Garnt walked into a lightless pit, so dark that he could not tell where he ended and the empty space surrounding him began, and was disconcerted to find it was still a familiar feeling. The swamps outside he'd been trekking through until now were loud and lively, filled with the sounds of dirty swampwater and murderous wildlife, but the pit was quiet. He could barely even hear his own footsteps.

It reminded him a little too much of his former home.

As the wooden sign outside so helpfully pointed out though, this was to be the site of his fifth trial.

Subdue the Immortal Dragon!

AS part of the ritual for obtaining a sword, please fight the creature in the pit for as long as you can. The opportunity for a map shard will be obvious, should you manage to last long enough to pass.

And carved beneath the message, a caricature of a human hand, held in a V-shape.

He appreciated the surprising straightforwardness of it all, but what did the handsign even mean…? Perhaps a remnant of some long-forgotten custom in the Runoffs.

Garnt caught himself before he could miss the next step. Definitely not the time for distractions.

Eventually, after what could have been a long time or no time at all, Garnt reached the bottom. The hole in the ground he had entered through seemed barely more than a pinprick of light, somewhere in the distance.

Before him, illuminated by its own, ethereal luminescence, was the Immortal 'Dragon'. It was draconic in origin, no mistaking that. Thick, stone-like scales, a pair of wings, a set of six baleful, yellow eyes staring right at him…

Garnt stared back. Other details were coming into focus now. Multiple curled horns of the purest ivory, leathery flesh and hair poking out from beneath the scales in short patches, and oh dear those tentacles were swinging right at his face.

Is that a Dragon-Demon Hybrid? How? Why?! Garnt had a lot to think about all of a sudden, but for now his questions would have to remain unanswered, as he ducked down, feeling the wind whistle as the tentacles carved open the air above him. The 'Dragon' let loose a hail of fireballs from its mouth, and and then immediately after from its mouths, because it had two more along its wings, for some reason.

He rolled forward and under the flames, brought his silver staff in a firing stance, and let loose a quartet of Soul Spears, homing in on the creature's face. The monster attempted to bat his spells away with its gargantuan forelimbs, but a sudden resistance on its right side allowed three of the Spears to pass through the hasty guard and strike its face, drilling inwards. Any sound they would have made was drowned out by the beast's roar of pain, but that wasn't what truly caught Garnt's eye.

That sudden resistance. Twinkling around the Dragon's right leg, visible under its ghostly light, was a translucent silver chain. And, hanging inside the dragon's mouth, smoldering slightly, was a tiny shard of wood. He couldn't make out its exact shape at this distance, but if Garnt had to guess, that was the piece of the map he was looking for.

The brief lull gave the Dragon time to recover, and the wounds drilled into its face were already starting to close over. But Garnt finally had a grasp of things.

The creature was bound, and he was to 'subdue' it. He knew what game they were playing, now.

Garnt slowly walked towards the creature, cloak gently swishing against the abyssal darkness, holding his staff at a slight angle so that its tip would be concealed against his back. The creature regarded him with what seemed like anger, but could just as easily be hunger.

He took another step forward.

The creature lunged.

And a blade of moonlight carved through the darkness.

Garnt clambered out of the massive, dark pit and into the fog-covered swamp, and collapsed into the water. He was dismayed, but not surprised, to find his first thought was I am so glad to be out here.

A person never quite appreciated how inviting tall, cold, barren trees surrounded by filthwater could look until they had to dive into the jaws of death given reptillian form.

Still, it was worth it. The sorcerer held the wooden puzzle piece aloft in one hand, examining it even as he fished the remainder of the puzzle from within his cloak. A click, and the piece slotted neatly, forming an almost-hexagon. Just one more to go, then.

Then the map that would lead him to the Empty Sword would be complete. A weapon of myth, wielded by the heroes of the current Age of Fire across centuries against all manner of threats and monsters… He wasn't sure if it was everything the few scattered remnants of stories he'd found made it out to be.

But if it was a weapon as powerful as claimed, perhaps he could finally get started on his real goal.

He extracted himself from the swamp water, pocketing the partially assembled map and making sure the wrapped object on his back was still secure. With how thick the fog could get out of nowhere, he couldn't even turn around to do it. Staying on course had honestly been the hardest part of this journey, Garnt mused, but at least the end of that journey was finally in sight.

