I’d told Zen the situation, carefully edited, leaving out the most incriminating details but giving him enough to understand the severity.
Duke Glimor’s hunters were close. They were looking for Scarlet and . We needed to leave imdiately, before they reached the village and started asking questions that would put everyone in danger.
"If soone cos here looking for us," I said, keeping my voice level, "you can tell them we left. Say we went to wherever you think will send them in the wrong direction."
Zen nodded thoughtfully, his fingers drumming against his knee.
Then he smirked.
"Making a Duke hunt you personally..." His grin widened. "You sure are sothing, grandson-in-law."
My lips twitched. A vein bulged at my temple.
You idiot old man. I’m here having a hard ti and you’re just joking around like this is entertainnt.
I took a breath, forcing down the irritation.
Zen waved his hand dismissively.
"Don’t worry about it. You can rest assured... I’ll handle anyone who cos asking questions."
Before I could respond, he stood up with a grunt.
"Wait here for a minute. I have sothing for you."
He moved toward one of the back rooms.
I sat there in the quiet house, my thoughts racing.
After a few minutes, the footsteps announced Zen’s return.
He carried a wooden box. Dust covered the lid thick enough to suggest it hadn’t been opened in years.
He sat down across from and placed the box on the low table between us.
Then he brushed the dust off with one sleeve.
The resulting cloud made cough and wave my hand to clear the air.
"Sorry, sorry," Zen said, not sounding sorry at all.
He opened the lid with careful reverence.
Inside, nestled in faded red cloth, lay a sword.
The blade was maybe three feet long.
Longer than a standard short sword but shorter than a full longsword.
The steel had a distinctive dark grey color, almost black, with a faint pattern running along its length.
The guard was simple but elegant, curved slightly to protect the hand, with engravings too small to read from this distance. The grip was wrapped in worn black leather. The poml was weighted, balanced, a small crystal set into its base that glead faintly blue.
It looked like sothing that had seen real combat. Not ceremonial or decorative.
A weapon, in the truest sense.
"This," Zen said, his voice taking on a weight I hadn’t heard from him before, "Is Oathstorm."
He lifted the sword carefully from its case.
"I used this in the Northern Border Conflict. Carried it through every major engagent." His eyes went distant, rembering.
"This blade cut down the Warlord of the Crimson Peaks when he tried to breach the Third March. It held the line at the Serpent’s Pass when we were outnumbered eight to one. It was with when I earned the title of Warden."
He turned it slowly, letting the light play across the dark steel.
"This sword saved thousands of lives. Earned enough glory that a Marquess’s daughter decided I was worth throwing away her entire life for."
He gave a small smile.
"Not bad for a piece of folded tal."
He held it out to .
I stared at it, not moving.
"I—"
"You can," Zen interrupted.
"And you will." His expression was firm.
"My useless grandson is an idiot who doesn’t know which end of a sword to hold, let alone how to swing one. He’s going to be a rchant or a scholar and that’s fine... we need those too."
He then gestured with the sword.
"And I don’t want my precious princess," He clutched his free hand to his chest with exaggerated emotion, "My beautiful granddaughter with her gentle soul and kind heart..."
And he actually nuzzled his cheek against his clasped hands, "Getting blood on her delicate hands with crude violence when she’s ant for better things!"
My eye twitched.
Is he serious right now?
Zen’s grin suggested he was absolutely serious and also absolutely aware of how ridiculous he sounded.
"Point is," he continued, dropping the theatrics, "This sword needs soone who can use it. Soone worthy of its legacy." He looked at directly. "And it’s not like I’m giving it to a stranger. We’re going to be family, after all."
He winked.
I sighed, long and deep.
Then I activated my debug vision, focusing on the sword.
[WEAPON_SCAN]
item_id: "oathstorm"
classification: LEGENDARY
type: "longsword"
quality: PRISTINE
durability: 980/1000
weight: 2.1kg
enchantnts: {
effect_01: "edge_retention" → sharpness_never_degrades
effect_02: "storm_affinity" → lightning_damage 45%
when_channeling_mana → wind_resistance -60%
effect_03: "warden’s_resolve" → user_willpower 15 when_defending_others → fear_resistance 40%
effect_04: "battle_mory" → sword_retains_combat_experience → grants_insight_to_wielder (adaptive_learning)
}
restrictions: {
binding: "acknowledgnt_based"
current_owner: "Zen_forr_warden"
transfer: "requires_acceptance_by_sword"
}
My breath caught.
Legendary.
"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice quieter than intended.
Zen shrugged, but his eyes were serious.
"That sword chose when I was younger than you are now. Led through battles I had no business surviving. Beca part of in a way I can’t fully explain." He paused. "And now it’s ti for it to choose soone new. Soone who’ll actually use it. Soone who needs it."
He extended it again.
"Take it, Jin. It’s yours."
I reached out slowly and wrapped my fingers around the grip.
The mont my skin made contact, I felt it... a pulse of recognition, like the sword was aware and was evaluating in return.
[ACKNOWLEDGNT_PROCESS: INITIATED]
scanning_wielder_compatibility...
combat_experience: ACCEPTABLE
willpower: HIGH
intent: GENUINE
threat_assessnt:
MODERATE [ACKNOWLEDGNT: GRANTED]
binding_status: TRANSFERRED
new_owner: "Jin_Raith"
previous_owner: "Zen_forr_warden" (bond_severed)
The weight of it settled into my hand perfectly, like it had been made for specifically.
I stood up and gave a proper formal bow.
"Thank you..." Then added as an afterthought. "Grandfather-in-law."
Zen’s eyes went wide.
Then a smile crept across his face, growing into a full grin that threatened to split his weathered features.
I held up my hand before he could start.
"Don’t get used to it."
Too late.
Zen shot to his feet and laughed.
He gave an enthusiastic thumbs up.
"That’s my boy!" He was still grinning. "Co back alive and I’ll teach you my secret sword style. The real techniques I never taught anyone else."
He sobered slightly, his expression becoming more serious.
"Keep yourself safe. And when this ss with the Duke is settled, you co back here." His voice carried absolute certainty. "Because you’re family now. Whether you like it or not."
I looked at the sword in my hand that had cut down warlords and held impossible odds.
Then at the old man who’d given it to .
"I’ll try," I said.
"Don’t try. Do." Zen’s grin returned. "Because I already started planning the wedding, and I’ll be damned if I let a re Duke ruin my sches."
Despite everything I felt my lips twitch.
He walked to the door. "Now go."
I shook my head, strapped the sword to my belt and stepped out into the night.
"Jin."
I turned back.
Zen stood in the doorway, his expression uncharacteristically serious.
"That sword has killed a lot of people. And there’s a saying a sword can control its wielder..." His voice was quiet. "Don’t let it change who you are. It’s a tool. A powerful one. But still just a tool."
I nodded.
"And Jin?"
"Yeah?"
"If you get my granddaughter pregnant before the wedding, I’ll hunt you down myself."
I quickly turned and kicked a pebble to his direction.
But he closed the door and went inside laughing.
"Damn that geezer!"
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