The Holy Sword’s Deception

The legend of the Holy Sword had long been whispered across the continent.

This blade, the Church’s most cherished treasure, was bestowed upon the Hero by the Grand Arch-Priest whenever a Hero descended upon the world. Legend claimed it was indestructible, unyielding, and capable of cutting through anything, hailed as the symbol of a hero’s might, the weapon of kings, the very sword among swords!

“The Holy Sword?” Roland narrowed his eyes, cautiously observing the blade, then turning his suspicious gaze to Freya.

If the Holy Sword had appeared, then what about this little Demon Lord…

No, hadn’t the Philosopher’s Stone said that the Holy Sword could only be wielded once I reached level 48?

“I have sealed the Holy Sword’s power. For now, it is merely a common weapon,” the Holy Sword trembled slightly. “Make your move!”

Before Roland could react, the figure on the ground agilely darted forward.

Before Roland, Freya’s hands gripped the hilt with fervent excitement, crimson blood trickling from the corners of her lips.

This little Demon Lord had resorted to self-harm to resist that state…

The sword was drawn. Freya found the weapon in her hands incredibly heavy, difficult to wield, and so she let its tip fall to the ground. Gripping the hilt with both hands, she turned to face Roland, her eyes gleaming with exhilaration, her face flushed with a crimson tide.

Roland suddenly felt his heart leap into his throat, and he instinctively retreated a few steps, a hint of fear in his eyes.

Freya remained silent, breathing heavily. The atmosphere in the clearing suddenly grew tense and quiet.

“Look, foolish Hero, now the Demon Lord will slay you with the Holy Sword,” the Holy Sword trembled slightly. “This is the price of your folly.”

‘The price, you say? You mentioned a price back in Loran Forest, but you never told me what it was.’

“Hehehe… if you resolve to kill the Demon Lord now, I can grant you another chance.” Freya suddenly felt the Holy Sword in her hands grow immensely heavy, causing her to lose her grip, and the blade clattered to the ground. “Kill her. I can help you recall everything. Do it, just as you once did.”

Roland sighed, then slowly stepped forward, as if he had made up his mind.

“Don’t… come closer.” Freya stretched out her palm towards him, intending to cast a Void spell to repel him. However, he swiftly seized her wrist. Under the influence of her aroused state, her body felt utterly weak, making it impossible to concentrate. A mage unable to focus their magic was, at this moment, nothing more than a lamb awaiting slaughter.

With a casual tug to the side, Roland sent her sprawling to the ground, soft and pliant as melted ice cream.

He reached down and grasped the Holy Sword, swinging it a few times. The blade felt as light as a feather in his hand.

“Excellent. The next step is simple. As you said, close your eyes, swing your hand, don’t overthink it, and the task will be done before you’ve even had time to fret.”

“Hmph…” Roland exhaled deeply, pointing the tip of the Holy Sword at the girl beside him. “Close your eyes, swing your hand…”

Freya looked at the tip of the Holy Sword, a flicker of surprise in her gaze. She tilted her head, looking at Roland with confusion. “Wait… wait, this is…”

‘She still doesn’t understand? How foolish…’

‘Don’t overthink it, don’t overthink it.’

Roland desperately admonished himself.

Thwack—

Freya suddenly slapped herself hard across the face, then looked at Roland with tear-filled eyes.

‘What in the world?’

Freya abruptly hugged Roland’s leg, sobbing pitifully as if the heavens themselves would weep for her. “I’m sorry… I was too greedy… I wanted to take your Holy Sword. Wuwuwu… I’m so sorry!” She gazed up with blurry, teary eyes. “I know I was wrong… Don’t… don’t be so fierce…”

‘Look at this acting, just look at this acting!’

‘Oscar winners are nothing before me!’

‘They’re all trash!’

‘After such prolonged training, enduring so much refinement! At this very moment, this Demon Lord’s acting has surpassed the limits of carbon-based life, utterly eclipsing every other actor on the continent. Perhaps if this Demon Lord truly desired it, those Oscar winners wouldn’t have a meal ticket!’

‘Hero, fall before the acting prowess of this Demon Lord!’

Roland froze, the twitching muscles of his face beginning to convulse. Suddenly, he burst into laughter, tears streaming from his eyes.

“Alright, alright, that’s truly something…” He wiped away his laughing tears, shaking his head with amusement. “Three sentences, and you’ll understand.”

“What…”

“So this is what the Demon Lord looks like.”

“Huh?”

“I thought you’d be disgusting and hideous, like a common demon.”

‘Eh, wait, isn’t this?!’

Roland slowly leaned closer to her pale, beautiful face. “Aside from your white hair, you look just like a normal human.”

As if a switch had been flipped, Freya scrambled backward a short distance, her expression blank.

“You, you…” At this moment, she could no longer control her body, which was still affected by the fruit, and fluids slowly began to seep uncontrollably from her.

She gritted her teeth, tears welling in her eyes, and forcefully pointed a finger at the Hero before her.

