the girl’s head. A drop of water landed on the back of my hand. Was I crying?

  “You must’ve been so lonely.”

  Was I lonely? Impossible. “I’m just a weapon spirit.”

  Lucia raised her head and gazed into my eyes. “No. You’re not. You are Durandal.”

  Thousands of thoughts ran through my head at that moment, but only one of them truly stuck out. It was a memory of a time where I was stored on the shelf of a blacksmith’s shop. There weren’t many customers, and I wasn’t what they were looking for. Until he came—the little boy with a head full of brown, mop-like hair. The boy who would be known as the Godking. He bought me with the allowance he saved up over the course of two years.

  People laughed at him when he raised me into the air, declaring, “When I grow up, I’m going to be a legend! And this is going to be my legendary sword, Durandal!”

  “Durandal?”

  I looked down and saw Lucia staring at me with an odd expression on her face—like she wanted to eat me. The expression disappeared so fast, I thought I had imagined it. “Work hard, Lucia,” I said and separated her from my body. I placed my hands on her shoulders. “I will make you into a legend.”

  ***

  Durandal staring at me while sitting on the corpse of his fallen enemy wasn’t uncomfortable like I thought it would be. I was actually at ease. After he guided me, there was a sense of connection—a feeling that I hadn’t experienced since I was still a poor farm girl. I wanted to weave that warmth into a blanket and wrap it around myself every time I went to sleep. Thousands of golden motes of light rose up around Durandal’s body. He looked like an angel. Ah. Was he talking to me?

  “I’m Durandal.”

  Those words brought me back to reality, and I stiffened before shouting, “L-Lucia!” I saluted him because the aura he was giving off was similar to the captains’ in the army.

  “Just Lucia?”

  He knew. I mean, I guess it was obvious I was a slave. I didn’t want to meet his eyes. “Just Lucia,” I mumbled. A hand touched my head, causing a shiver to run down my back. He scratched my ear, causing waves of bliss to run through my body. I wanted to tackle him and—. Gah! Stupid, stupid animal instincts! Stop embarrassing me!

  “Like a spirit.”

  “Huh?” What was that supposed to mean? I guess Durandal didn’t have a last name either. Was he trying to comfort me? But please stop scratching
my ear. “D-Durandal?” His hand stopped, thank the Godking. “Can I ask you a question?”

  He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me. Was that a yes? A no? I swallowed my spit so I wouldn’t sound awkward when I spoke. “You’re the sword of the Godking, correct?”

  He nodded. Phew. I thought he was going to ignore me.

  I asked what was on my mind the whole time. Why’s the place filled with crap? Of course, I didn’t word it that way. “Then this is his treasure trove?”

  He nodded again.

  “Then”—where the fuck’s the treasure!?—“where’s the treasure?”

  “Think about it.”

  Oh. Clearly the outer layer was a disguise. The real treasures must be hidden beneath a contraption or array formation that—

  “What kind of treasures can last for thousands of years?”

  “Eh?” What? Thousands of years?

  “Can you name any? Other than me.”

  “But … it’s only been eighty years since the Godking died?”

  Durandal’s gaze turned colder than ice, and I involuntarily stiffened. His killing intent was choking me. I’m going to pee. I really am. Please stop. His voice was low like a beast letting out a growl. “Really?”

  I’m going to die! I don’t know how I managed to, but I think I nodded. The atmosphere got heavier and heavier. I can’t breathe. Where’d the air go!? Why’s he just staring at me like that? Ah. I peed. Forgive me, panties. “D-Durandal?” My voice was tiny like a mosquito’s whine.

  The atmosphere loosened, and I regained my clarity. I heard rumors of suffocating killing intent and intimidation, but this was the first time I experienced it for myself. Durandal sighed and said, “Stop crying. That’s an order.”

  “Yes!” I’m not crying. Totally not crying. Ignore that tear that’s running down my face.

  “Clean yourself up.”

  Whose fault was it that my legs are like this!? But I held back my thoughts and nodded. There really was no need to provoke the scary fellow’s aura. I should listen carefully in the future. At least I carried around a lot of spare clothes and armor in that bag. I hated lugging it around during the trip here, but luckily, Bryant had foresight—because he totally knew he was going to die…. You know what? Forget it. His foresight was shit.

  “I’m done,” I said to Durandal after changing into a set of armor and turning around. Why did he look so sad?

  “The miniature dimension had some special characteristics. Thousands of years have passed in here, so all the treasures rotted away,” Durandal told me. Even his voice lost its color. Did he peek at me while I was changing? Was he disappointed in what he saw? Wait, Lucia. Focus on the context. Focus.

  “Would the Godking make a mistake like that?” Even a child would keep perishable groceries in mind.

  “It wasn’t a mistake. That asshole did that on purpose.”

  “A-asshole? The Godking?” Blasphemy! Blasphemer! That’s impossible. The Godking’s my idol. He can’t be an asshole—he’s perfect.

  “Yup. He was an asshole.”

  “No way.” I refuse to let anything taint my perfect image of the Godking. If Durandal was telling the truth, then that means I’ve been worshipping a, a…. Lucia! Stupid squirrely brain. Why couldn’t I have been born part crow instead? “Then what about the other weapon spirits? Didn’t he have a literal army of them? How come you’re the only one left? And what about the spirit stones? Those don’t rot.” Squirrels are smart sometimes too! See?

  Durandal sighed. Did I say something wrong? “A weapon spirit needs a contractor to sustain their life. The Godking died. We…”

  Why does he look so sad? Ah. He was lonely. Anyone would be lonely after being trapped for millennia by themselves.

