From the moment I was chosen by the holy relic

She walked along the ruins of the city wall, passing through two rows of buildings whose remains were not yet fully restored. The morning light slanted across the gray stone bricks, and the streets were deserted, with only the sound of the wind and the occasional hammering of repairmen echoing under the eaves.

Before long, she found Eric in an open space in the east corner of the city.

He sat on a half-buried broken pillar, sunlight falling on his shoulders and casting a pale golden halo. He was polishing the longsword in his hand.

Upon seeing her arrive, he glanced up slightly and said casually, "Hello, Leah."

"You too," Leah replied with a smile, standing opposite him but not sitting down immediately.

Eric lowered his head and continued wiping his sword, his expression calm as still water. But that calmness was almost forced, like suppressed emotions, a layer of frost forming on its surface.

Leah didn't speak immediately, but looked at the muddy ground at his feet, and after a long while, she casually said:

"Did you know? Old Mota just got into another argument with that codebreaker."

"What's all the noise about?"

"Regarding how many candidates should be nominated in the election, two or three? In the end, neither side would give way to the other." She squatted down, picked up a half-broken iron button from the ground, and played with it as she spoke.

Eric chuckled softly, a hint of weariness in his voice: "I'd be willing to see that."

Leah looked at him, a slight smile playing at the corners of her eyes, but her tone shifted: "Do you know what the first question Eileen asked just now was?"

Eric didn't look up, but asked in a low voice, "What?"

She asked you where you were.

The action of wiping the sword paused for a moment.

Leah seemed oblivious to his subtle pause, continuing casually, "I just told her you haven't been in a good mood lately. Elotian could tell too."

"It's nothing."

"You said that to him too?"

"Um."

"He actually believed it?"

Eric pursed his lips and said softly, "He didn't ask any further questions."

"Then you know I won't believe you." Leah looked directly at him.

As he finished speaking, Eric's fingers tightened slightly, the sword making a soft sound as it slid across the cloth. He finally stopped, gently lowered the sword, and looked down at his palm.

"Leah," he said in a deep voice, "have you ever felt that way? When the real test comes in a field you thought you were good at, you're completely powerless to fight back."

Lia didn't reply, but listened quietly.

Eric continued, "When I faced Kaderlo that day, I initially thought he was just a formidable opponent. But I was wrong. He wasn't just strong; he was like a wall. I fought with all my might, but I couldn't even find a crack."

"You blocked quite a few of his attacks," Lia whispered a reminder.

"It was Huilan who blocked it for me." He shook his head, his voice bitter. "If it hadn't deflected several impacts for me, I would have been cut down long ago. Every sword of his was like it could split a tower in half, and what about me? I couldn't even make him take a single step back."

He looked up at the sky, a hint of bewilderment in his eyes: "I always thought my swordsmanship was good enough. I trained hard, I had plenty of real combat experience, and everything on my journey was tempering me."

Lia sat quietly beside him, saying nothing, only watching the light in his eyes dim little by little.

"You know what?" He suddenly chuckled, his voice low and tinged with undisguised self-mockery, "That guy, Kaderlo, is a full half a head taller than me, and his arms are as thick as stone pillars. When he swings his sword, it's as if that giant sword isn't a weapon, but a mountain collapsing."

He looked down at his hands; his knuckles, calloused from years of wielding a sword, now appeared somewhat thin.

"Even if I replaced his body with mine, and even if I reduced his strength by half, I know I still couldn't beat him."

He raised his head, his eyes devoid of anger, only a calm and undeniable understanding: "It's not because of his physique, not because of his strength, and not because of luck on the battlefield. His swordsmanship... his oppressive aura... every movement is like a meticulously crafted killing intent, without a single superfluous stroke. Every time I strike, he seems to anticipate it; every time I defend, he always manages to force me back by exploiting an opening."

He paused for a moment, then exhaled softly, as if the battle still lingered deep within his flesh and blood, its mark unfaded.

"It's not that I haven't encountered strong opponents, but someone like him, who was always a step behind me, yet left me almost breathless. That wasn't a battle; it felt more like being judged."

He lowered his eyes, his voice so low it seemed to flow from the depths of his heart: "I thought my swordsmanship honed over the years was enough, but in front of him, I realized I was just a child with a sword, trying to push aside a sleeping mountain with all my might."

This time, Leah finally spoke: "So you're starting to doubt yourself?"

Eric lowered his head, as if admitting something, but also as if trying to avoid it: "Yes."

The wind rustled softly through the broken bricks and rubble beside the ruins. After a moment, Leah whispered, "Have you ever seen an eagle and a roc soaring side by side?"

Eric was slightly taken aback.

"The eagle soars atop the mountain, guarding its corner, battling wind and snow; the roc spreads its wings for thousands of miles, flying over the nine heavens and nine seas," Lia said slowly. "When you see the roc, you naturally feel that the eagle is insignificant. But if you let the roc perch on a rocky cliff, it may not be able to survive a cold night."

She turned to look at Eric, her gaze clear and calm: "Cadelo is strong, but he has fallen into darkness. You are not him because you still have a heart."

Eric remained silent for a long time before finally saying in a low voice, "But sometimes I also want to be stronger. Even if it's just being able to actually block one of his swords."

"Then become stronger." Leah stood up and patted his shoulder, "but don't deny who you are."

Eric looked at her, and saw a rare seriousness and determination in her eyes. He suddenly realized that she hadn't come to advise him, but to awaken him.

"Thank you," he said.

Leah smiled, turned and left, but her voice drifted back on the wind: "Come back after you've cleaned the sword. We need to discuss today whether the benches for the election should be round or square."

"I'll choose the right one," Eric replied in a low voice.

The sunlight dappled and warmed him. He looked down at the longsword in his hand; the cracks seemed less glaring now, and more like testaments to his struggles and unwavering determination.

He picked up the sword again and continued to wipe it, a long-lost sharpness quietly gleaming in his eyes.

Three days later, the morning bells rang throughout Diarant's square. People erected a makeshift platform beside the ruins, forming a circle around it with still-dusty stone benches. Before the sun had risen above the city walls, the name of the new city lord was announced through a vote by the entire city.

He was a veteran named Abrams who had once led troops to defend the west gate of the city. He came from humble beginnings, yet he stepped forward during the turmoil to protect three streets and an orphanage. People believed he was neither the strongest nor the smartest, but he was the one who never retreated in blood and fire.

After the election, Abrams, dressed in a simple brown coat, stood before the crowd and swore in a slightly hoarse voice: "I don't know if I am fit to serve, but I know that I will not be alone among you. If one day I do something against your will, may you banish me from this city, like banishing a lost wolf."

Sparse but firm applause rang out in the square, not grand, but steady, just like the city's rebirth—slow, yet real.

Soon after, Elotian also began his journey home. He led his people along the edge of the woods, bidding farewell to Irene, Eric, Lia, and the others at the city gate. He took nothing with him and left nothing behind, except for his parting words:

"The wind will take me back, if it thinks I should come back."

That evening, the wind blew from the north, stirring up dust on the bluestone street and carrying away the last footsteps of the elves.