‘When… when…’

“Damn it all!!!” She clenched her fist and slammed it against the ground, ignoring the sharp pain in her hand. She felt utterly ridiculous, realizing that her acting had been seen through by this man all along.

“You truly enjoyed the ‘service’ I provided, didn’t you?!” Freya laughed, a twisted, savage sound. “A Demon Lord washing clothes and cooking for you—wasn’t that great? Kissing me—wasn’t that great?!”

“It was,” Roland nodded. “I must admit, you’re a very good…” He suddenly stammered, swallowing the last two words.

“Actor.” Freya’s violet eyes glowed faintly crimson.

“…No, ah… anyway,” Roland shook his head with a smile. “Your acting truly is excellent, simply flawless. If not for the Philosopher’s Stone, I would never have known you were the Demon Lord.”

“The Philosopher’s Stone?” Freya paused, then pulled the stone from her clothes.

“It’s not there anymore; it’s in my hand, transformed into the Holy Sword.” Roland pointed the weapon in his hand at the Demon Lord. “It was this very thing that brought back my memories of the Magic Fairy Castle.”

“Hehehe… hehehe…” Freya seemed to recall something amusing, looking at Roland with disdain. “Foolish Hero, the Philosopher’s Stone is an inanimate object without consciousness. Furthermore, nothing can transform into the Holy Sword’s appearance, except…” She slowly drew out her words, “…the Holy Sword itself.”

“What…” Roland’s eyes widened, taken aback.

“That’s right, I am the Holy Sword.” The Holy Sword trembled in Roland’s hand, its voice growing loud enough for both of them to hear. “Hero, strike! Kill the Demon Lord, and boundless power, along with all your forgotten memories, shall be yours!”

Freya despairingly slowly bared her chest, her hands falling limply to her sides. With a hint of defiance, she said, “Hurry, I’m afraid of pain.”

Roland raised the sword, slowly bringing it down.

****

She felt no cold touch of the Holy Sword against her neck. Freya, surprised, opened her eyes, looking at the Hero who had plunged the sword into the ground beside her.

“Why…” Freya stared at him blankly. “You…”

‘Was it out of old sentimentality? Or perhaps swayed by my charm?’

‘Hiss—’

At that moment, Freya’s mind raced, conjuring a melodramatic scenario: the Hero, captivated by her diligent service and stunning beauty, had fallen in love and found himself unable to strike at this crucial moment.

“I suspect… there’s something wrong with this sword.” Roland mused, looking thoughtfully at the Holy Sword, then slowly spoke. “I feel that if I killed you, I would lose myself.”

“No! You won’t! You’re overthinking it!” The Holy Sword emitted a blood-red glow, slowly settling onto Roland’s right hand. “Strike! Strike now!”

‘My hand…’

A strange power invaded Roland’s body. He was shocked to find his body slowly losing control. First his right hand, then his entire arm, then it began to spread throughout his body, even his brain slowly began to ache.

‘Kill… kill… kill…’

A powerful malevolence formed in his mind. His eyes gradually turned crimson as he looked at the little Demon Lord before him, seeing only how hateful she was.

He yearned to plunge the Holy Sword deep into her body, to savor her screams, to feel her warm fluids soak his entire body.

“You…” Roland punched himself hard to maintain his clarity, then glared angrily at the Holy Sword. “Is this the ‘price’ you spoke of?!”

“White, you are always so cautious, so cautious it irritates me!” The Holy Sword’s sinister voice echoed. “Do you remember? I told you, all power comes at an equal price. Kill the Demon Lord, and you will indeed gain boundless power. Becoming my vessel is merely a bonus. To become the Holy Sword’s vessel—ah, what supreme glory!”

“Then why… why must you kill me…?” Freya asked, bewildered.

The Holy Sword manipulated Roland, making him slowly stand upright. This time, it was the controlled Roland who slowly spoke, his face twisted with malice. “Seizing the Demon Lord’s dying soul is a crucial step in my path to godhood.”

‘Godhood? What is this fellow talking about? How is that possible… Gods are merely fabrications of the Church…’

‘Unless…’

Roland gripped the Holy Sword, pouring his domineering demonic energy into it. Freya knew that the Hero before her was now under the Holy Sword’s control. That terrifying power was identical to what she had felt in the Thunderclap Ruins of Loran Forest before.

‘Damn it! I should have never eaten that cursed golden fruit. Unable to gather her demonic energy, she was utterly defenseless now!’

‘Magic! Magic! It’s all this damned magic!’

“What White could not accomplish,” the Hero grabbed Freya by the collar and lifted her up, “I shall complete.”

The Hero glanced at Freya’s face, a wicked smile spreading across his lips. “What a pity. You truly are beautiful in this form.”

‘It’s over…’

Freya looked at his bloodshot, murderous eyes, her face filled with despair.

‘I’m still going to die…’

The Hero slowly pushed the Holy Sword forward…

“Mm…” Freya let out a soft hum, feeling the sword’s cold touch, yet strangely, she felt no intense pain.

