Journey to Become the Zenith

Diana!!

The mountain path narrowed as they climbed.

Ahead, Victor moved with steady steps, his boots brushing over rough stone like he was just out for air on a calm street. Trees closed in closer now. Underfoot, the earth wore a mat of pine needles. A cold hint slipped through the breeze - one that felt too sharp for this time of day.

A sound cut through the sky - just one cry from a raven. Then nothing.

Victor didn’t slow.

A slow calm carried him forward, fingers loose, mouth just lifting at the corners. Danger, should it show itself here among the rocks, would find him unshaken.

A step behind and to his right, Lane moved with the bow ready. Dark eyes swept the tree line - sharp, unblinking. Light feet avoided crunching stones. Shadows got noted. Each flicker of motion weighed.

Clara followed on the left, shield strapped firm, posture balanced and ready. She moved like someone who understood that alertness was currency in quests like this. Years of experience told her one truth—

Monsters never announced themselves.

And yet...

Her thoughts weren’t entirely on the trees.

They kept circling back.

Soren.

No blood.

She didn’t believe it.

And yet—

Victor didn’t speak nonsense. Not casually. Not without reason.

How did he know?

She glanced at him.

He looked calm. Almost amused.

That slight smile again.

Clara narrowed her eyes faintly. She looked away quickly when he shifted his head slightly, as if sensing her.

A few steps passed.

Then—

”Clara,” Victor said lazily without turning around, ”if you want to stare at me, you can do it openly. You don’t need to sneak peeks.”

She nearly tripped.

Lane’s head snapped toward her sharply.

”What nonsense are you saying?!” Clara shot back instantly, cheeks warming despite herself. ”I’m not looking at you.”

Victor slowed just enough to glance over his shoulder. Golden eyes gleaming.

”Oh? Then what are you looking at?”

”I’m not looking!” she insisted, flustered. ”I was thinking.”

Victor raised one eyebrow.

”Oh? Then tell me, beautiful Clara—what are you thinking about?”

Lane’s gaze sharpened even more at the word beautiful.

Clara took a steady breath. Regained herself.

”I was thinking about the boy. Soren.”

Victor’s expression shifted slightly.

”Oh?” he said. ”And what about him?”

Clara hesitated, then spoke more seriously.

”I want to know something.”

She stepped closer now, meeting his gaze directly.

”How do you even know he has no blood? When I hugged him, he felt warm and alive. How is that possible if he had no blood?”

Her voice wasn’t accusing.

It was searching.

Victor studied her for a moment.

He considered keeping it to himself.

But he had already shown her the scythe before.

And Lane knew.

”...Diana,” he said quietly. ”Show yourself.”

The dragon-shaped tattoo on his right arm began to glow.

Not brightly.

But with a deep, crimson shimmer that pulsed once—twice—

And then—

The air in front of them distorted slightly.

From that distortion, a figure stepped forward.

A woman.

Long black hair cascading down her back. Red eyes calm and watchful. A flowing black robe clung gently to her form, fabric shifting like smoke. Her figure was elegant—slender waist, long legs visible beneath the folds of dark cloth. Her posture carried quiet authority.

Clara’s eyes widened.

Instinctively, she shifted into a defensive stance.

Lane didn’t.

She only tightened her grip on her bow.

She already knew.

Victor had told her.

But that didn’t stop the bitterness rising faintly in her chest.

She lives inside him.

Lane’s gaze flickered over Diana’s form.

She’s beautiful.

Of course she is.

A spirit.

Bound to him.

Diana’s red eyes shifted toward Clara, observing her stance without hostility.

”This is Diana,” Victor explained calmly. ”The spirit of the contracted weapon I’m using. She’s the one who told me the boy had no blood.”

”Spirit of a contracted weapon?” Clara repeated, confusion evident.

Victor shrugged lightly.

”Well, that’s what I call her. We formed a contract so I can use the scythe you saw back in the dungeon. I don’t know what you call that kind of weapon, so I made the term contracted weapon.”

Clara blinked.

”...Okay,” she said slowly. ”I can kind of understand your naming sense. But a spirit? A spirit that resides in a weapon... wouldn’t that make your weapon something like a legendary weapon?”

Victor tilted his head.

”I guess,” he said casually. ”What do you think, Diana?”

Diana’s lips curved faintly beneath the veil of shadow across her face. Her voice was smooth.

”The weapon he wields is not merely legendary,” she said gently. ”It is a mythical weapon that dates back to the age of myth. I was its last known wielder... and I fused myself to it.”

Clara went still.

Mythical.

Even Lane’s breath slowed slightly.

Victor shrugged again.

”Is that so? A mythical weapon...” He waved his hand lightly. ”Well, it doesn’t really matter. Even if it’s a stick, I can still get the same result. It’s just a bit easier when I use the scythe.”

Clara stared at him.

Disbelief.

Appalled.

”You—” she stopped herself.

His pride wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t boastful.

It was absolute.

As if the weapon was secondary.

As if power was his, not borrowed.

He doesn’t understand what that means.

Or maybe—

He understands too well.

Clara inhaled slowly and spoke.

”In this world,” she began carefully, ”weapons are classified into seven grades.”

Victor listened, mildly curious.

”The first grade is common weapons. Forged by amateur smiths. Anyone can afford them.”

She gestured slightly.

”The second grade—advanced weapons. Crafted by veteran blacksmiths with years of experience.”

Lane listened silently.

”The third grade—expert weapons. Forged by renowned masters whose names are known across kingdoms.”

Her eyes sharpened.

”Then come legendary weapons.”

She paused.

”These aren’t simply forged. Even if crafted by the ancient forge clan from Forge God Mountain, forging is only the first step. To become legendary, the weapon must witness a great deed. A king founding a kingdom. A hero slaying a tyrant. Only then does the weapon carry a legend.”

Victor nodded faintly.

”After that,” Clara continued, ”are saint weapons. These are imbued with mana through continuous use by Saint-level or Divine-level masters. Over time, the weapon evolves. Some masters of the ancient forge clan can achieve similar results—but only with extreme skill.”

Diana remained silent, watching.

”The next grade,” Clara said more softly, ”is mythical.”

Her eyes flicked to the scythe’s spirit.

”These are weapons once wielded by gods. Tied to divinity itself.”

A pause.

”And the final grade—origin weapons.”

Her voice lowered slightly.

”Older than gods. Their existence is... questionable.”

Silence settled briefly between them.

Victor gave a quiet hum.

”So mine is second from the top,” he said casually.

Clara almost laughed from frustration.

”That’s not something you brush off!”

Victor smiled faintly.

”It still cuts.”

Lane finally spoke.

”And she still lives inside you.”

There it was.

The edge in her voice.

Diana’s red eyes shifted toward Lane briefly.

Lane met her gaze without flinching.

I won’t lose.

Not to a spirit.

Victor noticed.

Of course he did.

He stepped slightly between them—not protectively. Just casually.

”Diana’s presence doesn’t change anything,” he said calmly. ”She gives information. That’s all.”

Lane looked away first.

But the faint jealousy lingered in her chest.

Clara exhaled slowly.

”So... she’s the one who confirmed Soren had no blood?”

”Yes,” Victor replied.

Diana nodded gently.

”I am sensitive to blood,” she said calmly. ”And the boy has none.”

Clara felt a chill despite herself.

The forest grew quieter.

Victor turned back toward the path.

”We’re wasting time.”

He stepped forward again.

Lane followed.

Clara lingered for half a second longer—eyes shifting between Victor and Diana.

Then she moved.

The mountain waited above them.

And whatever ranked beyond legend—

Was about to learn what kind of man walked its slopes.