Title: Worthy of a Name
Author: sllebswap
Characters/Pairing: Kobayashi Rindou and Tsukasa Eishi
Type: Continuous (InComplete)
Genre: Romance/General
Word Count: 5448
Rating: T (Contains content not suitable for children)
Disclaimer: Shokugeki no Souma belongs to Tsukuda-san.
Summary: EiRin Fantasy/Medieval AU. He was only thirteen when he first inherited her.
Verse: Fantasy Medieval AU
Chapter Last Revised on: 31/03/18
Chapter One
He was only thirteen when he first inherited her.
It had been an accident. Their paths were never supposed to cross.
He, a newly fledged squire, had been sent by his knight master to procure the man's weapon, left in the care of one of the realm's best swordsmiths, Nakiri Senzaemon.
She was one of the Legendaries, a collection of infamous cursed swords known to bring doom not just to those who faced them, but to those who wield them as well.
It had been nearly a century and a half since she last had an owner, her form sealed away and passed down the scarred and skilled hands of generations of Nakiri swordsmiths for safekeeping, with strict instructions that she should never be unleashed upon the world.
She was the most flawless blade he had ever seen in his young life.
Forged by the hands of ancient magesmiths whose names had long since faded from the annals of history, she gleamed with life and luster of her own. Precious rubies decorated her pommel and stylized crossguard, the woven and carved metalwork so intricate and precise that there was nothing quite like it in this world. Her glistening blade was polished to a high shine; long, slender and tapered to a wicked tip, dual edges so preternaturally sharp that they could split a single, falling horsehair crosswise…
She was mesmerizing.
Laid out on the table, pulsating softly with the heat of the forge's hearth reflected on her pristine surface, she called to him, whispering alluring dreams of blood and fire. He could not help but answer, reaching out to run a reverent finger over her hilt, the metal warming with thrumming pleasure beneath his touch.
She was hefty for a thirteen-year-old, meant to be wielded by full-blooded, formidable warriors much larger in size than his barely adolescent stature, and even in his youth and inexperience he could sense the sheer amount of power that welled and roiled in her, patiently biding her time, waiting for the right man to come along to hold her the way she needed to be held.
She was so exquisitely balanced, so sleek and beautiful and he was very sure that she knew it too. A small but genuine smile of appreciation eased across his usually stoic, somber features, at the way she happily resonated in his grip. As if she could sense his thoughts.
If swords could purr, then this one would have been snuggled up against him right there and then, glowing with delight.
Hey. What's your heart's deepest desire~?
The curious, lilting voice that suddenly echoed in his head startled him enough that he almost dropped her. His lavender eyes widened, and he stilled.
The sword…was talking…to him…?
It was impossible not to make the connection. The crystal quality of the voice possessed the same feel and frequency that he could sense emanating from the impressive weapon that he held in his hands. How that was possible, he did not know. Weapons were not sentient. They were most definitely not supposed to talk…like this one just had.
Are you hard of hearing? What do you seek? Glory? Wealth? Power~?
He should be wary of interacting with it. But he could not sense any ill will emanating from it. If anything, holding her felt right. He tightened his grip over her hilt.
"I…I want to be the best."
You're an ambitious one, aren't you?
But she did not laugh at his lofty goal. If anything, she seemed intrigued. How he knew that he had intrigued a sword, he had no idea.
Why?
"If one dedicates oneself to the path of war, then one should aim for the epitome of that path," he responded seriously.
A soft, husky laugh flitted across his mind, for she was pleased by the unwavering depth of his determination. Young though he might still be, but he was brimming with potential. She was very pleased. There was something like an effusion of warmth that enveloped him then, a sensation identical to the aura emanating from the sword. It had felt like a lingering, intimate embrace. Much to his bewilderment, he had struggle not to blush.
Shall we go, then? Admire the view together at the top?
"…Eh…?"
When Nakiri Senzaemon emerged from the back of his room with the order that the squire's knight master had sent him to retrieve, it was with horror to see the scion of the Tsukasa House holding the cursed blade in his hands, the same cursed blade that by all rights and reason should have been safely locked away in an underground vault and not sitting in the youth's hands, the latter still blissfully ignorant of its power and the trail of destruction and death that it had wrought to all of the men who had wielded her.
"Boy, let go of that sword!"
But it was too late.
Her fangs sank deeply into the flesh of his palm. He hissed in surprise, but as the deadly edge of her blade slid over his crimson slicked hand, it was not pain that gripped him…but dizzying pleasure. He gasped faintly, staggering backwards at the lightheaded sensation.