“Ugh…” Roland suddenly let out a muffled groan of pain. The sword pressed against Freya’s lower abdomen, its sharp tip piercing a tiny, crimson spot. “How can this be… I should have corrupted all the magic within you…”

His face contorted in a sneer. He pondered for a moment, then, as if realizing something, he gritted his teeth and snarled, “That damned fruit…”

‘Fruit? The Jonagold fruit? Oh right, that thing absorbed a tremendous amount of magical elements, and it contained a lot of demonic energy, otherwise, this Demon Lord wouldn’t have been messed up by it. This foolish Hero’s demonic energy was corrupted? When? Was it when he saved me last time?’

Freya’s mind raced with a thousand thoughts, her gaze complex as she looked at him.

“Futile! That meager amount of magic won’t sustain your resistance for long!” The Holy Sword controlled Roland’s body, his expression constantly shifting. “With such a small amount of magic, how can you contend with me, the Holy Sword! I am the King of Kings, the Sword of Swords!”

The sword in Roland’s hand was slowly forced forward by a powerful, blood-red demonic energy…

‘Magic… magic…’

A flash of insight struck Freya, and her mind suddenly grasped something vital.

‘I must give this foolish Hero more magic. The magic from that fruit is definitely not enough for him to fight the Holy Sword. What, what could give him more magic…’

Slowly feeling the Holy Sword pierce her skin, Freya looked down to see fresh, crimson blood slowly seeping from her pristine skin.

‘My blood…’

‘Yes, the bodily fluids of a high-ranking demon…’

Looking up at the Hero whose expression was struggling but steadily growing more savage, Freya knew this was it; she had to go all out.

She actively reached out, hooked her arms around his neck, and pressed her face against his.

In an instant, her soft, rosy lips pressed against Roland’s. This time, Freya initiated the attack. She skillfully pried open his tightly sealed teeth, found his crimson tongue, which was slightly thicker than her own, and circled it with her small, nimble tongue. Their tongues, like two small mills of flesh, tangled and danced, one moment pressing, the next yielding, their clear saliva a silent, flowing language.

Lips moved frantically, tongues twined desperately. Her soft, cake-like flesh pressed against his rough, stiff lips, her agile mouth working to continuously send vital fluids into his. Freya dared not even blink, her eyes fixed on his expression, terrified that in the next second, she would be pierced through by the Holy Sword.

After a while, she noticed his expression wasn’t quite as savage. But she dared not relax her guard, dutifully continuing her efforts. A little later, she felt his tongue begin to respond, which greatly encouraged her, and she pressed her advantage, even though her tongue felt like it was cramping.

After an unknown amount of time, Roland pushed her away, and a thin, glistening thread of saliva stretched between their separated tongues.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Roland wiped his mouth, looking at her with a wry smile. “If you’re not tired, I certainly am.”

Seeing this, Freya finally breathed a sigh of relief, speaking as if granted a reprieve. “If you hadn’t come back, I truly would have died. My tongue is numb.”

“Yes, I’m back. Now I’m considering how to kill you without the Holy Sword.” Roland raised the Holy Sword above his head.

“Ah! No way…” Freya’s face fell.

Thwack—

Roland used the Holy Sword to gently tap her little head, a triumphant smile on his face. “Just kidding.”

Freya rubbed her aching head, staring intently into his eyes as she asked, “You’re not going to do it? Are you sure? You can’t go back on your word!”

“I haven’t figured out how to kill you yet… We’ll see…”

“Don’t think about it, don’t think about it!” Freya clasped her hands together, looking at him with an expectant expression. “I don’t want the Holy Sword or anything. Please, just let me go, okay?”

“No,” Roland said, grabbing Freya’s shoulder, a hint of threat in his tone. “You swore to kill me before.”

“My mouth was reckless! I swear I won’t now; I can’t beat you anyway.”

“Still no. I need your help to fight the Holy Sword.” Roland savored the previous sensation, smacked his lips, and looked at her slyly. “That trick was quite effective, you’re very good at it.”

“Tch—” Freya made a disgusted face. “You think I wanted to?!”

“Hero… one day, you will…”

The Holy Sword seemed to want to say more, but Roland had no patience to hear it out. He simply found a large stone and plunged the sword fiercely into it.

The sharp blade instantly sank into the giant rock, leaving only its blue-gold hilt exposed.

Satisfied, he clapped his hands, ignoring the Holy Sword’s furious curses behind him. He walked over to Freya, then turned back to the Holy Sword and remarked, “The stone’s quite large, so bear with it.”

“Hahahaha…” Freya chuckled, finding something amusing. When she saw Roland’s gaze fall upon her, she casually closed her mouth.

Roland stretched, then slung the basket of Jonagold fruit onto his back. He then grabbed Freya’s wrist.

“What are you doing…” Freya frowned. “You’re holding too tight.”

“What do you think?”

Roland loosened his grip slightly, then gave her a disdainful look before turning and walking forward.

“Time to go home for dinner.”