Another world II

As Malik hurried away from the alley where he had narrowly escaped the thugs, his thoughts raced as fast as his feet. He had made it out of danger for now, but a new challenge loomed ahead—getting into the academy. After observing his surroundings, Malik realized he was near the outskirts of Academic City, the central hub of learning on the continent. The entrance exam was tomorrow, and he knew he needed a surefire way to pass. The problem was clear: Darius, the current identity he was inhabiting, had very little chance of making it in on his own abilities. The pressure mounted.

"How am I supposed to do this?" Malik muttered to himself as he walked through the bustling streets, the academy's grand towers visible in the distance. Various ideas flooded his mind, each less viable than the last. Maybe he could forge some documents or sneak in during the chaos of exam day, but the academy was well-guarded, and those were risky options. The likelihood of failure hung over him like a dark cloud.

His desperation grew as the hours passed. Time was running out.

Then, a memory surfaced—something he had read in that old novel, *The Tale of the Hero and the Doomed World*. Malik remembered a piece of information about an old, abandoned sword located in the forest near the outskirts of Academic City. The sword was like any ordinary weapon. Though ancient and rusty, it was incredibly durable. Its only drawback: whoever wielded it would never be able to use mana again.

For Darius, this wasn't much of a drawback at all. He had never been able to awaken his mana like the others back in his orphanage. The thought of finding the sword gave him a glimmer of hope. "If I can get my hands on that sword," he reasoned, "I might just have a chance in the entrance exam's final challenge."

Without wasting time, Malik set off toward the old **Landmark of Heroes**, a historical site at the edge of the city that bordered the dense forest. It was a renowned location, known throughout the central continent as the place where legendary heroes had once sworn their sacred oaths to defend Duterra against the Demon Emperor. The towering statues of these ancient heroes loomed in the distance as he hurried along, each one a symbol of hope and courage.

As he weaved through the narrow streets and bustling market stalls, Malik kept his ears open. The city was alive with chatter—merchants haggling, children playing, and travelers discussing the academy's upcoming exam—but he focused on finding any clues about the forgotten relic he was after. Disguising his intent, he approached several locals, casually inquiring about old legends or ancient sites near the city. Some of them were quick to mention the Landmark of Heroes, and thanks to this, he was able to find the landmark more easily.

Satisfied with what he had gathered, Malik made his way toward the edge of the city. The bustling streets gradually gave way to quieter paths, and soon he found himself at the Landmark of Heroes. The towering statues were even more imposing up close. Their weathered faces gazed out over the city, immortalized in their eternal stance of vigilance. Crowds of tourists wandered the area, admiring the site and taking in its grandiose history.

But Malik wasn't here for a history lesson. He knew that just beyond this famous tourist site, hidden from public view, lay a secret path.

After discreetly circling the area, Malik finally spotted what he had been searching for: a faintly worn patch of stone, a few feet away from the main path, nestled between two large statues. He glanced around, ensuring no one was watching, before approaching. There was no obvious door or entry point, but the novel had spoken of a secret tunnel, one that could only be accessed by those who knew the password.

Malik hesitated for a moment, racking his brain for the words he had read in the novel. The details had been vague, but he remembered that the heroes had used a phrase—an ancient vow—to open the passage. Taking a deep breath, he wrote the words he had memorized on the stone:

"As long as we follow the righteous path, nobody can bring us to our knees. But if we abandon it, nothing will be able to save us."

There was a faint rumble. Malik stepped back as the stone before him began to shift, the ground trembling slightly. Slowly, a narrow entrance revealed itself, leading into a dimly lit tunnel that descended into the earth. The secret phrase was a bit of a cliché but nevertheless he was thankful it worked.

He had found it. The forgotten passage that led into the heart of the forest—the place where the sword awaited. As he wandered, he thought back to the novel's description of the sword—it wasn't magical, but it required immense strength to lift. The novel even mentioned that the original person who discovered it was an archaeologist who found these ruins by accident. After the discovery of the unmovable sword, rumors began to spread around town, and the mayor started a contest to see who could lift it. Eventually, the sword fell into the hands of the demonic humans who used it against humanity. Malik gritted his teeth as he thought about the demonic humans and of their cruel schemes. There was no time for hesitation. He needed the sword to survive in this world.

