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The setting sun was bleeding a deep gold across the grasslands. In Ariana's hand, the newly finished sword caught the light, reflecting a fierce, fiery orange. It was the color of the flames Ian had just commanded into existence for the forging.
A deep, steady whoosh sounded with each pull of a bellows that operated all on its own. It was a rhythmic pulse, powered by an invisible hand of magic, and every movement fed the fire, making the air-borne flame burn stronger.
There was no proper forge, yet the sword was complete.
The blazing fire continued to dance, its orange and crimson glow staining the nearby grass a vivid scarlet. Oddly, despite the spectacle, none of the onlookers felt any scorching heat.
Such was Ian's terrifying skill. The wizard was an experienced alchemist now, his power a refined tool, capable of shaping and sharpening a perfect blade directly out of thin air. The finished edge gradually revealed itself, gleaming with a cold, cutting brilliance.
It looked ridiculously cool.
Ian gazed at his masterpiece, a look of profound satisfaction spreading across his face. Before Pandero could even open his mouth to offer a mocking comment, Ian had him seized, as if the wizard intended to refine him on the spot.
Well… not exactly refine him.
This sword, for all intents and purposes, was a special kind of magical puppet, a mecha, and it needed a suitable pilot to move on its own. And who could be more fitting than the man who constantly boasted he was King Arthur reborn?
Pandero had always bragged about his unmatched swordsmanship, and Ian meant for him to finally prove it. Since Ian didn't have time to learn sword fighting, he'd simply grab someone who already knew it!
"What are you doing?!" Pandero was utterly horrified.
His eyes bulged like glass marbles about to pop. Ian had him by the back of his collar with one hand, while the other steadily pressed the newly forged longsword against him, inch by inch. Pandero's limbs flailed wildly in midair, like a helpless, squawking bird suddenly caught mid-flight.
"Wait! We can discuss this! Let's talk about this first!"
Pandero struggled frantically, his panicked voice echoing across the clearing. Ian, however, remained silent, utterly focused on trying to stuff Pandero directly into the sword.
"What in the blazes are you attempting?!" Pandero shrieked, flailing furiously. Even without his feet touching the ground, he somehow kept jerking away, a magnificent display of panic over physics.
Though, to be fair, physics didn't much apply where Ian was concerned.
"Stop moving," Ian noted, observing that Pandero still had far too much fight left in him.
"I will move! I'll move in a berserk-rage if I have to! I know that expression on your face! Nothing good ever happens when you make that face!" Pandero screamed, struggling even harder. The silver armor of his spirit form clanged noisily against itself, ding, dang, dang.
But Ian was simply too strong. A sneaky surge of magic helped reinforce his grip, and the smaller wizard's raw power soon overwhelmed Pandero.
After all, Pandero was only a soul, with no solid body. That meant Ian could stuff him into the sword. Once that fact settled, Ian became even more enthusiastic, shoving the entire soul in with renewed vigor.
"It won't hurt! Just try it! Come on, give it a go!" Ian's words were meant to reassure Pandero into cooperating with the experiment, but the moment they left his mouth, he winced. They sounded… terribly wrong. A little too much like some shady uncle coaxing a child into something they shouldn't.
He shook the thought off. Pure or not, he didn't let go.
"Help! Ariana, help me!" Pandero screamed, half of his incorporeal body already inside the blade. He refused to accept this imprisonment, desperately clawing at the empty air to drag himself out.
The two of them, Ian and Pandero, struggled back and forth. Every time Pandero managed to pull himself a little further out of the sword, Ian would simply increase his strength and shove him back in with equal force.
Since Ian's strength was overwhelming, Pandero could only cry out to his "apprentice," who was practicing swordsmanship not far away. The sight of them struggling, however, was purely comical, like a bizarre, high-stakes game of tug-of-war.
Ariana, who had been practicing nearby, burst into uncontrollable laughter the moment she saw the scene. She was laughing so hard she had to drop her sword, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
"Ian, haha, what, haha, what are you doing?" She managed to gasp between fits of laughter, her whole body shaking as she doubled over.
Ariana knew Ian well enough. No matter how absurd he acted, she knew he would never truly harm a friend like Pandero. So, she just stood there, completely unconcerned, thoroughly enjoying the ridiculous spectacle in front of her.
Pandero, however, did not share her sense of humor. He was utterly convinced that Ian's behavior was just another round of malicious payback. There had to be a hundred and eight layers of hell waiting for him inside that cold, new sword.
The more he thought about it, the more Pandero trembled.
"Wait! Stop! You just want to master exquisite swordsmanship without years of hard training, right? I can help! I can definitely help! Just, don't do this to me!"
Pandero's desperate plea carried some… unfortunate implications, but Ian actually paused for a moment, which made the ancient King of Britain breathe a huge sigh of relief. Seizing the opportunity, Pandero frantically clawed his way out, managing to free quite a bit of his ghostly form from the blade.
Unfortunately, Ian's reflexes were far too quick. The moment Pandero was almost free, Ian grabbed him by the ankle and said flatly, "You think you can come up with a better idea than me?"
Ian eyed Pandero with deep suspicion. He was certain the man was trying to trick him, just another desperate attempt to escape his inevitable fate as an experimental subject.
With that thought, Ian began shoving Pandero back into the sword again.
"Wait, wait just a second!"
Pandero was practically in tears now.
"Save me, Ariana! He's going to blood-sacrifice me to his sword!" Pandero cried, his voice breaking with melodramatic despair.
"It's not a sacrifice, it's a sword spirit," Ian corrected him seriously, pushing the knight's incorporeal body a few more inches into the blade. "A sword that can fight on its own! Isn't that cool? Don't you want a sword like that?"
Ian's question sounded exactly like something a demon would whisper into a greedy ear.
Pandero wanted to scream, Yes, such a sword would be cool… but I don't want to BE that sword! Yet he knew he couldn't say that out loud. Otherwise, Ian would surely shove him all the way in.
Pandero didn't truly understand the concept of a sword spirit, but he knew one thing very clearly: he didn't want to become one.
"I'll give you my swordsmanship memories! Take my swordsmanship memories!" Pandero shouted, his voice cracking in panic. He thought this offer would perfectly match Ian's desire to skip tedious training.
However, he still didn't quite understand how Ian's mind worked.
(To Be Continued…)