Ash watched the blood fall.
A single drop of crimson slipped from his finger and landed on the polished white sheath of the sword, a soft soundless patter lost in the still air of his room.
He held his breath, expecting something—anything. A pulse of mana, a flicker of light, a tremble, an echo in his mind.
But the blood didn't vanish. It didn't absorb. It slid down the smooth white surface of the sword like water on glass… and dropped onto the carpet with a muted splat.
Nothing happened.
He blinked.
Don't tell me…
A bad premonition arose in his heart, he drew another drop of blood and let it fall. Again. And again. Desperation clung to his movements like a shadow.
Still, the sword lay still—beautiful and inert.
Unmoving.
Unfeeling.
"FUCK!!!"
His scream exploded into the room like lightning breaking sky—but the air swallowed it. The soundproof walls of the 1S class dorm didn't echo it back. It was like his voice died the second it left his throat.
