Chapter 77: Ten Years Ago~

Ten years ago.

Suowofutuolei

The Dark Elf tribe had lost the war against the Federation ninety years prior, losing twenty percent of their territory.

Since then, the tribe had split into two factions—

The pacifists and the radicals.

The pacifists advocated accepting the status quo;

the radicals demanded the return of their lost lands.

The two sides had bickered for ninety years without reaching any resolution.

Wei stood among the ruins.

Collapsed walls surrounded her, charred beams lying across piles of rubble.

The air still carried the smell of smoke, even three months later.

She looked down at the ground.

Amid the broken stones and shattered glass lay a short blade.

A name was carved into the hilt, the strokes worn smooth but still legible:

Weiya.

She bent down and picked up the knife, turning it over.

The blade had a notch, and the metal was stained with dried blood—

Black.

She held the knife in her hand, feeling its weight.

“Why are you holding Weiya’s weapon?”

The voice came from behind her.

Wei turned around.

Chijiao stood at the edge of the ruins.

Dust clung to his armor plates.

His helmet was tucked under his arm, and his dark red eyes fixed on the knife in Wei’s hand.

His face didn’t have as many scars back then, but his eyes were already that way—

Like he was looking at something far away even when he looked at you.

Wei raised the knife, blade pointed toward herself.

As if checking its sharpness.

“It was left by a dead person. Can’t I pick it up?”

Chijiao didn’t answer.

“On a battlefield, having a weapon is a safety net.”

Wei lowered the knife, holding it by the hilt with the blade pointing down.

Chijiao’s dark red pupils stared at the blade.

The name Weiya carved into the hilt.

He looked at it for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Wei’s face.

“What’s your name?”

Another voice.

Nightingale walked over from the other side of the ruins.

White hair, golden eyes.

A black robe.

Her gaze moved from Wei’s face to the knife in her hand.

“Me? Didn’t you all say that the Residual Blood class doesn’t have names?”

“It’s fine.”

“Can you let me take a look at that short sword? I want to check the damage.”

Wei pulled the knife back behind her.

“Do you think I’m that easy to crush?”

“If I give it to you, I’ll lose my head, won’t I?”

Nightingale’s golden eyes stared at her.

“You—”

“Enough.”

Chijiao’s voice wasn’t loud, but Nightingale fell silent.

He took a step forward, his boot crunching on broken glass.

He stood in front of Wei, a head taller than her.

His dark red eyes looked down at her.

“I won’t force you.”

“According to the rules of the Gold Emblem Corps, inherit the name of the weapon’s owner.”

Wei looked down at the knife in her hand.

The name Weiya was carved into the hilt.

She traced the strokes with her finger.

They were worn and faint, but her fingertip could feel the grooves.

The notch on the blade caught the afternoon light, reflecting a dark gleam.

“Wei.”