As a result of his distraction, he almost missed it when a large pair of iridescent white tentacles wrapped around one of the great stone-like trees up ahead. Almost, but not quite.

Land Cephalogons were one of many species of fauna native to the Run-offs specifically, massive tentacled creatures that coated themselves with the bones of their prey, forming a particularly large shell around their squishy, fragile main body. At least two of a Cephalogon's tentacles would end in auxiliary heads shaped not unlike a dragon's, and the creatures pulled themselves along the swamp's water by grasping the Archtrees and physically dragging the primary shell forward, occasionally sling-shotting across the surface.

Garnt was actually quite confident he could take one in a fight, even exhausted as he was, and the scholar in him had his curiosity piqued by the potential connection between the Cephalogons and the creature he had just fought. Two distinct creatures with connections to the ancient dragons seemed like a particularly unlikely coincidence…

But even if he could win in the fight, it would not be a quiet one, not without exorbitant amounts of luck. Noise would attract attention from other wildlife, and that…

He thought back to the hordes of horned, malformed monstrosities surrounding each of the three Shrines he'd claimed a hexagon piece from earlier.

…it would be very, very bad, Garnt concluded.

Unfortunately, while hiding was the obvious solution, his cloak had other plans. Plans that involved getting snagged on something beneath the swamp's water.

Maybe a long, flowing cloak hadn't been the best idea for going into the Run-offs.

He pulled a little more insistently, but whatever it had caught on, it was stuck, hard. That was fine, though, he didn't need that part of it all that badly. The cloak could stay here if it wanted.

A blade of silver and blue appeared out of his staff, and as silently as he could, he cut a part of his cloak off.

Not a second too soon, either. He'd just barely managed to get behind one of the Archtrees when he heard the splish-splosh of the Cephalogon finally emerging from around its corner, dragging itself across the water's surface.

He was glad these things were confined to the Run-offs, honestly. Nowhere else in Caerdiaeth quite had the combination of water and objects sticking out above said water for the Cephalogon to transport itself with, and they were all better off for it.

Eventually, the sounds of the creature pulling itself along the water grew distant, and Garnt breathed a sigh of relief. It wouldn't have been an issue at all, really, but…

Bonfires were strangely absent in the Run-offs. It wasn't quite zero, but their numbers were exceptionally low. That made travel irksome, having to actually take care of his body's needs and keeping track of things like exhaustion instead of just sitting down for a minute or two.

Regardless, per the hexagon piece, the next Trial was… that way. He continued moving through the swamp, as carefully and quietly as he could despite the water's efforts to loudly announce his presence.

After about an hour, involving a detour to dodge around a nest of Poison Butterflies (his first trial involved one too, how many of them were there), Garnt eventually made it to the sign that signified a trial.

Sixth Trial: Treasure Hunt Lighting Round!

As part of the ritual for obtaining a sword, please follow the string hung throughout this area and collect the plants, roots and berries you find growing along the path! At the end of the path is the final piece.

And beneath the words, once again, that carved image of a disembodied hand holding two fingers up in a V-formation.

Was… Was he being messed with?

Well, in for a soldier, in for a knight, or however that went. Wasting time right now was dangerous without a doubt, but he hadn't been found yet, and it wasn't like he had any leads on where the 'real' trial was. For now, he'd proceed as though this was it. Even if it did seem a little ridiculous, after the previous trial had him fight a nigh-immortal Demon in a featureless black void.

The less said about the trial of the Poison Butterfly Breeding Grounds, the better.

Following the string was as simple as it sounded, which was a surprise. It was sturdy, too, so it was unlikely he'd have to deal with it being 'mysteriously' snapped off partway through, and the ground was even raised slightly along the path. He was already absolutely soaked with dirtwater so it was perhaps a little late, but people did say it was the thought that counted. If nothing else, moving around was easier now.

He was almost tempted to ignore the plants along the way, but, no. He'd spent too much time, invested too much into this trip as a last-ditch effort to potentially throw it all way on a petty impulse.

But it was so, so tempting, after the kind of week he'd had.

Plants, berries, roots, into his bottomless box they went. Some of them looked faintly poisonous, and one 'berry' had the distinct look of a Deadly Toadstool about it, white spots on red and all, but he wasn't about to question the sign. Everything went into the box and that was that.

