PMS 65

Chapter – 65

A muscular man wielding a massive black axe stood there. His name was Frank, the body of the tribe’s greatest warrior.

He stood at the entrance of a huge building carved into a broad ridge, looking down at a letter in his hand.

“Am I going to die?”

At first, he thought it was a prank, but upon checking, it was indeed a letter from Allen Bahar.

Even though he lived in the jungle, he knew the name—Allen Bahar, the great prophet of this era. A master of causality who had single-handedly toppled a prophetic lineage. Frank had tracked down the sender because he knew how famous he was.

“…I didn’t think someone would pull such a cheap trick.”

He was still skeptical. He had no choice but to go see for himself.

He opened the massive door in front of him. Beyond it was a steep dirt slope.

Atop the slope, a man stood with his arms crossed, as if he had anticipated Frank’s arrival.

“You’ve come.”

“So it’s you.”

Frank twitched his gray mustache and showed a faint, bitter smile. Though he was familiar with famous faces, he immediately sensed something.

“Not only a prophet, but also a remarkable warrior. Your presence is impressive.”

Allen Bahar. It was definitely him. The aura that poured off his body was like molten lava, rolling down the slope and spreading across his face—a literal avalanche.

“You must be Frank.”

“That’s right. I am Frank.”

Even facing such overwhelming presence, Frank did not flinch. If anything, he felt a thrill at the idea of testing his strength against this man.

As he revealed his own battle intent, Allen’s face twisted into a clear smirk.

“Ambition is admirable, but it seems you’ve forgotten your own circumstances.”

“What?”

“You can’t even swing your tribe’s axe, can you?”

“You…!”

Frank’s fighting spirit vanished in an instant. He tried to grab the handle of his black axe but his hands trembled.

“How do you know?”

“Things that cannot be hidden remain hidden only in vain. Some of your tribe already suspect, so in front of the great prophet, how much more obvious would it be?”

“…Allen Bahar.”

True to the rumors, Allen Bahar had pierced right through Frank’s deepest worry.

“You know?”

“I told you already. Do you want me to recite the details? Do you think I would deceive you?”

Allen Bahar drew a small dagger—its hilt pure white. Infusing it with his energy, it seemed to expand in length as if it were a longsword. The aura emanating from it surpassed the blade itself.

“The Terpo Tribe’s black axe. You are its successor. Even now?”

“Damn, he really is the great prophet.”

“Now we can talk.”

Allen gestured.

“Move the axe aside.”

“What?”

“The black axe.”

“Impossible.”

Frank instinctively gripped the axe tightly. The black axe was a legendary weapon passed down only to the tribe’s greatest warrior. Receiving it meant he had earned the highest honor, and it was practically his life. But Allen asked him to let it go.

Frank bared his teeth in anger like a cornered wild dog.

“Don’t play games with me.”

“Isn’t that an Ego Weapon?”

Allen stepped forward lightly, as if floating. Simultaneously, he tapped the edge of the axe.

“Ego Weapon.”

“…A divine spirit.”

“Yes. Whether it’s a holy spirit, elemental, or ego soul, it’s a weapon imbued with consciousness. And such weapons can judge for themselves.”

Frank knew this well. It was the very reason he struggled; the axe often defied his commands and acted on its own. He had inherited it but had never truly mastered it.

Allen held the axe’s blade and slowly pushed it outward.

“If I am moving it away from your grasp, the Ego Weapon will naturally resist, right? That’s the beauty of an Ego Weapon.”

Strangely, the axe began to move outward on its own. Frank struggled to resist, and only then did it stop.

“The axe understands. Leave it embedded in the wall. I will not take it.”

“The axe….”

Frank stared at the axe. It had no eyes, yet he could feel its faint magical aura. The weapon remained calm, as if willing him to obey Allen’s command.

Frank recalled some recent whispers behind his back:

“He still cannot control the black axe?”
“Maybe we should choose a new chief warrior.”
“The black axe protects the tribe—this is serious.”

‘The survival of my entire tribe…’

Frank loved the Terpo Tribe more than anyone. He had even considered abandoning the black axe recently.

“If I cannot wield it….”

“I didn’t say you could never wield it. I didn’t tell you to abandon it, Frank.”

Allen clicked his tongue at Frank’s sulky face.

“Why do you think I brought you all the way here? You must protect your tribe. In the future I have seen, you are the only one fit to be their greatest warrior.”

“Only me…?”

“It’s not the black axe that makes a great warrior; the greatest warrior is the one who wields the black axe. If you abandon it, your power will weaken, obviously.”

Allen recited what he had seen. Eventually, the Terpo Tribe fell to a demonic invasion. A late-arriving Frank found himself among piles of corpses, clutching the black axe and vowing vengeance, charging into the battlefield. His path had brought him to the Pahoma Mountains.

“I will help you. Trust me, and the black axe will accept you.”

“Really?”

“With the name of the Kingdom’s First Prophet as guarantee, I assure you—you will master the black axe here.”

Frank nodded and threw the black axe into the wall. With a tremendous crash, it lodged deep into the stone. Allen, smiling, stepped back.

“Then we’ll begin stage one. Take it all in.”

The weapon that fell before him was a worn, bent axe.

“Use this to defeat the enemies and reach the top.”

Suddenly, the slope above began to bubble and boil, and Aqua Slimes emerged in waves, rolling down endlessly.

“With this?”

“Yes, with this.”

Allen leaped upward and disappeared from sight. Stage one had begun.

The sun was already setting, but Frank could not stop chopping. His axe swings were awkward and clumsy. He was too used to the black axe. The slimes attacked relentlessly, leaving only small scratches and no progress.

“Damn it!”

Overwhelmed, he eventually dropped the axe and ran to the wall to retrieve the black axe.

“At least…!”

“Is that all you’ve got, Frank?”

But Allen Bahar was already there. Calmly, he drew the black axe, braced it on his back, and lowered his stance.

“Watch.”

Swinging the black axe, his strike cut through the training ground. The Aqua Slimes were all split apart, trembling and melting. Frank stared in disbelief.

“How… did you…?”

“A weapon waiting for its true master cannot belong to just anyone.”

“What does that mean!”

Allen embedded the black axe back in the wall and said:

“Now pick up the old axe again.”

Meanwhile, a blonde elf climbed the slope. On her back was a blue crossbow, radiating an icy aura. The midday sun caused it to heat slightly, giving off faint smoke.

“Allen Bahar….”

She repeated the name of the one who had summoned her as she opened the door.

What she saw was a small training slope and a bearded man lying in slime, unconscious.

“That can’t be Allen Bahar.”

The elf rolled the man over, and he coughed up slime, opening his eyes.

“Huff… another failure.”

“Who are you?”

He wiped his face.

“Frank of the Terpo Tribe.”

“Never heard of you.”

“Then who are you?”

“Askada of the Parin Forest.”