Finally, he stumbled upon a small clearing near an ancient, crumbling monument—one that seemed forgotten by time. In the center of the clearing, partially buried under thick vines and dirt, lay the sword. It was unimpressive at first glance: rusted, with a worn-out hilt, the blade dull and aged by centuries of neglect. But Malik could sense its presence. There was a strange, faint energy emanating from it. However, the most remarkable thing about the sword wasn't its appearance—it was the feeling it gave off.

He approached the sword cautiously, kneeling down to brush away the dirt with his hands. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt and tried to lift it. As Malik gripped it, he could sense an invisible barrier surrounding the weapon, a palpable aura that seemed to push away the ambient energy around it. The air grew still, and the subtle flow of mana in the atmosphere was disrupted as if the sword was actively repelling it.

Nothing. It didn't budge.

"Come on," Malik muttered, straining against the weight of the sword. His muscles burned as he put everything he had into moving it, but it was as if the sword was rooted in the ground. Frustration surged through him. He closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down. "Think... think."

Suddenly, his eyes began to tingle—the same sensation he had felt before when his strange ability had kicked in. Malik took a deep breath and forced himself to focus, channeling the power of his "strange" eyes. Slowly, his vision began to change, revealing the faint flow of energy surrounding the sword, like invisible threads of time coiled tightly around it. He could see the echoes of the past, the silhouette of the swords previous master.

He focused harder, willing the energy to respond. His eyes glowed faintly in the dim light of the clearing. And then, as if answering his call, the sword began to hum softly. The ancient energy shifted, releasing its tight grip.

With renewed strength, Malik gripped the hilt again, and this time, the sword moved. Slowly, agonizingly, the blade began to rise from the ground. Malik's arms trembled under the weight, but the more he focused his vision, the lighter it became. He could feel the sword responding to him now, as if it recognized his determination.

Finally, with a grunt, he lifted the sword high above his head.

The moment the blade was fully freed, a powerful surge of energy shot through Malik's body. It wasn't mana—he could tell that much. But it was something else entirely, something older, something raw. The sword pulsed with life, and Malik could feel a connection form between him and the weapon. It was as though the sword had chosen him.

Panting heavily, he held the sword aloft and smiled before fainting. Awakening the sword had taken everything out of him. After a few hours, he woke up and saw the sword lying next to him.

"I have a chance," Malik whispered to himself, "I can do this."

He sheathed the sword on his back using a makeshift sheath from his clothes and turned to leave the clearing, a renewed sense of determination fueling his steps. The entrance exam was tomorrow, and now, armed with this ancient blade, Malik had a fighting chance.

He had read of how heavy the sword can be but experiencing it firsthand was different, thank God he had trained his body to a reasonable degree or else he would not be able to swing it. The blade seemed to resist any interaction with magic, creating a void in the flow of mana around it. Malik had never felt anything like it before holding the sword was like holding a piece of another world, a world where mana and magic didn't exist.

It was as if the sword itself was designed to exist in direct opposition to mana. Any magical force that came near it would be deflected, repelled, or nullified entirely. Malik swung the sword experimentally, watching as the faint sparks of mana in the air twisted and bent away from the blade, unable to touch it. The more he moved, the more he understood its true nature—this sword was a weapon that treated magic or mana as inferior, a blade that rendered spells and mana-based attacks utterly powerless.

"Interesting," Malik muttered, testing its balance. The sword didn't just cut flesh—it cut through magic.

He couldn't help but smile. With this sword in hand, he wouldn't need to rely on mana. In a world where magic was often the deciding factor, this weapon would make him an unpredictable force in the upcoming exam. It was the very tool he needed to carve his way into the academy.

Clutching the sword firmly, Malik felt his confidence rising.