His blood flowed freely across the immaculate Damascus steel, and the young squire watched in shock as the blade happily absorbed his offering.
Ooh, he was delicious.
The pact was made.
It's a promise, then~
All the others marked him for one that will not be for long on this plane of existence once it became known that he had been saddled with a cursed blade. And at such a young age too. It was practically unheard of. They spoke of him in abject pity, as if he was already laid out in a coffin, just waiting to be lowered into a burial plot. Such a shame, it was, the Tsukasa heir had so much potential…
It was irritating, how they always talked of him like their opinions should matter to him. He might still be young, but he was far from foolish and ignorant.
"Is it true?" he asked. "Are you going kill me?"
He was surprisingly calm for someone who had been told that he might be dying soon. In fact, not only was he calm, he was also showing the instrument of his impending doom a lot of care. He cleaned her so meticulously all the time; he oiled her carefully, he wiped her down with the softest cloth, he polished her until she shone and gleamed…even more than she already did.
She had not received this much pampering in a long, long, time. If swords were capable of locomotive action, she would be a writhing mess of blissful metal draped across his lap.
The sword in his grasp pulsed in distracted indignation.
Of course not! We made a promise, didn't we? How are you going to be the best if you're deader than a doornail? Don't worry, I won't let you die until we reach the top!
…That did not sound very reassuring for his long-term health and wellbeing. But at the same time, her easy faith in him, this blithe, sure belief that he would definitely achieve his goal, made him happy.
No one had believed in him so much before, after all.
'Sides, if you're dead, then how am I going to get more of your yummy blood? I absolutely won't let you die!
"…"
Knight training was hard.
In between jousting tournaments, lancework, swordplay, horse riding, physical training and hand-to-hand combat, there were also the non-physical aspects of knighthood to learn. Sums, how to read a map, how to hunt criminals, how to track, the geography of the realm and the intricate politics of the world around them, how to balance the accounts for one's sprawling estates, animal husbandry, courtly manners and etiquette – it was an endless, staggering amount of knowledge to absorb.
And then there were also his responsibilities as a squire to fulfill, to serve his knight master and accompany him on missions assigned to him by their King…and of course, through it all, there was her too.
Today, she was sulking.
After a year living with a sentient blade, he could more or less tell what she was feeling. Then again, she never really hid her emotions in the first place. Maybe it was the blood pact that bound them – her feelings resonated across to him very clearly…and vice versa.
He still could not comprehend how it was possible that blades could have moods. Perhaps that was what made them cursed?
"How long are you going to be sulking?" the fourteen-year-old boy asked aloud. Her grumpy thoughts had been tickling the edge of his consciousness all day and it was very distracting. It was hard to concentrate on the ledgers that his knight master had assigned him to look through.
…M'not sulking and you can use whatever sword you wanna use, traitor!
Of course she was sulking. She never liked it when he worked with other weapons. Never mind that those weapons were nothing like her. For one, they didn't talk. For another, they also weren't cursed.
"You know why Milord forbids me to wield you when training with the other squires."
It was for the safety of the others than anything else. In battle, her bloodlust roared through the entire arena like crimson wildfire. Holding her in his hand was a heady, intoxicating experience that made him feel invincible before any opponent. Her blade delivered only killing strokes…something which he had quickly discovered when she had nearly taken off the head of one of the older knights-in-training. After that incident, the others were only willing to spar with him if he refrained from using her.
He still won most of his bouts, though…but at least he was more merciful in victory.
…S'not my fault your fellow squires are all so wimpy!
For a legendary cursed sword, she could throw childish tantrums too. Today was one of those days, apparently.
"You can't keep breaking other people's swords. And if you can try not to break people too, then maybe I can use you more for friendly spars."
You're so stingy. You never let me feast on the blood of our enemies, too!
He planted his face in his hands. Even though she was supposed to be ancient, sometimes he felt like the older one.
"Those are our allies…"
"What's your name?" he asked one day.
…You're asking me now? How rude. You should have asked wayyy earlier!
He tried again. "Nakiri-sama mentioned that you all have names."
A ripple of affront emanated from the blade.
Of course we have names! And why are you gossiping with that smelly old man 'bout me? You can just ask me!
"I'm asking now, aren't I?" Her irritation was starting get him irritated as well, just a little.
Hmmph. Took you over two years just to get around to asking. You must be very popular with your friends.
