Frostveil.
A cursed blade, sharp and radiant like moonlight on untouched snow—elegant, yet unforgiving.
It wasn’t so ancient relic lost to ti, but a modern mana weapon crafted by a skilled artisan. A triumph in craftsmanship... and a mistake.
The blade was forged using the fang of a nad beast—a Cryal Warden, a fearso apex predator that once ruled the frozen northern reaches. Its power was so imnse that just using a part of it twisted the very nature of the weapon.
Frostveil beca a fad sword despite its penalty—a weapon whispered about by rcenaries and adventurers alike, lauded for its terrifying strength and feared for its cost.
But it was also the reason she—once a proud swordswoman known for her technique—abandoned her discipline. She stopped chasing mastery of the blade... and instead, chased the blade itself.
That was how she lost her path.
That was how she beca sothing else.
A sword demon.
"I don’t show this to just anyone~"
She bead as she unsheathed Frostveil, her tone playful.
But the way that cursed steel shimred with a cold, unnatural light...
It sent a shiver down my spine.
That smile of hers made it even more unnerving.
As if she didn’t realize how dangerous that thing truly was.
Or maybe... she knew exactly what it was.
And smiled anyway.
We finished eating quietly, but the silence wasn’t comfortable anymore. Not after she unsheathed that thing.
Frostveil.
Even the na sounded ominous, like sothing out of an old hunter’s tale ant to scare children from wandering too far into the mountains.
Leona didn’t seem to notice my unease. She humd to herself, setting her plate down, stretching a little like a cat basking in the satisfaction of a good al—and the anticipation of sothing more.
"Alright," she said, standing up with a clap of her hands. "You’re full. I’m full. Now let’s go!"
I stared at my half-finished curry. The warmth had started to leave it.
"You an now?"
Leona tilted her head like it was the dumbest question in the world. "Of course now. You think I’m gonna give you ti to back out?"
I sighed, slowly placing my spoon down and pushing the plate aside. "You’re surprisingly aggressive when you’re in a good mood."
"You should be glad I’m in a good mood," she said, flashing that overly smug grin again. "Co on, slowpoke."
Before I could even protest, she grabbed my wrist and pulled up from my seat.
I stumbled to my feet, trying not to trip over the chair leg, and grabbed my coat on instinct. Not because it was cold—but because I suddenly felt exposed.
That sword... that thing she held like a toy...
It wasn’t just dangerous. It changed her in novel.
And she didn’t even know it.
As she tugged down the hallway, cheerful and light on her feet, I let my gaze drop to the sheathed blade at her hip.
I kept pace silently as we passed through the dorm’s common area and out into the dusky training field behind the building. The sun hadn’t fully set yet—orange streaks painted the sky, casting long shadows over the field.
She finally let go of my wrist once we reached the edge of the stone-lined sparring circle.
"This should be good enough," she said, placing her hands on her hips.
I followed a step behind her, eyes fixed on the way her fingers casually rested on the hilt of her sword—like it wasn’t just a weapon, but an extension of herself.
"Now, feast your eyes on this beauty," she said, a confident grin playing on her lips.
With a soft tallic whisper, she unsheathed her blade.
The sword—Frostveil—was a slender, single-edged weapon, almost unnaturally long. Its entire form, from hilt to blade, glead pure white. No gaudy embellishnts, no flashy gems. Just clean, cold elegance. The mont it was drawn, the air in the room felt colder.
It was the kind of weapon that demanded reverence, not through decoration, but through the sheer aura it gave off.
"How is it? Pretty cool, right?" Leona bead. "I don’t show this to just anyone, you know. You’re literally the only person on the planet who’s seen this. Feel honored."
Before I could say anything, that familiar voice echoed in my head again—Zaho Yuren, the old geezer soul that now lived rent-free in my consciousness.
— Not bad, he said, sounding surprisingly impressed. That blade’s forged from Everfrost Steel—second only to divine tal when it cos to crafting mystical weapons. It’s a tal so saturated in cold energy that most smiths can’t even touch it, let alone forge it.
’Huh?’
— And I can feel it... They infused the steel with the essence of a Snow Lion. A predator that thrives in ancient glacial regions. Normally, combining two strong yin-aligned forces would create imbalance, weakening the weapon. But here, they’ve harmonized the energies perfectly. The tal and the beast spirit don’t cancel each other—they elevate one another.
’Okay, that sounds impressive. But... isn’t that risky?’
— Very, Zaho replied. They preserved too much of the Snow Lion’s spirit. It still lingers inside the blade. And let tell you sothing—the Snow Lion wasn’t too fond of humans. That’s why the sword’s aura feels so... wild. Unstable. It’s a cursed blade in all but na.
’Perfect. Just perfect...’
— But... it chose her. That says a lot. She’s not just swinging it—she’s resonating with it. Guiding it. The sword’s not fighting her. It’s listening. She has the aptitude to ta that kind of spirit-bound weapon. That’s rare.
’Wait, what?’
That threw off. Leona? In the original tiline, she never bonded with any weapon like this. She struggled with low mana compatibility and clumsy sword handling. So how the hell was she pulling this off now?
Yet the Leona standing in front of was nothing like the one I rembered from the original story.
She looked... composed. In control. Almost regal as she held Frostveil with both hands and moved it through the air in a fluid arc.
No possession. No backlash. Just harmony.
"What do you think?" she asked, glancing at with a proud smirk.
I hesitated for a mont, still unsure how to reconcile this with what I knew about her.
"It’s..." I blinked. "Honestly? It’s kind of terrifying. But also... beautiful."
Her smirk widened. "Damn right it is."
Suddenly, I found her next , with that terrifying sword in her hand.
Honestly I thought she would attacked the next mont, but she didn’t do that anything.
Instead she put her head slightly closer to mine, now we are only just few inches apart from each other.
...And let tell you, my heart was beating like it’s going crazy every mont.
Her eyes t mine and she whispered slowly.
"...Now, what do you think? Do you think I’ll still loose to Ryen and Leo?"
I froze and I swallowed hard.
The closeness. Her breath on my cheek. The weight of her words. The cursed sword humming faintly beside . It was too much, too fast. My head spun.
She wasn’t teasing anymore.
There was a strange intensity in her eyes—burning, focused. The kind of look you only see on people who know they’ve changed... and want the world to see it too.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
Finally, I found my voice. "....Maybe You won’t lose?" I said quietly. "Not with that thing. Not with the way you’re wielding it."
Her eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but in satisfaction. She slowly backed away, the distance between us returning to sothing sane, though the tension in the air stayed like frost on the wind.
"Good answer," she said, twirling Frostveil in one hand and smoothly sliding it back into its sheath.
Ryen and Leo, you guys needs to watch your back now.
Leona is really strong now.
".... Just you wait. I’ll win every match."
Maybe she will after all.
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