"Oh, what the hell, yeah, I think one of them's moving," a Phiskian soldier said.
"It's been a day since we won, right? How the hell is he still alive?" His buddy asked.
"I dunno, I thought that the Omnimage took care of all of them," he replied.
Silak heard wet footsteps descending above his head. His eyes were still closed, and his mind was still hazy. Memories of the moments before his death and his experience with the Warbear flooded in his mind. His war has just started, he needed to survive, that's the conclusion he ended up with.
He could feel a body was on top of him weighing him down, and there was also the weight of his new powers. It was an aching heaviness that he felt on his body, mind, and soul. It would take him a few moments to adjust to it and get away from the soldiers.
[The Arsenal Codex]
Slab - The sword of a tribal chieftain from a forgotten world.
Effect: None
He saw the information in his mind's eye. Thinking about it some more, a physical grimoire appeared in front of him. It had a single page on it containing the same information. The only difference was that the grimoire had a sketch of the weapon.
The Phiskian soldiers must've seen the grimoire pop out of thin air as well, by the way that they suddenly stopped approaching him.
"Tsk, I think this one's a Blessed, be on your guard," one of them said.
Silak thought that it was the perfect time to run away. However, before he could even start moving, a voice popped in his head. This one was different from the Warbear that gave him his Blessing.
[No running! Crush the enemy!]
Its loud voice rang in his head. So loud that it made him jolt up and face the two soldiers. They drew their blade, but kept their distance. It seemed like it was only Silak who heard the voice.
"Ah, great, a voice in my head," Silak said as he wiped the mud off his face.
"Stand down, Khalmascan scum," the Phiskian soldier pointed his sword at him.
[Crush them all!]
Silak glanced at the grimoire which was now floating in the air, hovering near his chest level. That extremely heavy feeling was still in his chest and he could feel that his movements were slowed down by it. This was going to be tough.
[Do not think! React!]
He tried to talk back to it in his mind, but it didn't seem like it could respond or hear him. There was a part of him that started to believe that the voices that he interpreted in his head were merely echoes of the past wielder of the weapon, or perhaps the weapon itself.
"Maybe I should listen to the voices in my head for once," he muttered.
The two Phiskian soldiers inched closer towards him, their swords and shields at the ready. As they were getting closer, Silak raised both of his hands up, his hands were in a position like he was holding an invisible sword. He raised it up above his head then suddenly, from a dark grey cloud of dust and smoke, the gigantic sword materialized.
For a moment, as it was forming, it felt light in his hands, but as the dust settled into the weapon, its mass also increased. Just as he thought back in the Warbear's realm, the weapon couldn't be wielded by a regular human, perhaps even an elite level Blessed couldn't handle a weapon like that.
But, he expected this, he already positioned his hands in a way that would guide the sword down in the straight path. With it being a little taller than him, the first Phiskian soldier couldn't go forward or back to dodge it. They could've dodged to the side, but their first instinct was to raise their shield, immediate protection. Their instincts, however, didn't tell them that the sheer weight and speed that the sword was going in was too much for both of them to handle. The first Phiskian soldier died.
As soon as the sword was fully materialized in their realm, the strain of its weight left his body and soul. He even felt lighter and faster than before. Now he knew that he didn't have to carry it within him all the time to be relieved of the burden.
"Damn, I feel better," Silak said. Then, he turned to the other soldier who stumbled backward, landing on his butt.
The remaining soldier tried to crawl back and stand up, but seeing his comrade killed in one attack was too much for him. From the uniform that they wore, they were conscripted cadets, no older than Silak himself. An unfortunate decision made by Phisk's leaders. And, a necessary one as they used to not invest that much in their military just a few years prior the start of the war.
Silak didn't feel any pity for him though. All three of them were just doing their jobs after all, no matter how unfortunate they were when it led them down this path. Most of the people in his mercenary crew were orphans, so they all grew up with this jaded outlook on life.
The large young man picked up the sword of the soldier he just killed. He kicked the living one in the leg to trip him and cause him to land face down. Then, without another thought, he embedded the soldier's sword into his friend's back. This wasn't the first life he took, and it won't be his last.
"Over here, I think they're over here!" The shouting came from a distance beyond the smoke.
The hisses of the Hunting Geckos pierced the air. A familiar sound to Silak as he used them in a tracking mission before. He also knew how sensitive their gills were. They were capable of following a target across an entire mountain range if they wanted to.
"Time for me to go, huh? Well, thanks for saving me, but I'm going to have to leave you here. I can't go running around while I drag you behind me, nor can I run at all if you're inside my chest. I'm sure you understand," Silak said as he gave the sword a little pat. "I'll see you when I need to summon you again!"
With his body feeling lighter than it ever was, with no sword in his chest or a pack of weapons tied to his back, Silak ran in the direction of Khalmasca. His team was dead with him as the sole survivor, but the mercenary company that they traveled with was still alive. At least, the Chief was still alive, that he was very sure of.
After ten strides away from the gigantic sword, a horribly sharp pain radiated from Silak's chest. The pain was so severe that it made him crumple to the ground like a puppet that got its strings cut. It was unbearable, worse than the pain he felt when the Warbear-like figure pierced him with it.
He rolled around in the mud, writhing in pain. He tilted his head up and looked at the sword. Silak reached for it with one hand, then he called to it with just a thought.
From its original position, the sword disintegrated into a dark cloud of dust. Then, the same cloud of dust started to appear from his outstretched arm. And, just like the first time he summoned it, the sword emerged in less than a second. The pain also stopped.
[You must carry that weight.]
It wasn't the deranged voice from the sword that talked this time. It was the Warbear.