"If I promise to oil you and polish you more, will you tell me?"
She was not above being bribed, as he had learned. And she really, really loved it when he put his hands on her. It was nearly indecent, the level of pleasure that pulsed from her very being whenever he was rubbing her down. He could only take care of her in private now, because he blushed so much since her emotions often spilled over to him inadvertently. And the utterly blissful sighs and wanton sounds she made in his head…
She was a very troublesome sword…and she made him question himself in a lot of ways.
You oil and polish me all the time.
But she sounded tempted. He had another ace up his sleeve too.
"…And I will feed you as well."
Now, she was very tempted. If there was one other thing that this cursed blade liked better than a good cleaning, it was blood. To be more precise, it was his blood that she would get so giddy over. He had heard all those whispers about her. Those other doomed swordsmen who had come before him and who died horrible deaths because of her…but those tales did not scare him anymore because he did know her. She had promised that she would not harm him, and she kept her promises.
…Can't tell you. Names have power, you know? You're not ready to hear it, anyway.
"What do you mean?"
I mean that you need to get even stronger and faster, dummy! Grow up quicker! We can't rampage freely across battlefields if you still need your knight master to hold your hand!
His youth was something that he could not help, and could only resolve itself with time. She certainly liked to bring it up, all the same. It was the first time she had aligned herself with such a young wielder, and she was not the most patient entity out there. …Still, this life with him was much better than a miserable existence sealed away and locked in dark, damp, musty vaults, never allowed to see the light of day.
And he was already fifteen now; it would not be too long more before he finally earned his shield. He was the most promising out of his entire cohort, and was already on par in skill even with some of the younger knights. That was not enough, however, like she had already pointed out. They were heading for the top, and she was constantly pushing him to get there faster. He would become worthy of her at least, or die trying.
"When I become older, will you tell me?"
The sword was silent for a while.
…Maybe.
She sounded reluctant, at most.
"Maybe?"
Why do you suddenly care so much about this, anyway?
He did not know why she had to ask, when the answer was so obvious to him.
"Because you're not just a nameless cursed sword."
That made her happy, judging by the slow flush of pleasure that flooded his mind. She was a sword with no distinctive human features, but yet she could project her aura extremely well. Luckily for him, she liked him. There were many others who were not as lucky.
I'm gonna make sure you live as long as possible, just for that.
"…Thank you…? …Shall I give you a name until you're ready to tell me?"
…You may try, but if I hate it I'm taking your blood for compensation.
Needless to say, she hated all the names he tried to give her.
What was with this boy and all the fancy French names, anyway?
He was not even a knight yet, but already the higher ups were giving him so many responsibilities to bear.
One reason was because of his noble family – from the moment he embarked upon the duty of knighthood, it was already expected that he would eventually have a heavy role to fulfill when it came to the future of the kingdom. The second reason was his own capabilities; while he was not the most forceful character, he possessed a much subtler, latent leadership ability that had those under his command falling in line automatically all the same. Combined with his rapidly developing acumen and instincts on battlefields as well as that incredible hunger for victory, his potential had been duly noted by his superiors and already there were knight commanders vying for the right to have him riding under their company banners once he gained his shield.
For the most parts, Eishi did not really care who he would eventually report to so long as the work he was given would lead him straight to his eventual goal. Still, there were some notable commanders who had caught his attention. Sir Dojima Gin was one. Sir Nakiri Azami was another. Both generals were in command of some of the largest standing armies in the kingdom and both had plenty to offer in terms of knowledge and experience, even though their leadership styles were as different as night and day.
Are you done staring at the pile of dead tree chips already? You've been doin' that all day and I'm bored. Let's go do something fun like rustle up some bandits and hack 'em into chunky, bloody pieces! I'm hungry!
The white-haired squire set his quill down in its ink pot and glanced askance at the broadsword that was mounted on its stand not too far away, thrumming with energy.
"Why are you always so bloodthirsty?"
I'm one of the Legendaries – badass and bloodthirsty are part of my basic description, duh. Well, beautiful as well. And breathtaking. How dare you leave a being as ethereally perfect such as I alone and unescorted, squire? I demand your attention – may we ride forth and raise hell!
"I'm a knight-in-training, in service to the crown and to the kingdom. I'm not supposed to be running amok randomly raising hell." Judging by the dry tone of the exasperated sixteen-year-old, this was not a new topic of conversation between himself and his unruly blade.
