The Evil Ladies Form An Alliance

CHAPTER 28: Unexpected Revelation

The holy sword was no ordinary weapon, it was an artifact of divine craftsmanship, forged by the god Eutheus himself. Legend claims that Eutheus poured all his strength and ingenuity into its creation, working tirelessly alongside his loyal companion, the spirit of a great dark wolf. This was no mere blade, it was a masterpiece, imbued with the god's holy power and destined to stand as a beacon of justice.

Bound by the divine edict that forbade gods from directly meddling in mortal affairs, Eutheus entrusted the sword to humanity. He gifted it to the first hero, Alviertheous I, who wielded it to drive back monstrous forces and save humanity from annihilation. The blade, thus entwined with the empire's destiny, became a sacred symbol and passed down the royal lineage.

But humans, as humans often do, failed to live up to divine expectations. The conditions set by Alviertheous I and Eutheus were forgotten, and the sword's blessing departed from the royal family. Since then, the sword chose its masters independently—or so everyone believed.

In truth, it wasn’t the sword doing the choosing. It was Eutheus, peering down at the world, shaking his celestial head at the sheer absurdity of human greed and corruption. For centuries, no one was worthy of it. Then, one day, Eutheus's gaze landed on a young child—pure-hearted, selfless, and untainted by the darkness of the world. His fairness and sense of justice were a beacon in the chaos.

"Finally," Eutheus sighed in divine relief, "someone who won't embarrass me."

Thus, the holy sword was bestowed upon the boy, Ashton Henstone. A living legend in the making. Or so it seemed.

Now, the god’s supposed masterpiece, this divine artifact of immeasurable power, was flying across the grand hall like a thrown stick, spinning through the air before it clattered unceremoniously against the palace ceiling and crashed to the floor with a pitiful clang.

“AHHH!” the sword screeched as it sprang upright, wobbling slightly as if dizzy. “You UNGRATEFUL HUMAN! "How dare you treat me like this?” Its voice echoed indignantly as it stomped toward Ashton on its hilt like a tiny, furious soldier. “You don’t deserve me! You incompetent, brainless, fleshy—”

Ashton, unfazed, bent down, grabbed the sword by its hilt mid-rant, and sheathed it in one smooth motion. His stoic expression didn’t waver as he muttered, “Keep quiet, old, creepy talking sword.”

“Creepy?!” the muffled voice shrieked from within the sheath. “Creepy?! I AM A MASTERPIECE! Crafted by the hands of GOD! I am HOLINESS EMBODIED! And you treat me like—like—ugh! I can’t do this anymore! I swear, even if you produce an army of descendants, I will never let them inherit my powers!”

The room fell silent. Courtiers, nobles, and knights stood frozen, jaws agape. The image of a divine weapon yelling petulantly at its wielder was… not what they expected.

Enoch, however, barely reacted. He leaned casually against a pillar, arms crossed, watching the bizarre exchange with mild amusement. “Hah,” he muttered under his breath, “Same argument. Different day.”

He knew better than anyone that Ashton and the sword had a relationship far from the reverence one might expect. It wasn’t divine harmony. It was more like two roommates forced to tolerate each other.

The holy sword, still fuming, groaned loudly. “Eutheus… Why? Why did you curse me with this human? Out of all the pure-hearted souls in the world, did you choose THIS brat?”

Ashton ignored the rant, straightening his cloak with calm indifference. Enoch chuckled to himself and muttered, “Well, at least it’s never boring with those two.”

As the procession awkwardly resumed, whispers rippled through the crowd of escort knights. They weren’t sure what was more shocking, the holy sword’s tantrum or the fact that Ashton seemed completely unfazed by it.

Ashton Henstone, the stoic and composed Hero of the Empire, suddenly faltered mid-step. His gaze locked onto a figure ahead a man whose sheer presence could freeze even the fiercest warrior in his tracks. Duke Matheus Hawthorne, a man whose reputation preceded him like thunder before a storm. His towering height seemed to carry the weight of his noble lineage, and his icy turquoise eyes pierced straight through Ashton, as though judging his very soul.

For the first time, Ashton’s cool demeanor cracked. His heart pounded against his ribs like it was trying to escape, and he stood frozen, head bowed as if awaiting his final judgment.

Enoch, ever observant, suppressed a snort at Ashton’s rare display of vulnerability. Instead, he bowed deeply, setting an example for the servants and escort knights trailing behind. All of them followed suit in unison, their heads low in deference to the Duke, whose family’s power was rivaled only by the royal house itself.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a blade. Ashton, fumbling to regain his composure, opened his mouth to speak. “G-greetings to His Grace, Duke Mathe—”

But before he could finish, Duke Matheus interrupted. A massive hand clapped down on Ashton’s broad shoulder, causing him to visibly flinch. The Duke’s voice, low and deliberate, carried a gentler tone than expected.

“Father-in-law,” he said, giving Ashton another hearty pat on the shoulder. “Call me father-in-law.”

The collective gasp that followed could have sucked the oxygen out of the room. Enoch’s jaw practically hit the ground. Even the knights shifted uneasily, their helmets barely concealing their wide eyes.

“You and Valerie are to be married soon, are you not?” the Duke continued, his stern gaze softening as a rare smile tugged at his lips. “There’s no need for formalities between families.”

Ashton’s brain was short-circuited. Words escaped him. "Married?" His lips twitched, trying to form a response, but all he managed was a choked, incoherent sound. His legs felt like jelly, and his palms grew clammy.

Sensing his opportunity, the holy sword seized the moment with wicked glee. Its voice rang out loudly, cutting through the shocked silence.

“Aha! "After that steaming night you shared with the lady, it seems the Duke is giving his full approval!”

The hall froze. For a second, it felt as though time itself had stopped. Ashton’s pupils dilated in sheer panic, Enoch’s head whipped toward him, and Duke Matheus…

The Duke’s face turned an alarming shade of pale. His usually commanding presence crumbled as the words hit him like a battering ram. In his mind’s eye, the image of his innocent daughter—his sweet, pure Valerie, whom he still imagined as a cherubic child—morphed into something entirely unholy. His composure shattered, and with a strangled gasp, he collapsed onto the floor, his soul visibly departing from his body.

“Your Grace!” his aide shouted, rushing to his side. “Quick, someone calls a physician!”

The chaos that followed was as absurd as it was alarming. Ashton stood rooted to the spot, unable to process the chain of events, while Enoch gawked at him, his eyes bulging with disbelief. “You?” he hissed. “Steaming night? What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing!” Ashton croaked, his voice higher-pitched than usual. He shot a venomous glare at the holy sword. “You traitorous, overdramatic piece of scrap metal!”

The sword, utterly unrepentant, laughed hysterically from its sheath.

And thus, the great Hero of the Empire found himself in yet another mess, his stoic reputation in tatters, thanks to a mischievous holy sword and the unyielding expectations of a very dramatic father-in-law-to-be.