  “…was the spirit who lasted the longest…”

  But he’s not alone anymore. He has me now, doesn’t he? We made a contract. I gave him my blood. We danced together. My legs moved on their own until I was right in front of him. He stopped speaking, and I took that chance to hug him. Don’t be sad, Durandal. We can be lonely together. Say something consoling, Lucia.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry? For what?” He touched my head, but I didn’t react this time. This was important.

  “You must’ve been so lonely.”

  “I’m just a weapon spirit.”

  “No.” I met his gaze. He was crying. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he didn’t even notice them. “You’re not.” People cry. Weapon spirits cry too. Then weapon spirits are people as well? The transitive property doesn’t work here, Lucia. Say something else.

  “You are Durandal.”

  Um. Did I break him? He’s not moving. Or breathing. Do weapon spirits even need to breathe? Ah, he looks so cute when he’s stunned. I just want to eat him up. “Durandal?”

  Oh. He’s awake. Serious face now, Lucia.

  “Work hard, Lucia,” he said and pulled away from me. Was I too clingy? “I will make you into a legend.”

  “Me? How?” Could I be a legend? With Durandal by my side…, I definitely could!

  “You’ll s”—my stomach gurgled, drowning out his voice—“ee.”

  I wanted to bury my face into my hands. So I did. Durandal didn’t make fun of me; instead, he laughed and rubbed my head. Ah. That feels nice.

  ***

  Why was Lucia’s hair so soothing to touch? Was it because she was a beastkin? She let out soft whimpers, and her tail curled and uncurled. Her stomach gurgled again, louder this time.

  “Alright, make yourself some food.” Is it just me, or did she look upset that I stopped?

  “D-do you want some too?” She lowered her head, but I could still see her bright-red face. While it’s true that weapon spirits don’t need to eat, it wasn’t like we couldn’t. Most people wouldn’t feed their weapon spirits—why waste food?

  “Only if you have enough.” I didn’t know how much food she brought in that bag of hers, and I didn’t know how many days it would be until we acquired more. In fact, I really didn’t know anything about the world outside of the miniature dimension. Where was it located anyways?

  I watched Lucia walk on the balls of her feet while humming as she retrieved rations from the bag: potatoes, carrots, slabs of salted meat. She took out a pot and filled it with water while whistling a tune that reminded me of my journeys with the Godking in Foresia, the land of the fae. A smile crept onto my face. It really had been a while since I saw someone so happy. Well, it’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone, but still.

  Lucia reached into the bag and pulled out … a stack of firewood? Is that something normal people carry around with them at all times? She propped them up and pointed a rusty metal bird at the stack. A small jet of blue flames streamed out of the bird’s beak. Ten seconds later, Lucia had a roaring campfire and was setting up a stand for the pot of water to rest on.

  “What was that?” I asked. I reached into her pants pocket, causing her to jump and almost drop her pot, and pulled out the metal bird. She snatched it out of my hands and glared at me with a stiff tail. Did I do something wrong?

  It didn’t seem like she was going to answer my question. Maybe she didn’t understand, so I reworded it. “How did you produce fire?”

  “This is a magical tool,” Lucia said and hugged the bird to her chest after settling the pot. “There’s a fire array inside of it that can be used three times a day.” Her eyes were downcast. “It took a long time to save up for it.”

  Magical array? Isn’t that what the Godking extorted from that demon researcher? “Are there other magical tools?”

  Lucia nodded. “But this one is mine.” She stroked the rusty bird’s wing and placed it back into her pocket. So these are the results of eighty years of progress—even a layman could cast magic. If thousands of years had truly passed, would I be able to adapt? Soon, the rich smell of stew filled the dimension, masking the smell of blood and carnage. Didn’t she have any qualms about killing people? Maybe I
really did pick a psycho.

  Lucia cheered when the stew finished cooking. Her eyes were sparkling as she ladled the food into two bowls. “Here,” she said and handed me one. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

  My mouth watered when the thick aroma entered my nose. That asshole hadn’t left any food in the dimension. I hadn’t tasted meat in too long. Before I knew it, the stew was gone. I let out a sigh and leaned back. Eh? Why was she staring at me like that?

  “D-do you want more?” Lucia asked. She hadn’t even drank a sip of her own bowl.

  “You need it more,” I said. I really did want to take the pot and eat everything in it, but for the sake of my new master, I had to refrain from such actions.

  “O-okay.”

  I stared at her as she ate. She was nothing like the late Godking: There was no imposing aura about her. She was extremely cheerful. And her face was definitely more … lewd. What was she even thinking about while eating? When she finished the stew, including the portion left in the pot, she promptly lay on her back and began snoring before I could say anything. I guess that’s one similarity between the two. I sighed and cleaned the dishes as she slept. Then I roamed the field of slaughter and picked up anything that looked valuable. My loot included one small bag of spirit stones and a metal spear. All the other weapons had been broken during the fight. Why were these bastards so poor?

  “Mom….”

  I picked up my spoils and squatted next to Lucia. Was she dreaming about her parents? Did people who enjoyed slaughtering others even care about their parents?

  Lucia groaned as her eyes shuddered before opening. “Durandal?” she asked and blinked while sitting up. “It wasn’t a dream?”

  “I’m real.”

  Lucia’s mouth fell open. “Why?”

  Did my new master suffer short-term memory loss? “Why what? Why am I real? I guess I never really thought about that.”