Back to the Moment Kal Seized the Broken Sword

"I'll take that one." Nyxander's voice was firm, steady as iron, his gaze locked onto the fractured blade. The old merchant's lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes gleaming like someone who had just found an eager fool.

"Ah, you have a sharp eye, young man," the merchant murmured, lifting the weapon slightly as if presenting it to the heavens.

In that moment, Nyxander's thoughts stirred like ripples on a still pond, and a silent thread of telepathic energy stretched towards Nullpoint.

"I don't like the way this man is looking at me. Something feels off. But I can't ignore this feeling I have toward that sword."

"Understood, Master." Nullpoint's voice echoed in his mind, a quiet presence within the silence of thought.

The merchant finally extended the broken sword, its jagged edge reflecting slivers of flickering lantern light. "This sword was forged with Primordial Bone, a rarity beyond measure," he declared, his voice laced with the cadence of a practiced salesman. "Though it is broken, its strength remains… interesting."

His gaze flickered to Nyxander, as if assessing whether he was truly worthy of wielding such an artifact. Finally, he named his price. "Seventeen Fate Coins."

In the same instant, Nullpoint's warning hummed through Nyxander's consciousness, sharp and unyielding. "It's true that part of the sword was forged with Primordial Bone, but the components used alongside it contradict each other. It should have been a failure from the start. Over time, that rejection effect has fully taken hold, making it nothing more than useless scrap. Master, I urge you not to take it."

Nyxander's eyes narrowed slightly, but before he could react, Kal's hand shot forward, snatching the broken sword from the old merchant's open palm.

Fast Forward: When Nyxander Dared Kal to Strike His Arm

The jagged remains of the broken sword stood like a monolith against the night sky, its fractured edge catching the faint glow of distant stars. Kal held it high, arrogance radiating from every inch of his posture. Across from him, Nyxander remained still, his outstretched arm a pillar of defiance, unwavering beneath the weight of the moment.

"Master," Nullpoint's voice threaded into his mind once more, low and urgent. "Although the sword is now mere trash, the fact remains that part of it was forged with Primordial Bone. If you are cut, the energy emanating from the wound could reveal your identity."

Nyxander's lips barely moved as he replied in thought. "Understood. In that case, create a layer of fabric with your body, just enough to prevent that from happening." "As you command."

Back to the Present

The world stood frozen. Every eye that bore witness to the moment remained locked in mute disbelief. Jaws fell slack, limbs stiffened, and the hush that followed was so absolute, it felt as though the black market itself had lost its voice.

Those who had shut their eyes, unable to bear the sight of impending bloodshed, now hesitantly peeked through trembling fingers, only to be met with an impossible sight.

Lumina, from where she stood watching, exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her right palm resting against her chest before lowering in quiet relief. For all her cold demeanor, even she had been unable to ignore the weight of the moment.

Hildred, the Astro Lord, observing from the distant rooftop, let out a short scoff of amusement. A smile, subtle yet knowing, curved his lips. Behind him, Hung's expression remained unreadable, but his gaze clung to the scene with unwavering focus, as though he expected the moment to replay itself, as though he needed to confirm it had truly happened.

And at the center of it all. The only thing left was the whisper of the night breeze, carrying the shattered remnants of the sword as they clinked against the solid ground.

The weight of the moment still lingered in the air, thick as fog, pressing down on the stunned silence of the crowd.

Beorn took a step closer, his breath hitching as his eyes darted toward Nyxander's arm, the very same arm that should have borne a wound, a gash, something, anything. His fingers trembled slightly as he grabbed Nyxander's sleeve, peeling back the torn fabric with deliberate urgency, his pulse hammering against his temples. Yet, what he found made his disbelief spiral further

Nothing, not a single cut, not even a faint scratch, only the frayed remnants of his sleeve, a mere casualty of the broken sword's impact. Beorn's gaze snapped up to Nyxander's face, then back to his arm, then back again, as if his mind refused to bridge the gap between logic and reality.

Nyxander, however, simply pulled his arm away with the ease of someone who had just swatted away a trivial inconvenience. His expression, composed yet edged with quiet amusement, stood in stark contrast to the chaos swirling in Beorn's mind. "I told you, everything is fine," Nyxander said, his voice carrying a note of casual certainty.

Then, without hesitation, he turned toward the crowd, lifting his right arm high, letting the starlight kiss the spot where Kal's blade had failed to leave a mark. Gasps rippled through the market, a wave of disbelief crashing into the churning sea of murmurs.

"This so-called sword was forged as a failure," Nyxander declared, his voice unwavering. "And after being used by its first owner, it deteriorated into nothing more than scrap metal—a discarded husk of what it once pretended to be."

Then, with calculated precision, his gaze cut through the air like a blade, landing on the old merchant whose trembling hands were now coiled tightly around his pouch of Fate Coins. The man's shoulders hunched, his fingers clutching the money as if it were his last lifeline.

"This man," Nyxander continued, his voice slow, deliberate, each word a nail hammered into the merchant's exposed deception, "was fully aware of this fact… yet he still brought it here, hoping to swindle a clueless buyer."

The murmurs in the crowd swelled into hushed exclamations, but Nyxander wasn't finished. His eyes darkened with something colder, sharper, a blade of its own. "I was moments away from figuring that out when someone rushed in, throwing money before even looking at what he was buying." He paused, letting his words settle into the crowd like seeds of revelation. "And in his arrogance, no, in his blinding arrogance, he even paid extra."

A few in the crowd stifled chuckles, their previous awe toward Kal now morphing into something closer to ridicule. Nyxander's voice took on a contemplative note, as if unraveling a simple but profound truth. "There is only a thin line between intelligence and foolishness, one so fragile, a single misstep is enough to cross it. To be foolish is not a crime. It does not make one worthy of pity, for none are born immune to it."

Then, like a dagger slipping between armor, his next words struck deep. "But what does make you pitiful… is refusing to accept your own foolishness."

A shudder passed through Kal and his subordinates. Their once-arrogant grins had vanished, replaced by stiffened expressions, their foreheads glistening with sweat as if standing beneath the scorching gaze of an unforgiving sun. None of them dared to meet Nyxander's eyes now, their stares glued to the ground, as if praying for it to split open and swallow them whole.

A voice rang out from the crowd. "We must have misjudged him! How can someone just throw money before even seeing what they're buying?"

"Yeah! And not just that, he paid extra for something completely useless!" Another laughed.

"His colleagues praised him for finding gold among the scrap, unaware that what he had actually picked was the real trash.What a fascinating bunch of fools."

The murmuring swelled, voices rising in agreement. The once-curious crowd had now turned, their fingers pointed not at Nyxander, but at Kal and his group, their whispers weaving together into a chorus of ridicule.

Amidst the commotion, Nyxander's gaze wandered, traveling past the mass of onlookers, until it locked onto a particular face, Lumina.

She stood beside Seraphina, watching him with an expression that, for the briefest moment, was not cold, nor detached, but something softer. A faint smile ghosted across her lips, so subtle it might have been a trick of the dim lighting.

But the moment she realized Nyxander had caught it, her expression hardened instantly, the warmth vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Nyxander simply smiled at her before turning away, choosing not to call attention to the moment.

Behind him, Lumina exhaled quietly, as if steadying something within herself. Then, without another word, she pivoted on her heel. "Let's go," she said coolly.

"Big sis, wait for me!" Seraphina called after her, scrambling to follow, Dunstan right on her heels as the stars above twinkling, bearing silent witness to yet another tale woven into the vast, endless fabric of the cosmos.

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