From the moment I was chosen by the holy relic

Leading the way was Sir Sigmund, the metallic clang of his armor clearly audible, as if he were deliberately suppressing his rage. His adjutant hurried to catch up, whispering, "My lord, if we truly hand over the Radiant Sword, His Majesty may not agree."

Sigmund scoffed, "I know. But you also know that the Radiant Sword is just an ordinary sword to us. If Iser were to exchange it for a treasure from the national treasury, we couldn't refuse."

On the other side of the corridor, Duke White Rock and his entourage were whispering: "Although Gray Tower is a neutral place, once the army guarding the pendant is stationed there year-round, its supplies and food will inevitably have to be purchased from the surrounding countries. Whoever controls the supply line will have more say."

In the courtyard outside the palace, Talia leaned against a stone pillar, gazing up at the night sky. She exhaled a puff of white breath and chuckled like a wolf from the North: "Ha, these southerners, all talk and no action, all they're good for. If the pendant were truly in danger, thirty Northern axemans would be enough to hold off any enemy. But they insist on bringing up supply lines and treasure. They should have spent a night freezing in the snow to teach them what a real enemy is."

Her adjutant behind her couldn't help but laugh out loud: "Sir, should we add our men to the Gray Tower's garrison list?"

Talia licked her lips, her eyes sharp as knives: "Of course. If the forces of darkness really attack, I'd like to see if my axe is faster, or their scheme is faster."

In the most secluded side corridor, Levin was speaking in hushed tones with one of his merchant advisors. His tone was flippant, yet sharp and incisive: "Ha, those warriors and mages talk about ideals and responsibilities, but they don't realize that the Gray Tower's garrison, supplies, and equipment all cost money. A lot of money."

The advisor nodded: "This is precisely our opportunity in Astra. If we can control the flow of military funds, the protection of the pendant will be in our hands."

Levin's smile revealed a hint of cunning: "This time we're going to make a fortune; money is the foundation of a nation."

As the night breeze blew, the lights of the royal city gradually illuminated the figures of those emerging from the main hall. Surrounded by their respective entourages, they walked further and further away, saying nothing more to each other, their long shadows intertwining on the stone slabs.

Over the next few days, the atmosphere in the capital gradually cooled. After polite greetings and superficial friendliness, envoys from various countries set off to return to their respective kingdoms. Carriages and cavalry formations drove away from the capital's main road in droves, while the common people watched from afar, their hearts filled with both curiosity and a touch of unease. They knew they were witnessing a turning point in the future of the continent.

However, not everyone was in a hurry to leave. Levin of Astra remained in the capital, like a quiet yet stubborn snake, lurking in the shadows. Instead of rushing back to the capital, he frequently visited the trading posts and taverns around the palace, secretly establishing connections with the city's merchants.

A few weeks later, the clanging of metal echoed through the hall once more. Sir Sigmund entered, clad in armor, his figure like an iron wall, heavy and solemn. In his arms lay a longsword bound in layers of silk and chains—the Radiant Sword.

Many held their breath as the sword's shadow was reflected in the torchlight. Even bound, it still shimmered faintly, as if whispering between the stone walls.

"It seems the King of Nosteria has agreed," Eileen said softly, her gaze complex.

Sigmund's expression was cold and hard, but his tone suppressed a certain resentment: "My king's will cannot be disobeyed. Now that this sword has been approved, the exchange agreement should be observed."

King Iser had a long box made of adamantite and ebony brought in. The moment the lid was opened, everyone heard a deep clanging sound, as if an invisible blade had sliced ​​through the air.

Lying quietly inside was a suit of armor.

The armor wasn't gleaming gold, but rather shimmered with a deep silver light, its surface seemingly reflecting the moon's shadow. It was forged from some kind of lost star iron, and ancient runes faintly appeared on the armor plates, flickering like a heartbeat with each breath.

"This is the Lionheart Armor."

King Iser spoke slowly, his voice echoing through the hall, carrying an undeniable authority.

"Its origins are unknown. Legend has it that during the ancient wars of the gods, it was forged by a war god and bestowed upon his most loyal mortal warriors. The armor is not only indestructible, but it can also respond to the wearer's will. If one's will is pure and one's fighting spirit is burning, Lionheart itself will respond to his call, causing the enemy army to collapse under the invisible threat."

The king's voice continued in a deep, resonant tone: "The Radiant Sword may not answer your king, but this Lionheart Armor will be the strongest shield for Nosteria. It will not betray you, nor will it refuse anyone who has the courage to wear it."

At that moment, the air in the hall seemed to freeze.

A flicker of undisguised fervor finally flashed in Sigmund's eyes. As a knight of Nosteria, he could tell at a glance that this armor was no mere decoration; it was a true symbol of a warrior's honor and weaponry.

He spoke with difficulty: "My king is aware of the value of this item, and therefore agrees to the exchange. From this day forward, the Lionheart Armor belongs to Nosteria."