He'd gotten into such a mindless haze with it that a few things went into the box that probably shouldn't have - a frog he would have probably died just from touching if his gloves weren't so reinforced, for one. He was pretty sure it had five legs, too.

He really hoped the sword was worth it.

An unclear amount of time later, night fell, and he'd made it to the end of the path of string. Lying in wait was a hollowed-out tree trunk, with a little wooden box inside, sealed with more string.

He unwrapped it, opened the box, and found the last piece of the hexagon - the sixth side and the center, all in one, huh?

No time to waste. He fished the other five pieces out of his bottomless box, and got to assembling them. This piece slid in like so, then this one went here, then…

Then the puzzle was complete. It was beautiful craftsmanship, honestly. Garnt hadn't seen many wooden puzzles like it in his time, and even fewer fit together as elegantly as this. He wondered if whoever made it was still alive, then set the thought aside.

The important thing was that he had his map now, and a very convenient one at that. A compass (on the final piece, of course), a cross marked with a 'You are here', and an elaborate sword icon a little to the west of the centre. That would be his destination, then.

The fog had cleared out somewhat, and his goal was in reach. Things were starting to look up a little.

This was easily the densest forest Garnt had ever had to pass through. He didn't give this praise out lightly, either. The Run-offs were made up of around thirty percent uncomfortably dense forests, so even in its home this one faced some stiff competition, and yet it was the unquestioned victor. The stone-like nature of the trees made squeezing through gaps extremely difficult, and when it wasn't the trees causing problems it was the everything else.

He just barely dodged around a vibrant red flower growing on one of the trees as he walked. If he remembered correctly, that one had slowly melted the flesh off of the demon he'd pushed into it during the third trial.

Despite the difficulties of navigating through a forest thick enough that he could only occasionally glimpse the stars, he did eventually make it to the other side. The stone-like trees got shorter the further in he went, which helped keep him pointed in the right direction. Garnt found himself in a clearing, and could only stand and stare.

After all, the location of the 'Empty Sword' had a positively ancient farmer's hut in it. A surprisingly well-kept one, to be sure, but by the architecture, he'd guess it was from before even Galou's formation. The fact he could see it at all was a surprise, too. The whole clearing was free of fog, actually.

In front of the surprisingly well-kept wooden hut was an equally surprising, equally well-kept patch of farmland. A patch that was currently being tended to by an unnaturally pale, black-haired girl in strange black and purple clothes, who had seemingly just taken note of him. Her garb reminded him of the 'kimono' that people in the Eastern lands favored, with a bulky cassock thrown on top.

It made Garnt a little uneasy. The land of Mibu was far enough away that there shouldn't have been much contact with Caerdiaeth, if any at all...

"Another visitor? You weren't sent here by that annoying man too, were you?" She called out, rising from the ground and dusting herself off.

"Err… Annoying man? Sorry I, ah, think I may have the wrong location." He blurted, fishing around for the hexagon and pulling it out. Did he go the wrong way? Damn, should he actually have looked around for another sixth trial? Maybe someone piggy-backed off the actual trials to play a trick on people.

…maybe there was no sword…

No, if that was the case his quest was just doomed. That wasn't an option.

"This is, ah, perhaps a bit of a long shot, but… Would you know anything about a sword around these parts?" He ventured. It looked like this was just an ordinary farmer's dwelling, but if she lived here, she might know something.

"Sword…? Oh. Oh! My apologies. It has been a while since anyone's come looking for the Imaginary Sword. Does that mean you're here to claim it?" She replied, tilting her head. Her gaze flicked from him to the hexagon in his hands and back again.

"I'd heard it was called the Empty Sword, but… yes?" He affirmed, hating how the last part sounded like a question. This swamp really was getting to him.

"Hm, hm. By all means, then, come this way." The young woman said, "By the way, if you do not mind, what is your name?"

"I'm Garnt. Of… No place in particular, these days." He stated.

"Right this way, then," she said, and they walked to a spot behind the house. There, behind the wooden hut, was a large stone. And embedded into the side of that stone, was a sword.

"Well, go on then. You have the six pieces, so you've passed the trials, correct? The sword is yours." She announced, and Garnt could barely hold back his surprise.

