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As a weapon spirit, I have a corporal form—all spirits do—which allows me to interact with the world, but only up to a certain distance away from my weapon body. It’s a weapon spirit’s duty to teach their owners everything they know. We spirits learn from our owners and pass their legacies on to the newer ones. As Durandal, the legendary weapon of the Godking (my previous arrogant asshole of a master), I am doing my best to impart my knowledge to my new master. At least, that’s what I would be doing if I had one.
When that asshole was on the cusp of death, he announced to the world, “I’m dying. Only the luckiest of the lucky and the best of the best can accept my legacy,” and I was promptly stuffed into a miniature dimension created by spatial magic. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue, but over a few millennia have passed and no one’s found me yet.
The miniature dimension is pretty small: There’s a small warehouse for a bunch of random items. There’s a side room for weapon and armor storage. And there’s a whole library’s worth of books on magic, martial arts, and miscellaneous topics such as forging, pill making, enchanting, love making, origami folding, manipulating children, robbing, bartering, fishing. You know, the basics. I’ve read through all of them multiple times and memorized their contents. There really isn’t much to do when you’re trapped by yourself when you can’t even sleep, eat, or drink. I can’t even kill myself. Well, I could, but that would be painful.
So now, I’m waiting. To pass the time, I’ve been doing body strengthening exercises. Yes, even though I’m a spirit, I can improve my body. But that’s only thanks to the abundance of wealth the Godking left behind. There used to be a mountain of spirit stones: the floor used to shine, the walls used to glow, even the sky was always as bright as the sun. I say used to because I absorbed every single stone for my survival and personal growth. Although he was shameless, I have to admit he was very good at making money.
And there’s—
“Is this it?”
Holy shit. A voice? Was that a person?
“I think we found it!”
Wait. Wait. I’m not ready. You know how people like walking around naked in their own homes? Yeah. Weapon spirits are like that too. Before I could return to the room with my weapon body, a group of people pushed open the metal gates leading into the dimension.
I stared at them.
They stared at me.
A female screamed. Despite the fact that I was over thousands of years old, my corporal body never aged. Even when I absorbed the spirit stones and enchanted my weapon body, my corporal body has always retained its handsome, rugged looks. I didn’t understand why she was screaming instead of swooning. Could the perception of male beauty have changed in the millennia that past me by?
“Who are you?” the leader of the group asked. He was a youth—not old enough to be an adult, but not young enough to fall for the Godking’s tricks. Beside him, there was a rotund fellow that could be mistaken for a bear if he had hair. Behind the leader, there was a group of guards wearing sets of white armor. I couldn’t recognize the metal they were made out of. In the midst of the guards, there was a female beastman with a squirrel-like tail and bright, round eyes. On her back, there was a bag that was nearly four times her height and width. A luggage-carrying slave. She was probably the one who screamed.
I pointed at myself and tilted my head. This was my house, and they had the audacity to ask who I was?
“Are you Durandal?” the rotund fellow asked.
I smiled at the group and placed my hands on my hips. “I’m Durandal.”
“You’re the Godking’s legendary weapon?” The youth had a crease on his head.
My eye twitched. “What? Don’t believe me?”
The rotund fellow grabbed the golden axe hanging on his waist. He brandished it into the air and shouted, “Fight me, Durandal! My name is Forseti!”
A sigh escaped from my lips. Looks like he was one of those weapon spirits—battle maniacs, the lot of them. I glanced at the youth by his side who had an identical axe in his hand. It looked like he didn’t have any intention of stopping his weapon spirit. I guess I should fight. Don’t I have some kind of obligation to guard my previous master’s … warehouse…?
“What’s wrong?” Forseti asked when he saw my head droop.
“Just take it,” I said and raised my head. “Take everything. I don’t care.”
“Huh?”
While laughing, I turned around, ignoring their puzzled expressions, and entered the room where my sword was sheathed. I put on my robes and tied my belt before sitting next to my weapon body, resting my arm over it. I looked at the group. They hadn’t moved since I left. The hell were they doing? Hurry up and pick up my body so I can leave this godforsaken place.
When the intruders realized I wasn’t going to do anything, the guards spread out and picked up the miscellaneous items lying around. There wasn’t much because of me: Bored out of my mind, I had used up all the medicinal ingredients to concoct pills. The bones infused with magic had been drained dry while I practiced enchanting items. The weapons were worthless heaps of scrap because I extracted their raw materials to practice smithing. Only the books had any value, but even those had become unreadable due to the passage of time.
The youth approached me. “I am Bryant Ravenwood, the seventh prince of the Ravenwood Empire,” he said. The guards had finished scouring the desolate place and lined up behind Bryant. “I think you understand the hardship I went through to get here.”
Nope. I don’t. I don’t even know where that asshole stuffed the miniature dimension.
I picked my ear with my pinky and noticed the squirrel-girl glaring at me. What was her problem? Bryant froze for a second before continuing his speech while extending his hand forward. “Will you be my sword?”
“I refuse.”
“Pardon?”
I ignored his dark expression and picked up my weapon body. A weapon spirit was unable to hold itself for prolonged periods of time, but it was still possible. I took a step forward, and Forseti made a motion to stop me. I glared at him and placed my hand on the handle of my metal-self. The rotund fellow gulped and took a step to the side. I lowered my hand and pat his shoulder as I walked past him. Maybe it was out of fear or respect, but Bryant had stepped aside with beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. His guards had parted as well as I walked towards them.
My footsteps echoed through the miniature dimension. When they stopped, I was standing in front of the squirrel-like beastman. She shivered and let out a squeak as her shoulders froze up, her hands in front of her chest like a t-rex.
I pushed my weapon body flat against her torso, causing her to stumble backwards. “Accept my sword.”
“Eh?” The girl subconsciously grabbed the sword when it was rammed against her body. Her eyes widened as she looked down at the weapon and then back up at me. “Eeeeh!?!?”
typo:
corporal form
-> corporeal form