The exchange is complete. The Radiant Sword and the Lionheart Armor fell into different hands at the same time, as if the scales of fate had been recalibrated at this moment.

The next morning.

Eric was summoned to the main hall.

As he ascended the long steps, the Radiant Sword lay quietly on the stone platform at the end of the red carpet. No longer bound by chains, it stood silently, as if waiting for someone.

King Iser stood beside the sword, his voice deep yet carrying an unwavering strength: "This sword was awakened by your blood, Eric, and now it returns to your hands. The wielder is not merely a successor of blood, but a bearer of destiny. Are you willing to bear this responsibility?"

Eric's heart skipped a beat. He slowly stepped forward, each step feeling as if he were treading on his own soul.

Just as his fingers were about to touch the hilt of the sword, a familiar yet irritating voice came from the side corridor.

"Ah! We've finally reached this point!"

Levin appeared out of nowhere, hands behind his back, his eyes gleaming with the predatory light of a hunter eyeing its prey. His tone carried a flippant smirk, yet couldn't conceal his greed and anticipation: "The Radiant Sword, a legendary weapon, could I witness its true splendor?"

The hall fell silent instantly. The king did not respond, but merely glanced at Levin indifferently. His brows did not furrow, yet a clear disdain and indifference were conveyed. To him, this envoy from the Shang Kingdom was nothing more than a clown obsessed with gold and profit.

But Levin seemed to completely ignore that gaze, becoming even more excited instead, his eyes fixed on Eric as if anticipating some impending miracle.

Inside the hall, the air seemed to solidify into a thick curtain.

With a complex and heavy heart, Eric slowly stepped forward. He felt a surge of gratitude towards King Iser, but at the same time, an invisible fear gripped his chest. If he failed again, he would not only betray the precious gift of the Lionheart Armor, but also the king's trust and expectations.

He took a deep breath and gripped the Radiant Sword tightly. The hilt was cold and hard, as if he were holding a piece of merciless, cold iron. He closed his eyes, praying with all his might, hoping for even the slightest response from the sword.

however.

Nothing happened.

The Radiant Sword remained cold and silent, like a dead stone. Eric's heart sank to the bottom.

Silence spread through the hall, as if even the air itself was mocking his incompetence.

"Sigh," Levin sighed deeply, his tone filled with undisguised disappointment and sarcasm. He shook his head, his gaze lingering on Eric for a moment, his expression seeming to say: Even you are nothing special.

Eric's cheeks burned. He was so ashamed he almost wanted to lower his head, his hands stiffening, unsure how to retract them. He felt every gaze was like a sharp blade, dissecting him inch by inch.

King Iser frowned slightly and waved his hand, "That's enough, all of you may leave."

His tone wasn't harsh, but it carried an undeniable sense of disappointment.

At that moment, Eric felt as if his heart had been crushed. That was the look in his eyes that he least wanted to see.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the high windows, illuminating Eric's face. He was summoned to the king's bedchamber, his heart still heavy with sorrow, and he dared not even raise his head.

The air in the hall seemed to still carry the lingering awkwardness of yesterday. Summoned once more to the throne, Eric felt a heavy weight in his heart. Yesterday's events, like a sharp blade, had left deep wounds on his pride and hopes. The Radiant Sword remained silent, yet he felt as if the gaze of the entire kingdom had turned into cold, hard stones, pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe.

King Iser sat alone on the high steps, today without the clamor of his courtiers or the prying eyes of foreign envoys. His expression was more serene than yesterday, even carrying a hint of an enigmatic smile. He raised his hand, gesturing for Eric to come forward.

"You may be blaming yourself," the king's deep voice echoed in the hall like the sound of ancient war drums, "but have you ever considered why I didn't let you try the sword as soon as it arrived?"

Eric's heart skipped a beat. He looked up, puzzled. "Your Majesty, could it be that the sword—"

"Fake," the king uttered softly.

Eric was struck dumb, blurting out, "Fake?!"

A cold glint flashed in the king's eyes: "Indeed. I ordered craftsmen to forge a replica using mithril and phantom runes. Its appearance is almost indistinguishable from the real thing, but it is empty inside, devoid of any soul. Yesterday, I deliberately let you test the sword in front of everyone, just to make that greedy Levin give up."

Eric suddenly understood, yet a jolt ran through him. He murmured, "So you're worried he'll use this to his advantage?"

A cold smile curled at the corner of the king's lips: "How could I not know Levin's scheme? That cunning fox of Astra will surely find a way to bring you back, crown you with the so-called Chosen One of the Radiant Sword, and he will create a frenzy among merchants. Astra will not need to shed a single soldier, yet he can amass wealth from across the land through mere prestige. And you, Eric, will become their walking banner, drowning in gold and lies."

Eric held his breath, the shame and disappointment in his heart gradually replaced by another emotion—gratitude and surprise. He hadn't expected that this composed king had planned everything so meticulously.