Chapter 122: Blood Reaper

As the sharp, shimmering steel cleared the dark ironwood scabbard, a brilliant flash of crimson light pierced the cavernous depths of the Audience Chamber, reflecting off the polished marble floor and illuminating the astonished faces of every official assembled below.

Under the watchful eyes of his ministers, military commanders, and guards, Craig stood motionless for a fraction of a second, his gaze fixed on the pristine edge of the blade.

The moment his fingers wrapped firmly around the custom-wrapped tsuka (hilt) of the katana, an invisible, high-frequency shockwave rippled outward from his hand.

His golden-crimson eyes lit up with a sudden, radiant intensity.

Just as he was effortlessly fluent with every blade, spear, and polearm he had ever wielded in his past and present lives, this weapon felt entirely different.

It felt like a natural extension of his own nervous system, an organic appendage born exclusively for slaughter.

The moment he tightened his grip, the dormant, sovereign majesty of his Monarch of Swords special-grade talent awakened within his soul.

It was an innate, legendary Talent that defied normal mortal limits, granting him absolute, undisputed control over every blade he touched.

Under its invisible domain, the weapon did not merely rest in his hand; it communicated with him, whispering its weight, its balance, and its unquenchable thirst for impact directly into his combat instincts.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Craig pushed himself up from his sovereign throne.

He stepped away from the cushions, standing tall upon the summit of the marble dais as he lifted the katana to eye level, examining the intricate, blood-red rune patterns etched meticulously along the spine of the fuller.

Without warning, Craig raised the blade and slashed it downward through empty air.

He deliberately refused to channel even the tiniest speck of his internal mana reserves into the strike, relying entirely on raw physical momentum and the weapon’s inherent craftsmanship.

SWISH—SHING!

The visual and auditory feedback was terrifying.

Despite lacking any magical enhancement, the sheer kinetic displacement of the air tore a visible, whistling vacuum in the chamber, producing a razor-sharp sonic crack that made several guards near the doorway flinch involuntarily.

A profound look of astonishment crossed Craig’s face.

Even without mana, he felt infinitely stronger, faster, and more lethal holding this blade than he had with any other sword he had ever wielded in his past life.

The weight distribution was absolute perfection; it moved like a feather in a gale yet possessed the crushing momentum of a falling meteor.

Still processing the staggering quality of the weapon, Craig turned his gaze downward toward Master Ea, his golden-crimson eyes shining with deep intrigue.

"Master Ea," Craig called out, his voice ringing clearly across the hall. "Tell me... who is the master craftsman responsible for forging a masterpiece of this caliber? And what manner of material was used to construct its core?"

Master Ea bowed respectfully from his spot near the central table, a proud smile gracing his features.

"To be entirely honest with you, My Lord, the exact identity of the artisan remains unknown," Master Ea explained smoothly.

"The blade was purchased few days ago by our trade agents in a grand auction house for a hefty sum in the Eastern Continent. However, the raw material used to forge its core is legendary and unmistakable."

Master Ea gestured toward the blade in Craig’s hand. "That sword was forged using pure Varatium—widely recognized as one of the rarest, heaviest, and most volatile metallic elements in existence.

It is a metal that defies ordinary smithing, requiring volcanic-grade temperatures just to shape. But its defining trait is absolute: there is virtually nothing in the physical world that Varatium cannot slice through."

Craig stared down at the humming blade, a dark, knowing smirk curling the corner of his lips.

He could easily attest to that claim; even without testing it against armor, he could feel the terrifying molecular density radiating from the edge, capable of parting enchanted steel and dragon scales as if they were wet paper.

"You have outdone yourselves," Craig said, raising his voice so that every single official in the room could hear his absolute appreciation.

He lowered the blade slightly, inclining his head toward the assembly. "For a gift of this magnitude, mere words are insufficient. I accept this weapon with great honor and grace."

Then, standing before the entire administration to permanently bind his soul to the weapon, Craig lifted the katana back to his eye level, sheathed it smoothly back into its midnight-black ironwood scabbard with a crisp, echoing CLIK, and delivered its christening.

"From this day onward..." Craig announced, his deep voice carrying the unshakeable weight of a rising sovereign, "...this blade shall bear a name that strikes terror into the hearts of my enemies."

He paused, letting the heavy silence build across the hall before speaking the name with absolute finality.

"The Blood Reaper."

That was the name Craig bestowed upon his custom-grade weapon.

Starting today, this was going to be his singular, primary weapon—the ultimate instrument of his ascent.

A legendary blade that would soon carve its way through the coming wars, cutting down countless lives like hot iron slicing through butter.

It was the true beginning of the legend of Craig von Darkstar.

Craig let out a long, grounding exhale, stepping backward up the dais and settling once more into the cushions of his throne.

The playful, awestruck atmosphere of the gift-giving ceremony instantly melted away, replaced by the crushing, absolute gravity of a ruler issuing final commands before a campaign.

He swept his golden-crimson eyes across the silent, attentive officials.

"Listen well," Craig commanded, his tone shifting into cold, administrative steel. "While I am away on my month-long diplomatic expedition to the Eastern Continent, the governance of this domain will be executed with absolute discipline."

He pointed a finger toward the Minister of State Affairs. "Master Ea will assume total command over all civil administrative duties, internal logistics, and economic management. Every department director answers directly to him."

Craig then shifted his gaze to the veteran military commander standing near the front.

"Ser Gunther will take absolute supreme command over all military garrisons, border patrols, and defense forces within the Myrain Viscounty. Security must be tightened threefold. No unauthorized movements, no breaches of the peace."

A dark, lethal edge crept into Craig’s voice as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the armrests of his throne.

"Let this be understood by every man, woman, and soldier wearing our banner," Craig warned, his gaze sweeping over the entire hall.

"When I return from my journey, if I find that any domestic commotion has fractured our stability... or if any of my rival senior successors have dared to stretch their greedy hands across my borders while I was away..."

He paused, letting the terrifying killing intent radiating from his core wash over the room, making the air feel thick and unbreathable.

"...I will personally execute every single person responsible, down to the last man. None of you will find mercy."

A collective, shuddering gulp rippled through the officials.

Every head bowed instantly in deep, trembling terror and absolute obedience.

"We understand, My Lord!" they shouted in unified, echoing harmony. "Your commands shall be executed with our lives!"

Craig nodded slowly, leaning back as a calm, dangerous smile returned to his face.

The stage was set, the trap was laid, and the Myrain Viscounty was locked into place.

The Northern Expedition was ready to begin.