Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer

Chapter 181: Seven Great Swords

Percival’s hand lingered over the matte-grey surface of the Nameless. The weight of the metal felt right, but the weight of the legacy felt even heavier.

He’d always known that all seven of the swords had been made by real Blacksmiths, but he’d never expected to find the freaking Nameless in this place.

He looked up at the Merchant, his eyes searching.

"Where is he?" Percival asked quietly. "Where can I find this Theumir?"

The Merchant let out a slow, weary breath and adjusted his velvet robes.

"In a grave, traveler," the Merchant replied, his voice dropping an octave. "Theumir Steelcane died many years ago. The world has a way of wearing down those who create too much beauty and too much terror. He burnt out like a star that used up all its fuel."

Percival’s brow furrowed. A master of that caliber should have been protected by the Crown or guarded by a High-Tier Guild. Or at least immortalized.

He made the freaking Nameless.

"How did he end up in a grave? Where is he buried?"

The Merchant hesitated, looking toward the golden doors as if checking for eavesdroppers. "I don’t know any much more, wanderer.

"If you truly wish to pay your respects—or whatever it is you want—you can head to that small village on the edge of the province. Deathlehem. Go there and ask around. The locals might tell you a thing or two about him."

Percival froze. It was almost like he’d been struck with a flashbang.

Deathlehem? His mind raced, a surge of genuine shock rippling through his thoughts. Well what a stunning surprise.

The same village he was residing in was somehow connected with the Blacksmith who created the Nameless Void-Ender.

Why didn’t I know this in my past life? Percival thought, his jaw tightening. Was I too focused on the frontline? Or was he so obscure that even the Sword Saint never heard his name?

"Why there?" Percival asked, his voice carefully controlled despite the internal turmoil. "Why would Deathlehem know anything about him?"

"Because that’s where he was from," the Merchant said simply, turning toward the exit. "Genius often returns to the mud it sprang from when it’s finished with the world. Now, if we are done with the history lesson, we have the matter of the bill."

The trek back to the main counter was conducted in a silence that was far more professional. The Merchant tapped a series of runes onto a ledger, the ink glowing as it calculated the final sum.

"For the Nameless S-Grade Longsword and the Midnight’s Lament A-Grade Scythe... the total comes to sixty two gold pieces," the Merchant announced, his eyes fixed on Percival’s pouch with unmasked hunger.

Percival expected such a high price, though he was still surprised. He reached into his cloak and produced the heavy stacks of gold.

Sixty-two gold pieces left his pouch, leaving him with eighteen. Percival had some gold before exchanging in the temple earlier for more, anticipating the price to be this steep.

The Merchant swept the coins away with practiced speed, his fingers almost trembling with delight. "A pleasure, sir. Truly a pleasure. You have made our month."

"I’m not finished," Percival said, his voice cold. "Take me to the items center. I have more to acquire."

"Of course! Immediately!" The Merchant barked at a nearby Page to clear the path.

They moved to a separate wing of the establishment, one filled with glass cases containing shimmering crystals, leather-bound scrolls, and artifacts of utility.

A Junior Merchant, a young woman with sharp eyes and a silver quill tucked behind her ear, stepped forward.

"Sarah," the Merchant said, his voice unusually polite. "Make sure to serve this gentleman well. He has... discerning tastes."

He gave Percival a respectful nod and retreated to his office to count his new fortune. Sarah turned to Percival, a professional yet curious smile on her face. "How can I assist you, traveler?"

"I need a high-grade magical compass," Percival said. "And two books. One detailing the greatest Awakeners of every Class throughout history, and another on the Seven Great Swords."

Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. She paused, her silver quill hovering over her notepad. "A magical compass is standard enough, but those texts... you have an interesting range of interests.,x

She studied his face. "Most Wanderers want maps of Demonspawn dens or herb guides. To look for the Seven Great Swords... you should know, the hunt has already begun. Swordsmen from every corner of the realm have already set out on their travels to claim them."

Percival’s expression remained a mask of iron. He wasn’t worried. He knew the frenzy the Seven Great Swords created.

He remembered the blood that would be spilled over them in the years to come. In his past life, he had been the one to end that hunt.

He had claimed the Seventh—the Kingdom Sword—and it was that blade that had cemented his status as the Sword Saint.

He knew where most of them were hidden. He knew which ones were traps and which were genuine.

But most importantly, he already had one of them.

When Sarah saw he wasn’t interested in a chat, she let him know she’d be right back, then disappeared into the stacks.

Five minutes later, she returned. She placed a bronze-cased compass on the counter. Beside it, she laid two thick, leather-bound volumes.

One was titled The Pantheon of Legends: A Compendium of the Greatest Awakeners, and the other was a weathered, heavy book titled The Seven Swords: The Great Blades of Evernia.

"The compass is two gold. The books are five gold each," Sarah said. "They are rare prints, especially the one on the Great Swords. Most of the copies were bought up by the Guilds weeks ago."

Percival paid the gold without a word, sliding the items into his inventory. The golden light of the system swallowed them whole.

"Thank you," Percival said, turning toward the exit.

"Good luck on your search, traveler," Sarah called out after him. "I hope you find what you’re looking for before the Swordsmen do."

Percival didn’t answer. He stepped out of the Eternal Forge and into the cool night air of Crimson City.

It was pretty dark now, but the city was still alive with noise. Percival began his journey back to the village, his mind was already there though.

He couldn’t help but think of Theumir Steelcane and what Deathlehem had to do with him.

Perhaps Percival had found himself a Soul Soldier to forge weapons and armor not just for him, but his Summons too.