TSMRG 12

TSMRG

Posted by Aashi, Released on September 3, 2025

Chapter 12

Ziiiiing—

At the center of the Lords’ Assembly, where the patriarch had first proclaimed the beginning of the Sword Tomb Ceremony, a blue portal appeared.

“Is it finally over?”
“Phew, everyone has worked hard.”

The elders, who had been waiting for the children to return, spoke one by one while gazing at the portal with expectant eyes, wondering what results this year’s Sword Tomb Ceremony would bring.

And then—

Jiing, Tak.

The first to step out of the portal was Seron Reinhardt, Oswell’s youngest son.

“Seron!”

Seeing his son return with such a proud demeanor, Oswell greeted him with a radiant smile, his eyes gleaming.

In Seron’s hand was a sword with a fiery-red blade—an impressive sight.

“Wait—is that the Flame-Cleansing Sword (火淸劍)?”

Gasps and exclamations erupted among the gathered nobles.

“The Flame-Cleansing Sword? Isn’t that the divine blade once wielded by the third patriarch?”
“How on earth did he manage to obtain that legendary weapon?”

The weapon Seron brought back was none other than the renowned sword once used by Petron, the Sword Saint and the third head of House Reinhardt.

To draw that sword meant he had passed Petron’s trial. And the fact that Seron now held the Flame-Cleansing Sword in his hand meant—

“Could it be… that child passed the Sword Saint’s trial?”

Everyone stared at Seron in disbelief.

Oswell’s shoulders swelled with pride, though he concealed it and instead barked sternly,

“Those who have completed the Sword Tomb Ceremony, stand here and wait!”
“…Yes, Father.”

Seron, who had stood tall with confidence, bowed respectfully and moved according to his father’s instructions.

Soon after, another glow appeared from the portal, and another child emerged.

“Hm? That one is…”
“Meirin. Heinz’s daughter.”
“Ah, the girl who’s fairly well known among the branch families.”
“But what sword is that?”

In Meirin’s hand was a snow-white blade, with a black dragon engraved at its core.

“That’s… the Black Dragon Sword.”
“What? Why would that cursed sword appear here?!”

If Seron’s weapon had stunned them, Meirin’s choice left them dumbfounded once again.

Though the Black Dragon Sword couldn’t match the Flame-Cleansing Sword in sheer prestige, its infamy rivaled it.

Because that sword was known as—

The cursed demon blade that devours its master.

Those who had drawn the Black Dragon Sword in the past were bewitched by it, compelled into endless sword dances until, at the end, they coughed blood and died.

No one knew when or why the sword had come to be enshrined within the Reinhardt Sword Tomb, but… drawing it was never considered a good omen.

Meirin’s father, Heinz, who also sat among the lords, grew visibly grim as he recognized the legend of the blade his daughter now held.

“What in the world is happening this year?”
“Exactly. It’s unheard of for two such swords to appear in a single ceremony.”
“Is this generation… truly extraordinary?”

The appearance of Seron and Meirin had caused a stir, but the hall eventually quieted as more children came out—most bearing ordinary blades or slightly above-average swords.

None carried weapons that could shock the assembly like the two before.

Then—

“Andrei!”

Andrei, who had been thoroughly beaten by Ruin earlier, stepped out of the portal.

The sword in his hand was surprisingly short—a dagger.

“A dagger?”
“Philip’s son drew a dagger?”

The onlookers whispered in confusion at the unusual sight.

But then—

“Hm.”

The taciturn Northern Sword Duke, Daemon, gave a subtle reaction no one else could notice.

And Joel, his attendant, spoke quietly but firmly:

“That sword chose that child.”
“Indeed. This generation truly is… special.”

With eyes sinking deep in thought, the Northern Sword Duke muttered briefly, drawing everyone’s gaze to him. Then he turned to Oswell, his second son.

“Are they all out now?”
“No, Father. One remains.”

At that, everyone immediately realized who was missing.

“Ruin Reinhardt?”
“Kabel’s boy hasn’t come out yet?”

Smirks and sneers spread across many faces.

Most assumed the child had failed to gain a sword’s recognition—or had simply faltered during the trial.

“How much time remains?”
“About ten minutes.”
“…I see.”

If Ruin did not appear within ten minutes, the ceremony would count as a failure.

And failure in the Reinhardt family’s sacred tradition was nearly unheard of—his disgrace would send shockwaves throughout the clan.

Whispers began to ripple:

“A child of the Kaphtalen bloodline failing to be chosen? Hardly surprising.”
“Right, wasn’t their house said to carry a hereditary curse?”
“Yes—the Curse of the Sword. No Kaphtalen can truly wield a blade.”

As mocking laughter spread, Grandmaster Preon of the Snowflame sect frowned.

Did I misjudge him?

He himself had told the Duke that the boy seemed special. To think Ruin couldn’t even pass a simple trial? He shook his head.

No… impossible. His eyes, his bearing—they were nothing like ordinary children.

Just then—

“Hm.”

The Northern Sword Duke stirred on his golden throne. As Oswell prepared to announce the ceremony’s end—

Ziiiiiing!

The portal suddenly rippled, and a small, exhausted boy stepped out.

“…My apologies. Am I late?”

It was Ruin.

Oswell, who had been about to declare the end, faltered as he noticed the sword in the boy’s hand.

An entirely black blade?

From hilt to edge, it was a plain black longsword—utterly unremarkable, with no runes or markings.

He kept us waiting… for something so trivial?

Oswell bristled, ready to scold him—

But then—

Thud!

The Northern Sword Duke, who had sat listlessly until now, rose abruptly to his feet.

Boom!

Instantly, everyone dropped to one knee, bowing their heads.

Daemon said nothing. He simply stared intently at the boy who had just stepped out of the portal.

At last, he raised a hand.

“All have returned. The Sword Tomb Ceremony is ended.”
“Yes, my lord!”

With that, he turned and strode swiftly toward his study.

The crowd remained kneeling until the door slammed shut. Only then did they rise again.

“This concludes the Sword Tomb Ceremony.”

And so, thanks to the Duke’s action, even Ruin—who had appeared at the very last moment—was recognized as having passed.

Boom!

Inside his study, Daemon closed the door firmly and spoke to Joel.

“I must visit the Sword Tomb once more.”
“My lord? Why now?”
“…There is something I must confirm.”

With no further explanation, he lifted a small crystal orb.

Ziing!

Violet energy enveloped him, and his form vanished entirely.

Preon blinked in astonishment. “W-what is happening?”

Joel smiled gently. “At times, even I cannot fathom my lord’s actions. But everything he has ever done has always had purpose—and yielded good results. We need only wait.”

Preon could only nod silently, still unsettled.

Ziiing!

Daemon reappeared within the dark Sword Tomb itself. Without hesitation, he surged forward with speed faster than wind, faster than light—until he stopped before a massive underground altar.

There stood a statue of a heroic figure in a golden helm, wielding a sharp blade with an air of majesty.

It was Bellion Reinhardt, the founding patriarch.

“…It has been a long time.”

Daemon’s gaze shifted downward, to the base of the statue.

Three swords had once been enshrined there. Now, only two remained—one glowing gold, the other faint violet.

The third space was empty.

Buuuum—

The sword at Daemon’s waist trembled, as though groaning. He stroked it gently.

“I know. Be still for now.”

Each of these was a legendary weapon recorded in history—yet Daemon’s eyes ignored their brilliance.

Instead, he stepped forward—

Step. Step.