Years slipped by as she wandered the kingdoms. Her reputation grew quietly as rumors of a silver-eyed woman wielding a blade of light and shadow started with whispers. Some called her a saint, while others called her a heretic. A few called her the ghost of Blackwood.
She traveled through burnt farmlands where crops refused to grow. Through villages where children prayed to broken statues and nobles taxed the dying for water. She saw soldiers hanging traitors for stealing bread, and merchants selling holy relics forged from the melted bones of beasts.
Everywhere she went, the same question haunted her: Why does no one fight to end this?
In one city, she healed a sick boy using healing magic. When his mother tried to thank her, a priest accused her of witchcraft. The townspeople stoned the priest instead.
In another, she faced a monster made of human souls, a Heart corrupted by starvation and grief. She cut it down, but the sound of its final scream stayed in her ears for months.
And always, she returned to her campfires at night and spoke softly to the blade lying beside her.
"You chose me," she said. "Then guide me. Show me what strength is really for."
The sword never answered. But sometimes, when the wind shifted, she could almost hear the faint echo of the Nameless's voice:
Survive, and the world will see.
Eleven years after she first fled her kingdom, she reached the borderlands of Asper, the strongest of the Five Kingdoms, a place where warriors were bred like crops and sold like steel. The curse had touched even here: rivers thin as veins, fields brittle and grey.
In the markets, criers shouted news of a grand tournament ordered by the royal alliance.
" The strongest of each kingdom will join to form a divine force!" they proclaimed. "
The crowd roared. Hope was a rare thing, and they held to it greedily.
Amelia watched from beneath her hood. It filled her with quiet wonder. If the royals truly meant to confront that power, perhaps this tournament was the beginning of change, or the end of everything.
She followed the posters to Asper's capital. The city gates loomed like the ribs of a titan, each pillar engraved with runes that pulsed faintly with defensive magic. Guards inspected every traveler, noting weapons, origins, and even the rhythm of their Hearts.
When her turn came, one guard sneered. "A woman? Here for the tournament?"
Amelia met his gaze without a word. She placed her hand over the Dragon Divine Eye Sword. Its aura flared, momentary and blinding. The guard stumbled back, his face draining of color.
"I see," he muttered. "Entry… granted."
She walked past him without looking back.
Inside the walls, the city lived in two colors, gold and grey. Banners of crimson hung from tall spires, yet the alleys below reeked of rot and smoke. Smiths hammered weapons for nobles while beggars coughed blood beside the forges. The curse was everywhere, even here.
Amelia passed through it all like a shadow. Some recognized the faint glow of her Heart and whispered prayers as she walked by. Everyone's eyes were on her, but None of it mattered.
At sunset, she reached the registration hall, a grand arena carved into the bones of a mountain. Its stones pulsed faintly with magic seals from countless battles fought and lost.
A clerk in golden armor glanced up as she approached. "Name?"
"Amelia," she said.
"Family name?"
She hesitated. "I have none."
The man scoffed. "All right, Amelia of No House. Entry confirmed." He pushed a small crystal across the desk. "Infuse this with your Heart. It will track your strength."
When her fingers brushed the crystal, light erupted, half silver, half black. The clerk's pen snapped in his hand. "By the gods…" he whispered.
Amelia turned away before he could ask questions.
That night, she stood alone on the balcony of her rented room. The city sprawled below, alive with anticipation, fires burning in the squares, warriors boasting in taverns, drums echoing from the coliseum. Above it all, the cursed sky glowed with faint cracks of red mana where the heavens had once bled.
She rested her sword beside her and gazed up at the stars. The forest seemed far away now, yet she could still feel its pulse inside her chest. Every scar, every failure, every drop of blood had led her here.
In the window's reflection, her silver-black eyes shone softly. For the first time, she didn't see a runaway noble or a woman defying tradition. She saw a warrior forged by solitude and purpose.
"Maybe," she whispered, "this is where I finally see how far I've come."
The wind answered with a low sigh, carrying the scent of steel and storm, a promise that the next dawn would not be kind.
Far below, a great bell rang through the night. Its echo rolled across the city like thunder, shaking banners and hearts alike.
[The Grand Tournament had begun.]
And somewhere deep beyond the reach of light and empire, the Nameless stirred from slumber. They smiled faintly, eyes opening in the dark.
"So, you survived after all," they whispered. "Show them what you have become."
The air shivered as though the world itself were listening.