I'm not in service to your stupid kingdom; I'm not even originally from these lands. So why don't we do it this way, then; I'll be the one raising hell, you just hold me, stand around and look pretty?
…Sometimes Eishi really wondered if all the cursed swords in existence were like her or did he win some special lottery to deserve all this.
As the years slowly passed and it became apparently obvious that being in possession of a powerful but cursed weapon bore no adverse, life-threatening effect to the one who wielded it, more and more curious parties started to eye the sword with increasingly proprietary interest. Some offered chests of gold ingots and priceless baubles in exchange for the legendary weapon; others vast swathes of land and many heads of cattle and poultry.
He politely rejected them all, of course. She was pleased by his unhesitating refusal, judging by how she had pulsed with glee for the next few days.
Smart of you to know that I'm worth more than all of those offers combined. Can't believe they thought you'd trade me for goats, of all things.
She was still quite offended by that, it seemed.
"What would you rather be traded for, then?" he asked, curious. He could have sworn that the blade glowed crimson, for a moment there.
I can't be traded; I'm priceless! So don't even try!
"I won't. I don't think any of those nobles are aware exactly the chaos and insanity they are trying to invite into their lives, anyway." At this point, it was becoming something of his moral and civic responsibility, keeping her from terrorizing the local population.
I would curse you…if I hadn't cursed you already.
…Unfortunately, that did not deter some of the more determined ones from trying their luck all the same. If the sword could not be bought, then perhaps it could be…liberated by other means. Much to the bad luck of the thieves who tried, that was not the case at all.
Did they think that I'm a fake cursed sword? She had asked in a not-so-rhetorical manner sometime later, as he was staring in consternation at all the blood and bits of human body parts decorating his living quarters. There were even pieces of viscera dripping from the ceiling.
He had only been gone for an hour, at most.
"Must you always make such a big mess?" he managed after a long speechless pause, because he had to take that much time to gather enough composure to form words. It had been a long day. He was dead tired from training. All that stench of blood and raw offal was starting to make his head hurt.
S'not my fault, I swear! …And they taste horrible too, by the way.
He glowered at the sulky tone of this disobedient sword, coincidentally also covered in gore, blood and pieces of flesh. That's going to be fun to clean.
"…That's it. No more blood for you."
Huh?! If you don't feed me, I'll possess you and make you run through the entire castle stark naked when Royal Court is in session!
"If you try it, I'll stick you in a barrel filled with rocks and bury you in an alligator-infested swamp."
DON'T YOU EVEN DARE.
After Eishi mailed the loose body bits - they were too…eviscerated to be called 'parts' anymore – back to their respective employers (because it was only common courtesy to return what did not belong to you), the thieving attempts abruptly stopped for obvious reasons. Life went back to normal for a few months, at least as normal as it could be for a teenage knight-in-training in possession of a mouthy cursed sword. There were also duels and challenges thrown at them all the time now, so that kept them busy as they joined the Royal Progression snaking through the lands as the royal family toured the kingdom for their biannual pilgrimage.
They were starting to become quite well known…and then the assassination attempts started.
The thing most commonly known about Legendary-class swords was their cursed natures. Many thought that they were Legendary because they were cursed. That was a misconception. In truth, they attained their mythical status due to their near indestructible forms – the curse had come later, but not many knew about that part of the lore. But it was the truth that they were a special class of magic swords, and thus could be damaged with enough concussive blunt force…combined with magic.
Someone had done their research.
The mageblasts that had been intentionally triggered in the midst of what was originally supposed to be a routine border patrol skirmish had packed enough power to take out a small platoon.
There was no time for hesitation or second thoughts. She protected him automatically, for there was no other way he could have survived the explosive discharge otherwise. The translucent crimson shield that she threw up at the last moment was enough to deflect the worst of the impact, but the residual shockwave tossed him back like a ragdoll all the same. He hit the trunk of a tree with enough force to knock him out for a while, and by the time he snapped out of it, the entire forest was eerily silent. He was bruised and battered, but his armor had protected him, preventing him from suffering anything worse. It took him a while to get to his feet because the world around him kept spinning unsteadily, and then even longer to find his sword.
The blade was stabbed into the ground some distance away, her usually strong presence weakened and ebbing, which was why it had taken him some time to locate her amongst the battle debris and detritus.
He stilled when he saw the damage.
Oh- oops.
