From the moment I was chosen by the holy relic

"Gentlemen," the king began, his voice lower than before, "as I said in my letter, the pendant's function is to enhance dark magic, and it is of no use to us."

Eric noticed that the expressions of the older people present changed slightly, Levin tapped his cane, and Grom's brow furrowed even deeper.

The King continued, "In recent months, the activities of the dark forces have become increasingly frequent, such as what happened in an abandoned old mine somewhere in our country and in the town of Cahill. They are for the theft of the pendant, and some other unknown matters, and the incident in Diarant is just the beginning."

Sigmund leaned forward slightly, his gaze burning like flames: "I heard about what happened there. The town was swallowed up by black fog overnight, and the corpses were nowhere to be found. Eric, you survived there and repelled the enemy. This makes the knights of Nosteria proud." He spoke with the sincerity and pride unique to knights.

Eric was momentarily at a loss for words. He felt dozens of eyes fall on him, some admiring, some probing, and some suspicious, as if they were weighing whether he was a lucky survivor or someone who held a deeper secret.

Sigmund said slowly, "Eric, return to Nosteria. I will personally plead with the king to grant you forgiveness. You are one of our own, and should not be left to wander abroad."

Levin chuckled, a shrewd and sharp laugh emanating from him: "Forgiveness? It was Nosteria who drove him to the brink of despair, nearly taking his life. Now you think you can trick him back with a few words? Nosteria's sincerity is cheap indeed."

After hearing this, Grom threw his head back and laughed, his laughter booming like war drums: "Ha ha! I agree with this skinny bamboo pole. It turns out that the humanity of Nosteria is only remembered after people have bled to death."

Sigmund's expression instantly hardened: "Our affairs in Norstria are none of your business, Ferian blacksmiths' business."

Grom narrowed his eyes, like an old bear sensing a predator's provocation, his shoulder muscles tensing slightly: "A blacksmith's hammer doesn't just forge swords."

Seeing that the two were about to descend into another endless argument, the elven messenger Irrfan finally spoke. Her voice seemed to pierce through the flames and iron in the air, like morning frost descending upon everything: "Whether Eric returns to Nosteria or not is not important."

Her gaze slowly swept over everyone at the table, her expression calm as if stating an undeniable truth: "The important thing is the forces of darkness. If our history has truly been altered, then it must be their doing. They don't want the world to know their past. The horrors of the Five Towers Era have been forgotten. But forgetting doesn't mean disappearing. They have been lying in wait for many years, waiting for their chance."

Some people in the main hall held their breath.

Irrfan continued, "If the ancient records are true, the disappearance of the last Nightwhisper marked the end of that war. But I suspect he didn't die, but was hidden away. If the current dark forces are truly connected to him, then this threat is a hundred times more serious than any mine or any border. The situation is already so urgent, yet you are wasting time on a gold mine or the fate of a single person."

Her voice contained no anger, yet it was more powerful than anger itself, like a crack in a glacier slowly widening, making one realize that collapse was only a matter of time.

The expressions on people's faces varied as they looked at her; some were surprised, some were thoughtful, and some tried to conceal the fear that had gripped them for a moment. Ellerhir's reputation and mystery made even the most arrogant nations hesitant to contradict her.

Eric felt a slight jolt; for the first time, he sensed that someone was focusing their attention on the real enemy, rather than on his old wounds and past events.

The air in the hall seemed sealed by a heavy stone lid, and the torchlight flickered on the gilded vaulted ceiling, as if watching over every face. The king raised his hand and waved his palm slightly, suppressing the still unresolved disputes among the envoys from various countries.

"Gentlemen," his voice was steady, yet carried an undeniable authority, "the mines, the borders, the old grudges and the honors can all be discussed in the future. But the pendant is the matter that must be decided right now."

For a moment, the envoys on both sides of the long table looked at each other and whispered, their shadows intertwining in the firelight, as if an undercurrent was surging beneath the wooden floor.

Archmage Thorne was the first to speak, his voice carrying a carefully chosen smoothness: "Since we cannot predict its power, the safest approach is to hide it deep within, so deep that no one can find it."

Levin scoffed, "Hidden deep? In which country? It would require a large force to guard it, which would be a huge expense."

Representatives from several smaller countries chimed in, their voices cautious and tentative: "Perhaps we could take turns storing them? Replacing them every ten or twenty years—"

"No!" Sigmund slammed his hand on the table with a dull metallic clang. "That would only expose it to more hands. The only safe way is to destroy it."