It couldn't be that easy, right? There was no way. Something about this seemed far too off. But it wasn't like he was in a position to question things, either. Not when just a minute ago he was considering if the whole endeavour was nothing more than a sham. There was unquestionably a sword here, as marked by the map he'd assembled, and while he'd have to get a closer look to see what it was capable of, the arcs of lightning running up and down the exposed parts of the blade told him it was at least enchanted.

But as he walked up to it and laid his hands upon the hilt…

Danger.

He didn't know why, but something had been setting his nerves on edge since the start of this meeting, and now that same something was telling him…

Danger.

…that he had to move, right here, right now, or he would die again.

Danger.

Move move move move move move movemovemove-

Garnt threw himself back, rolling along the ground and minimizing his profile just as something he couldn't see whistled through the air his neck had just been occupying. He finished his backwards roll, hands propping him up as he sat on the ground, breathing heavily.

What was that?

He turned his head to the only other person in the clearing.

The only possible culprit, really.

He hadn't paid it much attention but before this, her hands had been hidden within her long flowing sleeves, clasped together and unseen. Now, with one hand held flat and outstretched, the innocuous gesture couldn't seem like anything but the ready position for an attack. But…

What was that?

There was no build up of arcane energy, nor the familiar smell that accompanied miracles channeling lightning into the air. In the first place, he hadn't even seen the attack at all, wouldn't be sure there had even been an attack except for…

Several crashes rang throughout the clearing, and Garnt's gaze was drawn almost magnetically, first to the boulder whose top half had slid cleanly off, then the trees at the edge of the clearing that had similarly collapsed into two pieces.

"So you did manage to dodge it," he heard from his side and whipped his head back around to see the young woman smiling.

"What was that?" He couldn't help but voice the thought that had been bouncing around his head with growing intensity.

"The last trial. I can't let just anyone wield the Imaginary Sword, you know. If you couldn't even dodge something like that, then there would be no point. A sword can't choose who to kill, but I can at least choose my wielder." She remarked, as though what she was saying was just common sense.

"What's 'my wielder' supposed to mean here? Don't go thinking I've forgotten you just tried to kill me, either."

"I suppose I did do a little misdirection, so explaining wouldn't hurt. Let me clear things up for you, then. The Imaginary Sword is a style of swordplay that doesn't use a sword - that is to say, the person becomes the sword instead. This little thing," she commented, walking up to the sword in the stone, "Is just a souvenir I picked up a while back. I thought it would be a fun addition, so I made it a part of the final trial."

The person becomes the sword…?

"Wait. That means…"

"Just to avoid any misconceptions… My name is Nanami Yasuri, daughter of… No, I suppose I'm just the head of the Yasuri family now. The name might have been twisted into the Empty Sword in whichever texts you perused or rumours you heard, but I am the Imaginary Sword you've been searching for." She said casually, as though discussing the weather as she walked up to him, "Depending on your goals, I suppose that makes us partners now? Ah, but I shouldn't forget my manners. Would you like to come inside for tea?"

In the moonlight, her unnatural paleness made her look like a living corpse. Undead in the truest sense of the word, it reminded him of Bashiokan's inhabitants. And yet, Garnt could not help but laugh as he looked up at her.

Because after all this, it was real. The Empty- no, the Imaginary Sword. A blade that could fight at a distance, independently of its wielder, the blade that one hundred years ago Sharen of the West had used to slay the Infinite Serpent - those texts made a lot more sense now. Rather than some fairy tale enchantment that bordered on impossibility, it was all real and all false at the same time.

"Some tea sounds lovely right now."

It was not without some trepidation that Garnt had followed the woman - Nanami, he reminded himself - into the simple wooden hut. Sitting on the ground next to her unusually low table made him feel vulnerable, and he couldn't even be sure whether that was his most recent near-death experience keeping him on edge, or simply the presence of his host. Maybe it was both.

For someone who seemed to receive visitors so rarely, though, she seemed unusually practised at playing the role of a good host - and he had been right earlier. The sixth trial was him being messed with, in a way. She'd asked if he'd bothered to collect the ingredients, and when he'd asked what its point was…

"If you survive the final trial, we get to enjoy tea afterwards, and I don't even have to use my own supplies. Convenient, isn't it?"

