Mary finally returned to the tavern, his fingers still curled around the rusted black sword. Blood from his earlier wound had dried on his palm, leaving a faint, sticky residue against the crossguard.
He walked behind the counter, propped the sword against a nearby wall, and immediately went to wash his hands. The cold water stung as it ran over the cuts, but he ignored it.
With a sigh, he glanced around. Trevor still wasn't back.
Good.
The last thing he needed was to explain why he had disappeared or why he was holding some old, cursed-looking sword.
Once his hands were clean, Mary examined them closely. A faint bruise had formed where the thorny hilt had cut him earlier, but thankfully, it wasn't too noticeable.
His eyes flickered back to the rusted weapon.
Something about it unsettled him.
Every time he looked at it, a strange chill crawled up his spine.
Is it a Devourer? Mary wondered. Or just a regular, rusted sword?
Shaking his head, he rummaged through the tavern's storage and found an old pair of leather gloves. He slipped them on, flexing his fingers before cautiously approaching the black sword.
Mary hesitated for a moment — then grasped the hilt.
To his relief, the gloves protected his hands from the needle-like thorns on the grip.
He lifted the weapon slightly, marveling at how effortlessly Luca had wielded it barehanded.
He must have gotten used to it.
Mary gave the blade a light, experimental swing. It felt heavy, unbalanced. Not the kind of weapon someone would use if they had a choice.
If I were a Hunter… or had even a decent amount of magic, maybe I could handle this too...
Probably.
Lowering the sword, Mary sighed.
His thoughts drifted back to Luca — and the dungeon.
That guy had actually walked into the most dangerous part of the underground. Even the strongest warriors and seasoned explorers avoided it, refusing to go near its cursed depths.
There were rumors.
An urban legend whispered among mercenaries and travelers.
They said that those who entered the dungeon never returned the same.
Some grew sick. Others suffered horrifying hallucinations — visions of things that weren't there. The Beast and Abominations that were strong as 3th Rank were hiding there for their new prey to come. And then, there were those who went mad, their minds rotting away until they turned on their own comrades, Eating them alive.
Cannibals... turning into Monsters.
Lost souls who wandered the dungeon until their bodies twisted into something inhuman.
People decided to name that Dungeon:
The Tunnel of Torment.
Mary shuddered.
Crazy bastard.
With a quiet sigh, he muttered,
"Well… best of luck, I guess."
Not that Luca guy seemed like the type to need luck.
Turning his attention back to the sword, Mary leaned in for a closer look. The black blade was covered in deep scratches, decay and rust, but faint symbols were still visible along its length — ancient engravings, their meanings long forgotten.
But it also proved that it really was a Devourer! Since every Devourer had their own ancient Sympols engraved to it.
sure... Some people might say that might be fake and it just a regular sword.
But Mary was sure if it. It was a Real deal.
He then took another closer look and noticed that there were some stains.
Dark red, dried into the grooves of the blade.
Mary exhaled slowly.
Blood...
How many people had this sword cut down? How many lives had it taken? And more importantly…
Why did Luca leave it behind?
Mary stared at the black blade in silence before sighing.
So many questions, yet no answers.
Shaking his head, he decided to let it go —for now. Leaving the sword against the nearby wall, he turned his attention to something far more interesting: the heavy bag of money that Luca gave it to Mary.
Curious, Mary loosened the strings and peeked inside — his eyes widened.
He had expected to see copper coins, maybe a few gold 1, 2 or 5 gellies. Instead, the bag was filled with gold coins an crisp paper notes.
And there were alot of them.
He picked up one of the gold coins, turning it between his fingers. It shimmered under the dim tavern light, its surface engraved with intricate symbols. On one side, the sideprofile of a man wearing a crown — a familiar face.
Arthur the Great.
Hero. Conqueror. The first king of Balash.
Mary let out a low whistle.
"Holy shit… just how rich was that guy?"
His lips curled into a grin.