Oops? What was 'oops' supposed to mean? He was more panicked than she felt, mainly because there were several long, deep, cracks running along the length of the previously pristine Damascus steel…and blood was leaking from the various fissures and fractures. In all the years he had her, this had never happened. He had grown so accustomed to the understanding that she was imperishable, so this realization that she could break too shook him.
…I think…you should bring me back to the old man…
Nakiri Senzaemon did not know what to make of the odd relationship that had eclipsed between that cursed sword and the young man she appeared to have specifically chosen.
After staying dormant for so many decades, it had been something of a shock when the blade had abruptly come back to life and decided to attach itself to the then thirteen-year-old squire, deviously forming a blood pact in the process so that the swordsmith had no choice but to entrust her ownership to the Tsukasa heir. At first, the old man had been very concerned that the inherent, cursed power within the ancient weapon would eventually corrupt and overwhelm the youth, but when days and weeks and then months went by and that did not happen, he reluctantly decided to take a wait-and-see approach, curious to know what would come out of this unlikely situation.
And now, five years later, the young man was stumbling back to his forge, visibly anxious as he carefully laid the damaged weapon out on the same table where he had first picked her up from.
The cursed sword had chosen to protect her wielder instead of herself.
Senzaemon could hardly believe it, but the evidence was before his eyes.
"Had she shielded herself instead of you, this would not happen," the old man murmured. His aged eyes caught the flinch from the distraught young knight – he obviously cared for the sentient blade, too. What a strange pair this was…
"Can you fix her?" Eishi asked.
The swordsmith was silent. When he finally spoke, his words were careful.
"…This is a cursed weapon," he reminded the younger male. "She has remained in the safekeeping of my family for a very, very long time. Not because we want to…but because there's no way to rid of her. This may be an opportunity to end the matter once and for all."
His lavender eyes turned to cold steel at the old man's unspoken implication.
"I understand. However, there is one important flaw in your assertion; she no longer belongs to your family. She's mine. I ask again, respectfully. Can. You. Fix. Her."
"Do you even know what you're saying, boy?" the old man demanded. "She is immortal – this is not a burden that will simply resolve with the conclusion of your finite existence. The future descendants of your entire family line will shoulder this curse as well – do you understand?"
"I'll take responsibility." He would not be moved. "Please fix her."
This knight was obviously out of his mind. The Nakiri patriarch crossed his arms before his chest.
"I will not – and cannot – do so."
Before the Tsukasa scion respond, he continued, very reluctantly. "…But maybe you can."
"What do I need to do?" There wasn't even an ounce of hesitation.
"Have you found out her name?"
Eishi paused, and then he shook his head. He also narrowed his eyes at the old man. He remembered their conversation from last time, specifically revolving around this particular topic.
"If you're still trying to get rid of her-" he began stiffly, only for Senzaemon to scoff.
"That may have been a plan at first, but since you've generously volunteered to take over my family's burden, what you wish to do now with your burden is none of my concern. That said, if you have a name, you may be able to fix her."
Eishi did not have to be told twice.
"How?"
"She bound you with a blood pact, didn't she? Now, you bind her back."
"I want to help you, so you need to cooperate," he told her. She had gone mute the moment he started demanding that she share this secret of hers.
"Nakiri-sama said that I can fix you, but you have to be willing too."
"Will you tell me your name?"
She remained silent as a tomb.
He was becoming increasingly worried. The cracks on her surface kept seeping blood, and it was incredibly eerie, to say the least. Her aura also seemed to be weakening more and more, a bit by a bit, thinning and wavering until it was flimsy as a thread.
"Please let me help you."
…Why?
She finally spoke, so quietly, he almost missed the flitting question wisping through his mind.
"What do you mean, 'why?'" He was utterly bewildered by her question.
Why would you want to do this?
He did not know why she was asking the obvious.
"Because I don't want you to die."
It was a completely novel concept…that there actually existed someone who cared enough about her, who did not wish to see her dead. She had been a weapon for so long, a dispensable tool, that her real name had not been used, had not been heard of, for centuries. Those who sought to wield her only desired to make use of her power. The others who hunted her down did so for the sake of exacting vengeance on the behalf of loved ones whose lives she had reaped over the course of her very long, bloody existence.
But he did not want her to die…he had just said so.
…Would you be sad if I died?
What kind of question was that? But it was one whose answer she was determined to know, apparently.
Would you?
"…Yes, I would be."
…And if I lived, would you be happy?
"Of course!"
Was there some kind of weird cursed sword logic that he was not quite following, here? She was asking the strangest questions and he did not understand at all.
