Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer

Chapter 180: The Nameless

Percival unceremoniously stepped over the threshold and entered into the Diamond Vault. He’d been in vaults like this, so the Merchant’s efforts to be theatrical were wasted on him.

The Vault was like many he’d seen before; a subterranean hall of obsidian and white marble lit by the soft, rhythmic pulsing of mana-crystals infused into the metal plating of the ceiling.

Dozens of obsidian pedestals rose from the floor, each topped with a velvet cushion and shielded by a dome of translucent force.

Within these domes sat the items that caused the high mana density that filled this confined place.

The Merchant walked with a soft, padded gait, his eyes darting toward the heavy gold pouch Percival held with a predatory hunger he could no longer hide.

Every clink of the coins was like a heartbeat to him.

"You are walking among the summit of human craft, sir," the Merchant whispered, the proud, hungry smile unable to leave his face. "Some were even made by the Mount Dwarves. But hey, I can promise you something."

He leaned over to his side, grinning wider. "What we have here isn’t just the S-Grades with unbelievable power. Every piece in this vault also has a history that would make a Bard weep. We sell more than just ’equipment’ here."

Percival stood still, seemingly impressed. "I don’t care much for history," he said.

The Merchant smirked. "We’ll see."

He led Percival toward the center, stopping before a massive claymore that radiated a blinding, golden aura.

"Behold, ’The Solar Aegis.’ S-Grade. Forged from the core of a falling star. Its damage output is—"

"No shields," Percival interrupted before inspecting the item. "Besides, the mana refraction on the edge is too high. The moment it hits a darkness-aspected barrier, the feedback will travel straight up the hilt and shatter the user’s wrists."

The Merchant’s smile froze. He scurried to keep up as Percival moved deeper into the vault, passing by a legendary spear and a set of intricate daggers.

"So you’re here for a sword then?"

"Yes."

"Wait, wait! Perhaps the ’Frost-Soul’ rapier? A-Grade. It freezes the very air—"

"And it’s made of Glacial Silver," Percival stated without turning his head. "Which means it has a 12% lower durability threshold than standard steel."

"So," he looked over his shoulder with one dark blue eye, "not that one either."

Percival turned and continued down the aisle of some of the so-called greatest weaponry.

He rejected a hammer because the center of gravity was three millimeters too far back. He rejected a Flamebound Sword, a Magma blade and a Thunder Rapier.

The Merchant was sweating now, his professional mask crumbling. He had dealt with Heroes and Guild Leaders, but he had never met a Wanderer who stripped away the ’glory’ of a Relic to reveal its mechanical flaws.

"How did you get so informed on weaponry, huh?" the Merchant asked, his suspicion finally boiling over. "You talk of ’mana feedback’ and ’durability thresholds’ like a Lvl 100 Blacksmith. What kind of Wanderer are you anyway?"

Percival stopped to look at him.

"Unless you’re not a Wanderer at all," the Merchant said with a knowing smile. "A Crest Shield, huh?"

Percival didn’t say anything. He only remained still, allowing the Merchant to decide how he wanted to play this.

Whatever way, Percival would still win.

But the Merchant paused, looking at the gold pouch again, his greed quickly strangling his suspicion.

"Ah, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. You could be the Demon Lord’s son for all I care, as long as your coin is as heavy as your words. If it’s function you want, then follow me to the back."

Percival thought the Merchant made the right choice.

They reached the most shadowed corner of the vault. Two pedestals sat here, devoid of the gaudy, luminous auras of the items at the front.

Percival stopped. His gaze locked onto a scythe.

Its blade was a deep, matte violet that seemed to absorb the starlight from the ceiling, and the haft was wrapped in a rough, weather-beaten black leather.

⸢Weapon: Midnight’s Lament (A-Grade)⸥

⸢Attack: +85⸥

⸢Intelligence: +12⸥

⸢Aspect: Soul-Reap — Successful strikes on enemies below 15% health have a 30% chance to execute them instantly, siphoning 10% of their maximum mana back to the user⸥

⸢Aspect: Weightless Void — When held, the user ignores the physical weight of the weapon, increasing attack speed by 25% despite its size⸥

Percival gazed at the weapon for a moment. Since losing the War-Scythe in the Demon Gate World, he’d known he had to get a new one, and from the looks of it, Midnight’s Harvest was looking like the perfect replacement.

And an upgrade.

"The Scythe," Percival mused, reaching out to feel the cold mana radiating through the force field.

"The Scythe?" the Merchant repeated. "You want a scythe?"

"The balance point is shifted toward the neck. The blade curve is designed for a pull-cut, not a swing. And with that secondary Aspect, control would be much easier."

"Most find it awkward," the Merchant admitted, impressed despite himself. "They say it feels ’dead’ in their hands. But... if you can make use of it."

"I certainly can," Percival said. He turned to the final pedestal.

It held a straight, double-edged longsword. It had no crossguard, no jewels, and no ornate pommel.

The metal was a dull, featureless grey. It looked like a training sword a Squire would use, yet it occupied the most protected spot in the Diamond Vault.

⸢Weapon: Nameless Void-Ender (S-Grade)⸥

⸢Attack: +145⸥

⸢Dexterity: +20⸥

⸢Strength: +15⸥

⸢Aspect: Reality-Shear — This blade does not cut physical matter; it cuts the space matter occupies. Ignores 100% of Physical and Magical Defense. Attacks cannot be parried by weapons below A-Grade⸥

⸢Aspect: Echo of the Abyss — Every strike leaves a ’Ghost-Cut’ in the air. After 2 seconds, the cut detonates, dealing 50% of the initial damage as True Damage.⸥

Percival felt a chill of genuine excitement.

The Nameless.

What the hell was the Nameless doing here?

He knew this sword. It was no ordinary weapon, no ordinary blade; it was a localized collapse of reality. It didn’t have an ’aura’ because it was busy consuming its own mana signature to remain stable.

How did it get here?

"Ah," the Merchant saw his interest. "You like that bland looking thing? The Aspect is pretty unbelievable, but most just ignore it because of its plain design."

"I want it," Percival whispered. "This is the most honest thing in this city."

The Merchant stared at the grey blade, then at Percival. "I’ve had Kings reject that sword because it wasn’t ’grand’ enough. You chose it in five seconds. You truly have a terrifying eye, Wanderer."

"It’s almost a waste that these were made by the same man, and he isn’t here to see you pick them."

Percival’s hand hovered over the Nameless blade. He realized that the Merchant was right. The sword and the scythe had similar forgery features.

"Do you know who the Blacksmith was?" he asked the Merchant.

"I do," the Merchant said, almost excited to be the one sounding knowledgeable. "They were forged by a legend who spent years as a simple Blacksmith before his soul awakened. When he finally did awaken, he gained the Class of an Artificer."

"But he basically lived as some kind of hybrid. He wasn’t officially a Blacksmith, but he had such stunning smithing that he continued with the unawakened Class, and used his awakened Artificer Class to empower the weapons he forged."

Percival stared. That was perhaps the coolest thing he’d heard since regressing.

"Tell me his name," Percival demanded.

The Merchant smirked. "Theumir Steelcane. He’s a legend in this city, Wanderer. And you are currently about to purchase two of his masterpieces."