"If this is what Hunters make, maybe I should become one."
Chuckling, he started counting the money, flipping through the thick paper notes with a same drawings of King Arthur. Each was marked with either 100 or 200 Gallies — and there were a ton of them.
Halfway through, Mary spotted a folded piece of paper tucked between the coins. Curious, he pulled it out and unfolded it.
'12.04.1867.'
He frowned.
A date? What did it mean?
With no immediate answers, he shrugged and shoved the note back into the bag.
Since it was getting late, he announced the customers that the tavern was now closing. Most stood and left, some stubbornly didn't leave but when Mary mentioned Travor they backed down and left. The tavern was now empty and Mary closed the front door and went back to counting money.
10 minutes later. As he finished counting, the tavern door swung open.
Mary looked up as a tall, broad-shouldered man strode inside, carrying two massive barrels — one under each muscular arm. His dark bronze skin glistened slightly with sweat, and his bald head reflected the dim lantern light.
It was Trevor.
"Boss!" Mary stood up and hurried over, still holding the bag. "That guy you told me about — he came by and left this. I, uh… I kinda counted it, and — it's over 12,600 Gallies!"
Trevor's sharp gaze flicked to the bag before he effortlessly snatched it from Mary's hands. His expression darkened.
"Boy," he said, voice gruff. "Did you just count my money without my permission?"
Mary swallowed hard.
"…Uh."
He let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with an innocent smile.
Trevor stared at him for a long moment, then sighed, shaking his head with a grumble.
"If ya weren't the son of my buddy, I would've knocked your ass clean off for this."
Mary laughed nervously again.
"Haha… noted."
Mary hesitated for a moment before adding,
"Oh, speaking of notes… There was a piece of paper in the bag. Looked like a date or something."
Trevor's thick eyebrows rose slightly. He opened the bag, rummaged through the gold and paper notes, and pulled out the slip of paper. His eyes scanned it briefly — then, just as quickly, he shoved it back inside.
A faint red flush crept up his cheeks as he gritted his teeth.
"That asshole just had to bring up that embarrassing memory…" he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples.
Mary blinked in confusion.
"What memory?"
Trevor's face reddened even more. He turned away sharply, exclaiming,
"N-none of your damn business, d-dammit!"
Mary was even more confused, but he decided to drop it.
Instead, something else tugged at his thoughts — the package. Ever since he saw that beautifully crafted sword, he'd been dying to know how Trevor had gotten his hands on something so rare. More than that — how had he managed to get his hands on a Devourer Blade?
And then, he remembered what Luca had whispered when he held that silver sword.
'Good to see you again, old friend.'
Old friend?
Mary glanced at Trevor. Could they have known each other? But that didn't make any sense. That Luca guy looked way younger than Trevor.
…Then again, some people just looked young. Especially those with elven blood — they aged slower and lived longer.
Plus, that guy was way too handsome to be fully human!
Before Mary could voice his thoughts, he suddenly realized Trevor was already behind the counter, holding the black blade with his bare hands, inspecting it carefully.
Even him!?
Mary stiffened, staring at his own bruised palm. He'd barely held the sword for a second before it pricked him — but both Luca and Trevor handled it effortlessly.
Feeling slightly embarrassed, Mary walked up to him and said,
"That guy left it behind. Must've forgotten it or something."
Trevor gave the blade one last look before placing it down on the counter.
"No… I don't think so," he muttered, his thick accent making his words slower, heavier. "He probably got tired of that rusty thing and left it — after finally gettin' back his darlin' sword."
Mary frowned, leaning in.
"His darling? Just how strong is that blade?" His voice lowered. "Is it, like… Grade 3? Or 4?"
He pause. before he continued quietly.
"…O-or… Grade 5?"
Trevor glanced at him — and then, to Mary's surprise, he let out a faint chuckle.
"Grade 6."
What!?
Mary took a step back, his eyes widening. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
He wasn't an expert on Devourer Blades, but he knew enough. Those weapons weren't just rare — they were legendary. Artifacts crafted by one of the most infamous figures in history.