Then, it's fine for me to live?
"Yes. Don't die. You promised." It sounded like an accusation now, because he was starting to get more frustrated and agitated.
…Yes, they had a promise, hadn't they?
Rindou.
"…What?"
My name.
She sounded slow, cautious…the syllables clattering awkwardly into his mind like heavy, jagged stones, as if it had been such a long time since she had last shared this with anyone.
It's Rindou.
The act of binding her to him was surprisingly simple, once all the necessary ingredients had been gathered. His blood. Her blood. Her name. Consent. The instructions that the Nakiri had given were archaic but straight to the point. She took his blood unto herself the last time. This time around, it was his turn to reciprocate. It was easy enough; he dragged his index along one of the seeping cracks, catching the viscous beads of fluid emanating there. How ironic it was, that the sword that had taken so many lives also bled crimson.
Rindou. Her name was fitting. This blade that possessed all the courage and boldness of a dragon.
He bared the forearm of his sword hand, and then, in slow, precise strokes, he painted the characters on the insides of his wrist with the tip of his bloodstained finger.
"Rindou," he spoke her name for the very first time, once the act was complete.
The air around them shivered in anticipation.
"Come and live for me."
He had no idea what would happen next. How would they know if the binding was successful? Senzaemon had not mentioned anything about what else to expect once the simple ritual was completed. One moment, the blade was still lying there on the table in his private quarters and he was standing beside feeling foolish and wondering what to do if this did not work…and the next…the sword was gone and he was lying flat on the floor, breathless, dizzy and momentarily dazed.
Wait. He was on the floor?
He must have blacked out for a moment somewhere, because he had no recollection of how he had ended up prostrate on the ground…and…also…
He wasn't alone.
Red filled his blurry vision. A subtle fragrance teased his nose, the faintly sweet, enticing aroma of a female. The warm weight of a body pressing against his. Disoriented, he reached out blindly in a bid to center himself, and his fingers connected with soft feminine flesh, all too real and tangible. That realization cleared his mind out in a hurry. Startled, he jackknifed abruptly from the ground and nearly collided into the willowy young woman crouching over him.
His lavender eyes silently widened with confusion. He had never seen her before. Her long red hair pooled all around them like finely spun silk of crimson. Her bangs fell over one of her eyes, but he could see from the other that their color was a bright, intelligent gold, curiously slit pupiled like one would find on an inquisitive cat. She possessed striking yet delicate features; finely arched brows, an impish, slightly upturned nose, a full, pert mouth, graceful jawline, pointed chin.
…She was incredibly beautiful.
He started to flush; she was also stark naked.
There was a choker wrapped around her slender neck, the black velvet collar with a glowing ruby pendant the only accessory that adorned her lush form.
While he was busy goggling at her in shock, the maiden certainly did not appear anywhere near as surprised to see him as he did her. Leaning forward, her pink lips curved slowly…and the teasing hint of an ivory fang appeared, poking out over her lower lip. He stared, mesmerized.
Her mouth parted…and he was very flustered and bewildered when a familiar husky drawl came out of her.
"Hello, Master~"
::owari::
Questions That I Would Like To Answer Before You Ask:
Welcome to the latest episode of 'how many AUs can this unhealthily obsessed woman reimagine EiRin in,' haha.
The inspiration for this plot was partially derived wayyy back when chapter 243 of SnS dropped, where Souma was reflecting on all the different 'swords' that he had crossed blades with in the past that helped him to hone his skills and ultimately come up with his dish to take down Somei. I thought that idea and imagery of all the swords representing their various masters was so cool, and I really wanted to work it into a plot too!
Recently, when I was revisiting Eishi's White Knight persona – that really shiny color spread of his Der Weiße Ritter der Tafel persona in full armor and holding his blade aloft – the idea came back to bite me again. There I was admiring Eishi's nice, big, long…sword (hahaha), and is it just me or does this boy really loves his reds? XD His cape (and chef neckerchief) is red, even his sword is encrusted with rubies! So one thought led to another and then this plot really took root then – now we have cursed swords, cursed swords, everywhere!
Do you guys like it? Let me know!
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Before you can ask, yes…there are other cursed blades around too…as well as their wielders, haha.
Not sure whether if I'm going to continue this – was just trying to write this out of my head so that I can focus on other stuff. I still have a few AUs wrestling around for supremacy in my mind, gah.
Thanks for reading!
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Your reviews make me update faster; so please leave a comment if you like this fic!
-sllebswap