The sword rested on it like a slumbering beast, the blade still caked in centuries of dirt. Black markings twisted along the steel in jagged, vein-like patterns, and the hilt was a work of art—spiral grip, ornate guard, a heavy sphere for the pommel that looked like it could crack bone on its own. Even standing still, it felt alive.
Zura's throat tightened. He could feel it—the slow, deliberate pull on his magic, like a hand brushing against the edges of his soul.
"Yeah… you're the real deal," he muttered.
He stepped closer, boots crunching over a thin layer of dust. Every inch forward made the air heavier, his magic tugged harder, like the sword was testing him, seeing if he'd flinch.
He stopped in front of the pedestal. For a moment, he just looked at it, letting the weight of the thing sink in. Then his hand closed around the grip.
It was like grabbing a boulder made of lead. His arm trembled, but he didn't let go. The black markings pulsed faintly, as if the blade had opened an eye to see who dared wake it.
"Guess we're stuck with each other now," Zura said under his breath, a grin breaking through the strain.
With a sharp pull, the Demon-Dweller Sword came free. The runes in the walls flared weakly, then went out, leaving only the sound of his breathing and the hum of the weapon in his hand.
And then, the sword dragged his arm down the moment it cleared the pedestal, the tip scraping against the stone floor with a screech.
"...Shit, you're heavier than you look."
He shifted his grip, planting his feet, trying to bring it up into a proper stance. His muscles protested instantly, his shoulders burning. The magic drain was constant—slow at first, then sharper, like the blade was sucking a little deeper each second. It wasn't malicious… more like it didn't care if it bled him dry.
Zura gritted his teeth and swung.
The arc was clumsy, more like hauling a log than slicing through air. But the moment the edge cut forward, he felt it—a ripple in the air, a faint spark of stored magic snapping against the markings. The blade hummed, black veins crawling with faint light before fading again.
"Oh… so you're hungry and you bite back, huh?" he muttered, letting the tip rest on the ground. Even in that short swing, it had yanked a good chunk of his mana away, leaving a hollow ache in his core.
He tried another swing, this time putting his back into it. The slash landed harder, sending a faint shockwave through the chamber. Bits of old stone dust fell from the ceiling, the hum of the sword lingering like an aftertaste.
By the third swing, his arm felt like it was dragging molten lead. His breathing came harsh, and sweat started running down his temple. The sword wasn't something you used. It was something you survived.
Zura let it drop with a heavy clang, leaning on it for a moment.
"Yeah… if I want to swing you around like a madman, I'm gonna need more than magic. I'm gonna need muscle. A lot of it." His grin turned sharp. "Fine. I'll train 'til my arms snap off. Then I'll train again."
"Alright, you've had your little test run."
He held out his grimoire, the nine-clover pages flipping open on their own until a blank one settled in front of him. The sword dissolved into black script, pulled into the paper like ink bleeding into parchment, vanishing entirely.
He left the chamber and headed toward the treasury.
Mimosa was stacking various relics onto a cloth while Klaus inspected each one like a paranoid librarian. Sekke was wandering in the back, poking at locked chests.
Klaus looked up. "Zura. We've received orders—anything of critical value or… questionable origin is to be collected immediately. Then we seal the dungeon with a barrier until the squad captains arrive for assessment."
"Basically, we bag the shiny stuff and lock the door," Sekke said, yawning.
Zura shrugged. "Fine by me. You two do the sorting. I'll watch for anything… off."
Sekke perked up like he remembered something. "Oh, speaking of 'off'—uh, I found this scroll, but it's got some funky writing I can't read. Looks old as hell." He handed it over.
The moment Zura's fingers brushed the parchment, something clicked in his head. The script wasn't unfamiliar—it was clear.
He unrolled it, eyes scanning the text as a low thrum began in his grimoire. Each word he read seemed to pull something from the air, a gathering pressure that made the hairs on his arms rise.
The glow started faint, first in the scroll, then bleeding into the edges of his nine-clover pages. By the last line, the light was pouring out like a crack in reality.
The writing dissolved in a sharp flash—both on the scroll and in the air around him—followed by a soft, chiming sound.
Wind swirled from nowhere, coiling around his shoulders in a playful, spiraling dance. And then, from the shimmer of that magic, a small, green-haired figure emerged—eyes bright, smirk wide.
"Awh~," the spirit yawned, voice like the breeze through leaves. "Where am I?."
Sylph hovered there for a moment, wind curling around Zura like curious fingers. Her eyes narrowed, lips curling in something between a smirk and a challenge.
"Well, this is interesting," she said, tilting her head. "Guess I'll… see ya."
Before Zura could say a word, she flicked a finger at his forehead—playful, but enough to jolt him back half a step—and then dissolved into a burst of glittering green wind. The breeze died as quickly as it came, leaving only the faint scent of rain in the air.
Sekke's jaw dropped. "The hell was that?! You… you just spawned a girl out of a scroll? And she—she just—" He waved his arms around uselessly. "She was hot and then gone! She could have been mine! That's not fair!"
Mimosa, wide-eyed, clutched her notes tighter. "Zura… that was… was that a spirit? Like an actual elemental spirit?"
Klaus adjusted his glasses, still staring at the spot Sylph had been. "If so, then you've just done something that will put you in the history books. And… probably under surveillance."
Zura just stood there, letting them talk. Inside, he was already connecting the dots—Demon-Dweller Sword in his grimoire, Sylph bound to him even if she didn't stick around. Both in one dungeon run.
'Not bad,' he thought. 'Sword, spirit, and the dungeon itself for Clover. Manga me can eat shit.'
Sekke groaned. "Man, if I had that kind of luck, I'd—" He stopped mid-complaint, slumping against a crate. "I can't even finish that sentence. I'm too jealous to think."
Zura smirked and glanced toward the sealed chests. "Alright. Let's finish this up before something else decides to pop out and scare you to death."
*~*~*~*
A/N- Sup guys! Enjoying the progress so far? Keep supporting. I still need a lot of support. I am even uploading daily and doing mass release once in a while.