The Mad Blacksmith.
A name whispered in myths and cautionary tales alike.
Legends spoke of a blacksmith so talented, so obsessed with forging the perfect weapon, that their craft became a curse. their weapons weren't just powerful — they were alive.
And they never sold it. Not a Single one.
No matter how many begged. No matter how many threatened.
To the Mad Blacksmith, each Weapon was a masterpiece — a work of art.
The gods themselves had taken notice of Then. They came down from their thrones and asked if they could forge them a weapon. they agreed — on one condition.
They had to bless them.
Give them the power to forge like no other. Make them equal to the God of Blacksmiths.
The gods, amused by their boldness, granted their wish.
And from that day forward, their weapons became something else.
Indestructible, Beautiful, and lastly, Deadly.
But it wasn't enough.
With each blade they crafted, their pride — and their greed — grew.
they tasted the power of the divine, and they wanted more.
One day, they refused to hand over a finished weapons to the gods. they kept it for themselves.
they thought they wouldn't notice. That they were clever enough to hide.
they were wrong.
The gods cursed them, driving them to madness — a madness so deep, so uncontrollable, that they could no longer stop forging.
they made weapon after weapon, unable to rest, unable to think beyond the fire of their forge.
Until, finally, they died.
But by then, their legacy was sealed.
Over 500 weapons had been scattered across the world. Each one powerful. Each one dangerous.
And the sword Luca took?
It was one of them.
Mary took a deep breath, still struggling to wrap his head around the revelation. He let out a short laugh and rubbed his temples.
He's joking, right?
A 6th-grade weapon? That didn't exist. At least, not officially. The grading system only went up to 5 — and even those were practically mythical.
And if a 6th-grade blade did exist… Why the hell would it be here?
More importantly — why would Luca trust someone like Trevor to hide something that powerful?
Shaking his head, Mary turned his attention to the decayed black sword still resting on the counter. He pointed at it.
"Then… what about this one?" he asked, "It has to be a Devourer Blade too, right?"
Trevor glanced at the rusted weapon and shook his head.
Mary frowned.
"Huh? But—"
"That old thing?" Trevor cut in. "Just a regular sword. Well… with a few enhancements."
Mary's confusion only deepened.
"Enhancements?" he echoed. "Like, from an Enchanter?"
Trevor gave a short nod.
Mary's gaze flickered back to the blade. Something about it still felt off.
"I don't know…" Mary muttered, "That thing gives off a weird vibe."
Trevor let out a faint smile and raised his arm, rolling up his sleeve.
A mark shimmered into view on the back of his hand — a symbol of a burning anvil, glowing faintly. And just beneath it, a small number: 2.
Trevor raised an eyebrow.
"What do you think this means?"
Mary felt his face flush.
Oh… How could i forgotten about that.
Sighing, Mary muttered,
"An Archetype of a Creator — Blacksmith…"
Trevor smirked, then leaned foward against the counter. He picked up the rusty sword again, turning it over in his hands before finally speaking.
"Young man," he began, "as a blacksmith, i know the difference between a Devourer Blade and a normal sword. They Both are unique in their own ways — neither is necessarily stronger than the other."
He chuckled, his deep voice carrying his heavy accent.
"Well… unless we're talkin' about a 4th, 5th, or 6th grade Devourer."
Mary shuddered. He didn't even want to imagine what a 6th-grade Devourer could do.
Trevor placed the rusty sword down on the counter and pointed at the hilt.
"Now," Travor continued, " it's pretty easy to tell the difference between a Devourer Blade and an ordinary one. Let me show you."
Mary leaned in as Trevor gestured toward the handle.
"Every Devourer Blade has three gems embedded in the hilt," Trevor explained. "Those gems light up every time the wielder kills someone with the blade."
