Is a Gamble Worth a Gander?

Chapter 12: Titanic

Chapter 12

Titanic

Ϫ

"This..."

Lincoln's voice echoed throughout the room, cold and hollow as the biting air around him. His mahogany eyes were affixed securely to the reddish blade jutting from the wall, its brass pommel shining faintly in the light of the far off campfire. As his echo carried, his voice could choke out no more. His mouth dried and his throat closed nearly shut, a sick awe overtook him as he stared.

"Did you find something?!" called Lily, a little worried over his silence.

Yet the young man did not reply, for he could not had he wanted to. His gaze was fixed firmly to the blade, his mind now flooding with memories of the journal. Tales of a beastly man, one to whom he was blood kin, overtook his consciousness as he gazed. He was firmly bewitched with the splendor.

The others took close notice of this after a few minutes of his absence. There was no way it could take so long to peer around the room for possible points of egress. With a look to each other and hesitant nods, the three stood and approached the entranced man.

Their steps were far from silent, slowly taken but not carefully considered. Any novice of combat would've easily heard the crunching of rocky ground as they approached. Alas, Lincoln was far from himself as they advanced, causing his comrades to worry at his lack of reaction.

They stood beside him, unnoticed and all but ignored, and turned their gaze from him to the object of his fascination. One by one their eyes lit with likewise amazement, peering upon the wavy blade dug deep into the dungeon wall. Though not familiar as he, the man's comrades knew very well the stories and legends. The blade of the one-armed man, a veritable monster in his own right. The hero who slew countless monsters, neither blessing nor party to watch his back.

Indeed, as all four stood and stared upon that most famous of blades, the still-living legend of Francis gripped them all in its splendor. The blade sat there, stunning and beautiful and unimaginably deadly, rested tightly in the equally reddish wall. Its aura had now transfixed the entire group, nary but a whisper uttered between them as they gawked.

"Is that... really it?" Welf pondered, first voice to pierce their shared silence.

None answered him for quite a few minutes, bewitched by the blade. Yet Lincoln did eventually break himself enough to respond, more of instinct than manners or awareness.

"Yeah... that's her..."

"So, we're on floor fifteen then..."

This time Liliruka voiced herself, a whisper barely audible above pounding hearts. Those chestnut eyes were measuring it up, pondering heavily the value of such a legendary weapon. Old habits do die hard after all.

"Something's not right." Bell spoke up, sensible albeit fearfully so.

"Bell, nothing's been right today." Lincoln responded, largely breaking himself of his fixation, "This is... something else entirely."

The other three nodded their heads in agreement, absentmindedly but still unanimously.

By this point, having stared at the sword for nearly ten minutes, the awe was wearing off and gradually being replaced with a sort of curiosity. Bell's heart and mind were beginning to fill with the tales of his late grandfather, of heroes conquering vile beasts by virtue of will alone. Lily's thoughts became fully occupied with ponderings over the blade's value, a virtue of her disavowed former self. Welf was taking in the full grandeur of the craftsmanship, of a blade worthy of song and praise in the greatest smithies the world over.