Harem System In A fantasy World - Chapter 245: White Sword

Chapter 245: White Sword

Elion stepped calmly onto platform number 1, his posture relaxed, his hands loose at his sides, as if he was simply taking a stroll rather than stepping into a match.

A beautiful female proctor was already waiting there with her arms folded beneath her non-existent chest.

She had a stern expression at first glance, but the moment Elion gave her a charming smile out of habit, her eyes widened slightly, and she quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing faintly, which honestly looked a bit comical considering she looked like she could easily be his mother.

He really wasn’t doing it on purpose. It was just… habit at this point to give beautiful women a charming smile.

And right now, he needed something to occupy his mind.

Because William was nowhere to be seen.

Elion didn’t make a fuss about it.

If the guy didn’t show up, that would be quite tragic, because when they finally did face each other…

William would have to bear the full brunt of his anger. And that wouldn’t be pretty.

One minute passed, and the other matches had already started.

The sounds of clashing, explosions, and cheers echoed faintly.

William was still a no-show. Two minutes passed.

Elion started tapping his foot lightly against the stone.

“I’m going to call a forfeit,” the proctor finally said, gathering the courage to walk up to him, her voice a bit hesitant.

“That’s fine with me,” Elion shrugged lightly, already turning as he prepared to step off the platform.

“Wait.”

A calm, familiar voice echoed from above.

Elion stopped.

Xavier descended from the sky, his presence immediately drawing attention. His expression looked indifferent as always, and in his hand, he was holding William by the collar like a misbehaving dog.

Without a word, he dropped him onto the platform.

Thud!

William hit the ground and groaned slightly.

Xavier dusted himself off like he had just taken out the trash, then flew away. Just like that. Elion narrowed his eyes as he watched him leave.

’So he brought William here against his will…’

It made sense.

His family would rather have him lose than not show up at all. Because a loss could be excused. Cowardice could not.

Elion finally shifted his gaze toward William.

The guy was getting up slowly, his expression sour, his movements stiff, like he really didn’t want to be here.

It took every ounce of Elion’s willpower not to immediately pounce on him. But he held himself back.

’Use your anger to sharpen your resolve…Do not let it control you.’

So he let it simmer.

William pulled out his flashy sword, gripping it tightly, but he avoided Elion’s gaze completely, refusing to meet his eyes.

Elion walked back to his position calmly.

Then he summoned his weapon. His new sword landed lightly in his palm.

A beautiful, thin, white longsword. Yes, he had collected it yesterday.

The day before…

Elion had returned to Oliver’s rundown shop later that night, after dropping Mira off at the academy and heading back into the city alone.

He pushed the door open. The place was still as messy as ever. Scrap metal everywhere. Half-finished weapons. Tools were scattered like they had been thrown around randomly.

“Hello? Anyone home?” Elion called out, kicking a stray piece of metal aside as he stepped further in.

No response.

Then he heard the sound of snoring from behind a metal divider.

’…There he is.’

Elion walked over and peeked behind it.

Oliver was there sleeping soundly. If you could even call it that.

He was lying on what looked like a makeshift bed, one sheet thrown on the floor, another… supposed to be covering him, but clearly abandoned halfway through the night. Or day.

His position was a bit ridiculous. One leg was stretched out on the floor. The other was raised high on a metal workbench.

He had drool leaking freely from his mouth down his chin, and one arm flung back like he had passed out mid-movement.

The other was resting on his exposed stomach. His skin looked oddly smooth there.

And he was still wearing the same jumper from yesterday. There were bandages wrapped around him from underneath the shirt. A lot of them.

“…Oliver,” Elion called out. The hand on Oliver’s stomach twitched. “Oliver,” he called again.

The guy shifted slightly. “…Five more minutes…”

Elion walked around the divider and kicked him in the side. “Oliver!”

“Huh—!? What—!? Who—!?” Oliver shot up in alarm, nearly falling over as he scrambled to sit upright, his white hair a mess as he looked around wildly.

“It’s me,” Elion said flatly.

Oliver blinked, “…Oh.” Then he almost flopped back down to sleep.

Kick!

Elion gave him another kick to the side, “Get up.”

“Ow! Hey! What the hell!” Oliver clutched his side, glaring at him. “Do you wake people up like that!?”