"But this blade doesn't have any ge—"
" —Just imagine it has," Travor cut him off, "When all three are activated, the Devourer absorbs the victim's magic energy, transferring it directly to the wielder—making them stronger and allowing them to rank up much faster."
Mary's breath hitched.
That's… insane.
Trevor continued, his voice steady.
"To activate the Devourer, you need to meet three conditions.
"First — you have to infuse the blade with your own magic energy. That triggers the first gem to light up.
"Second — you need to pierce the enemy's body with the blade. That activates the second gem.
"Third — the blade has to stay inside the victim for at least ten seconds. If you pull it out too soon, the process fails.
"But if all three gems light up…" Trevor's expression darkened slightly.
"The blade will forcefully drain the enemy's magic energy — and transfer it directly to the wielder. It won't stop until the victim is completely drained."
Mary swallowed hard.
Trevor leaned back slightly, crossing his arms.
"There's also a small chance," he added, "that the wielder might inherit some of the victim's remaining spells Directly from Realm Gate — but that part's a gamble. It doesn't always work."
Mary stared at the rusted black sword again, suddenly feeling very uneasy.
A blade that absorbs life itself…?
And Luca had a Grade 6 version of that? Just how strong was that blade to that extend?
Trevor held the sword for a moment, then turned to Mary.
"And this? As i said before, this is just a Regular sword with enhancements of a... Hmm... Ah! it's a Poison Effects!"
Mary Heart dropped as he looked at his bruised hand. He was about to say something before suddenly Trevor laughed, His laugh echoing around them.
"Don't worry, i was just joking. The only enhancement this sword has is making this sword smaller or bigger, depending on a wielder."
Mary rested his hand on his chest as the relief washed over him before he silently glared at Travor.
What a jerk!
Travor chuckled lightly before looked at the black sword on his hand.
"I'll put this in the storage room for now," he said. "Not like anyone would bother stealing a broken blade."
Then, his sharp gaze shifted back to Mary.
"And you — you should head home. It's getting late."
He paused, then suddenly reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of paper notes and coins. He counted quickly before handing them over — 1,400 gellies.
"Here," Trevor said. "Buy yourself a proper meal. You look like a damn skeleton."
Mary's eyes widened, warmth spreading through his chest. Without hesitation, he took the money and tucked it into his worn-out wallet, nodding gratefully.
"Thanks, Boss," he said, his voice laced with appreciation. "Have a good night."
Trevor simply nodded before heading toward the storage room, disappearing into the dimly lit corridor.
Mary turned toward the exit and stepped outside. Leaving The Hobbit's Cave.
The Underground City was quieter now.
Only a few people lingered, their shadows stretching beneath the flickering street lamps. The air was stuffy, heavy with the lingering scent of cigarettes and damp stone.
Mary walked down the uneven streets, hands in his pockets.
The diners must be closed by now… He sighed. Guess I'll go another day without eating. Not like I'm not used to it.
After twelve minutes, he finally reached his destination.
A small, run-down apartment stood before him, tucked between larger, equally neglected buildings. He climbed the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the quiet night, then reached into his pocket for the key.
With a soft click, the door creaked open.
Mary stepped inside.
The room was small and dark — the only things visible were his bed and the tiny kitchen he never used.
Home sweet home.
He let out a quiet, empty chuckle and sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his messy auburn hair.
Today had started like any other day.
But meeting that former hunter? Seeing a Grade:6 Devourer Blade?
That was something else entirely.
His gaze dropped to his bruised hand. It still stung slightly. A small part of him wondered if that rusted sword really left him with some kind of strange and deadly effect.
But then he remembered Trevor's Playfull reassurances and shook the thought away.
I hope it's probably nothing.
Mary laid back, pulling his thin blanket over himself. He stared at the cracked ceiling, listening to the muffled hum of the Underground City.
The room... felt lonely.
He exhaled softly, then whispered,
"Sweet dreams, Mom. Dad."
His eyelids were getting heavy before they finally closed.
And let sleep finally Embrace him with a wonderful dream.