She'd waved off his question with a half-assed line like that, then taken the roots and berries off his hands and over to what he assumed was her food preparation area, where she was even now working away at it. He hadn't thought she'd be a pyromancer on top of whatever that strange invisible slash earlier was, but he was pretty sure he'd seen her light the fire she was currently using to boil water by snapping her fingers. Another thing to worry about.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting when he'd entered her home, any expectations Garnt might have had couldn't match up with the reality of how… bare, empty the hut was. In one corner, a low lying bed with barest hints of straw poking out of the mattress, and no covers or pillow. In another, a messy pile of wood carvings that bore a marked resemblance to the map he had to assemble.

In a third, the 'food preparation area' - he hesitated to call it a kitchen. He certainly wouldn't be able to use it as one, since it was just a fire hazard waiting to happen with a pot hanging over it and a simple small table, not even any cooking implements - was she cutting up the roots with her bare hands.

What.

'A sword style where the person becomes the sword.'

Huh.

That was a lot more literal than he'd expected. Still not a trace of soul being manifested either - she was doing that with simple force and finesse.

He mulled over the seeming impossibility of that - even the elite bare-handed units in Galou couldn't quite accomplish piercing or slashing attacks - up until Nanami finished with her preparations and approached the table, laying out a wooden bowl of what looked like salad on both sides of the table, along with two mugs of a steaming, dark liquid. Garnt was pretty sure it wasn't any kind of tea he'd heard of before - tea wasn't supposed to bubble ominously, for one.

"So, is that cutting force technique also a pyromancy trick?", Garnt ventured. He might as well start the conversation, and he was really curious about that.

"'Also'? No, no. I haven't quite figured out this era's magic yet, unfortunately.", she replied, slightly tilting her head to one side.

"But, you lit the fire earlier with Combustion…? You must have at least a little bit of training."

"That was just a bit of friction. I suppose I could throw around fireballs if I really wanted to, but rubbing my fingers raw for something useless like that is, well, useless."

That was… Garnt was going to have to get used to someone who got recorded in history books as a sword doing absurd things, he supposed. The researcher in him really wanted to question her more, but he was also starting to suspect that, Empty or Imaginary Sword or not, Nanami was not very good at explaining herself. Just to test that hypothesis…

"And that 'final trial' attack of yours…?"

"It's just a sword swing, really. Why?"

Hypothesis confirmed. Garnt might not have been the best around, but he'd trained a lot as a swordsman, and trained just as much with better swordsmen. He could draw parallels to all kinds of techniques here, some more outlandish than others, that could accomplish something similar.

But those techniques all involved a certain degree of build-up, of calling upon higher powers, or some enchantment within the blade. He could sense none of that here, which only left raw physicality.

"Nothing, nothing, I was simply curious." He said casually, deciding to hide the gap in conversation by taking a sip of the supposed tea. Then he paused, and took a swig to confirm.

"Why can I taste this?" He questioned. An Undead's sense of taste was supposed to be almost entirely gone, and yet this was unquestionably both bitter and smooth. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd tasted anything, really - it was a miracle he could identify the taste at all.

"So you noticed." Nanami affirmed, sounding pleased. "Well, even when you think you're tasting something most of it comes down to smell, really. Of course, those parts of an Undead's senses are deadened too, but if you prepare something with that in mind and prioritise scent and texture… It's not that impressive, honestly. I have too much time on my hands out here, and little enough to spend it on that I can afford to develop a recipe like this."

"I guess that raises another question for me. If you have so much time on your hands, why do you spend your days in the Run-offs?"

"That's a rather insulting name, don't you think?" She remarked, smiling. The very air seemed to turn dangerous.

"My apologies. I've never been to this place before, and information about it is scarce in other lands. I can only go by the name I've heard others use most commonly." Garnt said, backtracking immediately. He was suddenly aware of just how close they were, with just a tiny table separating them.

"Apology accepted. The local people call the area Yusi, though before all this," she stated dismissively, waving a hand towards her one window, "Formed, this region was called Melbion. One of three that were consumed by the swamp when it formed. As for why… It holds memories. That's all, really."

Garnt idly picked away at the strange fruit salad as he listened, and was unsurprised that he could somewhat taste this, too. He was pretty sure this was sweet, but it could just as easily be sour.

He paused as Nanami asked a question of her own.

"Let's cut to the chase, though. Why are you here?"

Estea

Tea brewed by Nanami Yasuri for consumption by Undead.

Has mild restorative effects. Tastes alright, which is more than can usually be said by an Undead's senses.