“You said it would be ready by now.”

Oliver froze, “…Ah, it’s you…” he finally realised.

He scratched his head awkwardly, then stumbled to his feet, nearly tripping over scrap as he rummaged around.

“Where did I put it…”

Metal clattered as something fell and broke.

“Aha!”

He popped back up and tossed the sword toward Elion.

Elion caught it. The moment he laid eyes on it, he felt the difference from the other uncommon-grade sword he owned, even while it was in a scabbard, “This is not an uncommon grade…” His eyes widened in shock, “Is this a rare grade sword?”

Oliver scratched his cheek, laughing sheepishly. “Yeah… I had a little breakthrough while crafting your sword.”

Elion narrowed his eyes. “How?”

Oliver paused, he blushed, and looked away.

Flashback

The forge burned hot.

Oliver stood alone, sweat dripping down his brow, the molten mithril glowed in the crucible, and as he worked, his thoughts drifted to Elion.

The way he carried himself, his mannerisms, and his manner of speaking. It reminded him of his late master.

The old man who had taught him everything.

He thought of the happy times, the harsh lessons, the laughter they shared, and the lonesome silence that had followed his untimely death.

He poured the molten mithril into the mold and waited as he watched it take shape. Then he pulled it out with tongs and placed it on the anvil. He began striking it.

Clang!

Mana flowed from his hands.

Clang!

He began to shape it.

Clang!

His mana slowly engraved within it with intricate carvings. He poured himself into it.

Clang!

His strikes overlapped with old memories. His master’s hammer. His master’s voice. And his eyes blurred.

Tears began to fall, dropping onto the blade as he hammered away. But he didn’t stop because he could not see. NO!

His emotions, his grief, his memories. All poured into the sword.

And something changed along the way. His mana poured out not in larger quantities, but it came out purer and thicker, in a beautiful silver color, changing the color of the mithril from its natural green to a silver-white color.

Oliver had just achieved a breakthrough into the second crafting grade. He didn’t realise it until he had finished crafting the sword.

Back in the present—

Oliver’s face turned red.

“How did you craft a rare-grade sword?” Elion asked again.

“Aahhh—! Nothing! Just take it and go!”

Oliver pushed him toward the door and shoved him out.

Bang!

The door was slammed in his face. Elion stood there.

“…What’s wrong with him…”

He looked down at the sword. ’A scabbard, too?’ He smiled faintly.

Then flicked a gold coin through the gap in the door.

Clink!

It was probably worth more than that; he wouldn’t know. But rare-grade swords were supposed to cost an arm and a leg.

He drew the blade.

Back to the arena

Shing!

The sword slid free out of the scabbard.

It was a pearly white color that shimmered silver in bright light. The shape was thin and long, just as he had said he wanted it to be, but it was also slightly curved at the end.

A single-edged sword with one blunt side. It looked beautiful.

It shone under the sun, a pale light running along its surface, reflecting the intricate translucent carvings etched down the blade, flowing naturally into the flame-shaped hilt down below.

Elion smiled slightly.

He had never had a younger brother, or an older one for that matter, but if he could, he would want one like Oliver.

The scabbard vanished into storage. He held the blade in his right hand and swung it once.

Shing!

The air split cleanly around it. Swinging it felt effortless because the blade was as light as a feather.

“Begin!”

Elion lifted his gaze.

William stood across from him, his eyes darting around in panic before finally forcing himself to glare at his opponent.

Elion’s expression remained blank.

’Reel it in.’ He reminded himself as his anger threatened to bubble over.

Of course, William’s face was all healed up after Elion’s punch had disfigured him yesterday.

’I would like to smash that face in again.’ He hadn’t been able to enjoy that sensation yesterday. Now, he was really looking forward to this fight.

William didn’t seem like he was going to make the first move. In fact, he took a shaky step back when Elion looked at him.

“…Coward,” Elion muttered loud enough for the fool to hear.

William’s teeth clenched. “Who do you think you are!?” He charged in carelessly.

Elion smiled. ’So predictable.’ The guy had a pea-sized brain, if it even existed in that head.

He lowered his stance as he watched him come. He was going to take his time. Humiliate him for a bit. Then take a few limbs in return for yesterday.

’Don’t disappoint me, William,’ Elion thought. It would be no fun if the fight ended too soon.