The two sentences were something he was certain he heard, not something he had made up. But despite knowing that he heard them, he couldn't remember who they came from; his memory was like a thick fog.
"You may leave the building!" a man in a white trench coat shouted.
Leonard finally noticed that the noise had stopped. The demon had most likely been killed. People started walking out, and Leonard looked around. He didn't know what he was looking for; all he knew was that he had to see someone for some unknown reason.
Step by step, they walked out until they all left the building. Looking outside, he could smell a faint scent of burning. Leonard walked back home. Throughout his walk, he couldn't help but think of something—or someone—he was supposed to find.
"Look, it's the Reaper's kid," he heard someone mutter to a friend while they looked at him.
'Reaper.' Thinking of such a title, Leonard felt a surge of anger wash over him. He also had a faint tingling feeling, as if he could scratch something using only his thoughts. He calmed himself down and ignored the two gossiping; it wasn't the first time it had happened, and he was, in a way, used to such treatment.
As he arrived at his room, he threw himself onto his bed and placed his hands over his face.
'How long do I have to stay here?'
Almost everyone in Britannia wanted to leave the place. Britannia was filled with illiterates because only royalty and some lucky people could afford to go to school. Leonard could, in a way, be considered an illiterate, but unlike most, he had taught himself a basic education with the help of his mother.
Thinking of his mother, Leonard felt a sense of sadness. His mother had passed away three years ago, and from then on, life had become extremely tough—especially because of his father.
Although he had a tragic life, most people here lived similarly, and some lived worse. It was just how it was in Britannia, a place where power dictated everything. People such as Leonard were cursed to live a life of poverty until they died... but Leonard wasn't satisfied with such a life. He had ambitions he wanted to achieve, people he wanted to see suffer, and things he wanted to own.
'Power of the King.'
This term filled him with a sense of joy for some strange reason.
"Haaa..." He let out a breath of stale air. His room was filled with dirt and insects; the streets were filled with illiterates; the hierarchy had deemed him a failure before he was even born; and his father had caused him immense suffering. He hated them all.
He hated them so much that it made his stomach twist with disgust and his teeth clench with anger.
"It should all just burn to the ground," he muttered. However, in the next moment, all his emotions were replaced by shock. His eyes flew wide open, staring at what was in front of him.
In front of him, gold lines which seemed to originate from his skin danced and twisted through the air. The light they radiated was faint, but the lines moved majestically, as if possessing the life of royalty. They twisted, trying to form an object.
Soon, the lines turned into a sword which floated in the air. The weapon had a majestic gold color to it and looked like a saber. Its surface reflected the world in gold, and its handle had a unique, patterned design.
The lines that came from his body disappeared as if they had never existed. Leonard staggered back a few steps, not knowing what had happened, but a name came to mind.
'Qi!'
The sword fell, making the sound of metal hitting a solid surface. He extended his hands, which were trembling slightly. He didn't see any more lines, but he felt different, as if his body had been amplified. His veins felt as if they were flowing extremely fast; his blood felt pure.
He felt as if he had an extra finger, but checking his body, he couldn't see any extra limbs. He then looked down. There, he saw the gold, majestic saber. He felt that the sensation of an extra limb came from the saber. It didn't look like a human limb; it just looked like a sword made of gold.
This was the first time Leonard had seen gold. He thought it was extremely pleasing to the eyes. He tried moving his "extra limb," but the saber didn't move at all. He slowly extended his arm and grabbed the saber by the handle.
It felt cold but also comforting. In a way, he felt as if a finger had reattached itself to him. Once he grabbed the saber, he could strangely tell its condition. It didn't feel damaged in any way, but it felt incomplete somehow.
He lifted the saber up to look at it properly. Its flat, gold surface reflected his face. He could tell that the saber was sharp—extremely so.
'Could this be a Holy Weapon?'
Holy Weapons were items possessed by people who had Classes. An Archer's Holy Weapon would be an arrow; a Mage's Holy Weapon would most likely be a staff or wand. Holy Weapons were said to have the power to destroy cities. Unlike normal weapons, a Holy Weapon couldn't be shared; if it belonged to you, it couldn't be used by another person.
'Power of the King.'
Such a sentence came to mind as he looked at the golden saber. It was a sentence he didn't know where he had heard, but he felt that it best described the weapon, simply because it gave off an aura of royalty—something a king would use.
But holding the weapon, he had a question:
'Why do I have this weapon?'
For him to have the weapon, he had to have a Class, and as far as he knew, he didn't have one. The gears in his brain shifted, trying to come up with a logical explanation. After all, cases like this were unheard of. If word got out, he wouldn't know what fate might lie ahead of him.