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“You’re the Holy Sword, aren’t you?” Ketal asked it, studying the broken weapon resting across his palms.
“I am,” the blade answered, its voice clear and even. “The great gods sent me down to the Mortal Realm so that I could aid mortals against demons. Whoever holds me gains strength enough to stand against evil.”
The Holy Sword was a weapon forged for the world itself, a blade born to stand against malice and answer it
Even so, Ketal’s expression remained noncommittal. “I’m not convinced you’re that strong.”
He meant it plainly. The power he had felt from the blade was impressive, but not overwhelming. It was not weak, yet neither did it radiate the kind of force that would decide the world's fate by itself. Divine power held a natural edge over demonic beings, but the edge was not infinite.
“That is acceptable,” the Holy Sword replied without offense. “Because I am just a device.”
“A device?” Ketal echoed.
“Yes. The one who draws me gains great power, but because even the unqualified can obtain it if their affinity fits, there are limits. By mortal measures, my holder reaches roughly the threshold...
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