These words were like a pebble thrown into a lake, the ripples spreading rapidly. Many whispered among themselves, and even the usually silent elven messenger, Irfan, raised an eyebrow slightly. Ultimately, the majority nodded, and the voices in favor of destruction gradually drowned out the other proposals.

A faint glint flashed in Eileen's eyes, gone in an instant, like the flicker of a fire.

The king slowly rose to his feet and took a pendant from the inner pocket of his robe. The silver outline gleamed coldly in the firelight, as if it didn't belong to this world. He placed it on a heavy plate of Ferian steel, his voice brief and steady: "Grom."

The dwarf stepped forward slowly, his heavy boots causing the floor to tremble slightly. He raised his thick-backed hammer and brought it down with a simple, unadorned blow.

"when!"

The iron plate was dented, sparks flew, but the pendant still gleamed with a cold light, perfectly embedded in the center of the iron plate.

"Ha!" Grom put down his hammer, his brow furrowing slightly. "This isn't something you can break with brute force."

Archmage Thorne stepped forward, and lightning began to gather on the gems of his staff, instantly filling the air with a scorching atmosphere. He chanted softly, the incantation rising and falling like the tide.

A streak of pure white lightning tore through the air and struck the pendant with pinpoint accuracy. The dazzling light caused everyone to instinctively turn their heads, but when the light and shadow dissipated, the pendant remained unharmed, with only a few scorch marks around the iron plate.

In the following moments, warriors, sorcerers, and priests from various countries tried their methods—fire, ice, acid—but none were effective. The pendant seemed to mock their futile efforts.

The crowd gradually fell silent, with only low breathing filling the air.

Leah spoke slowly, her voice carrying a hint of family pride and caution: "It's not because its material is indestructible. My ancestors personally crafted its outline, so I know that what truly protects it is the magic within, a power that has long surpassed that of our time."

The Queen of the Azure Forest Kingdom nodded slightly, her long hair cascading down her shoulders in waves, her eyes deep and profound: "That means only those with magical power exceeding that of the one who cast the spell can destroy it. Right now, we are powerless to do that. The only thing we can do is preserve it carefully, preventing it from falling into the hands of dark forces."

"I agree," King Iser said in a low voice, then turned to Sigmund, his gaze so sharp it seemed to pierce through armor. "However, before that, there is one more thing. Please return the Radiant Sword to Eric."

A moment of silence fell over the hall. Eric stood there, his fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of his chair. He could feel everyone's gaze upon him again, a mixture of scrutiny, assessment, and a touch of unexpected respect.

Sir Sigmund rose slowly, the gaps in his armor emitting a low metallic scraping sound. He tapped his fingers lightly on the table, as if weighing a reluctant game.

"According to the laws of Nosteria," he began, his voice as cold and hard as the northern winds, "all artifacts, minerals, and relics discovered within our territory belong to our royal family. The Radiant Sword was discovered among the ruins of Nosteria, and therefore rightfully belongs to my king."

His gaze briefly swept over Grom, carrying a hint of barely suppressed sharpness, as if it were a reminder or a provocation.

The king did not rush to refute, but met his gaze directly, his voice steady yet carrying an undeniable sharpness: "I have made it very clear in my letter that it was Eric's blood that opened that ruin. He shares the same bloodline as the Starfall Swordsman, a fact that no royal decree can alter. Moreover, the Radiant Swordsman chose him."

"A choice?" Sigmund's lips twitched slightly, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "In Nosteria, one must abide by Nosterian laws. And, if I may be frank, Eric didn't make the Radiant Sword react at all, based solely on his and that long-eared one—" His finger pointed at Eileen like a dagger, "You can believe just one side of the story?"

Eileen raised an eyebrow, but before she could speak, the elven messenger Irfan's gaze, as cold as frost on a winter night, fell upon Sigmund: "You mean, we elves are born liars?"

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze.

Sigmund's face flushed crimson, his fingers clenched slightly as if gripping an invisible sword hilt, and his voice suddenly rose: "This is Nosteria's internal affair! Outsiders have no right to interfere!"

The flames in the main hall seemed to flicker with the argument.

King Iser raised his hand slightly, signaling the suppression of his anger. His tone was unhurried yet carried an irresistible composure: "In that case, I will exchange a treasure from my national treasury for this Radiant Sword with your country. How about that? I imagine that after you obtained the Radiant Sword, you must have had every member of your royal family test it, right? I suspect that none of you have gained its approval. So, to you, it is merely a finely crafted but silent sword."

He paused briefly, his gaze sharp as if cutting through their concerns: "And I will exchange a true treasure for what you see as an ordinary sword. You won't lose out in this deal."

As soon as those words were spoken, it was as if a flame had ignited in everyone's eyes within the hall.