"...I see now. So that is my purpose, right?"
Clara’s tone was flat, as if she had come to a logical conclusion rather than an emotional realization. Her crimson eyes blinked once.
Then, twice as she continues speaking.
"Then, do you wish to be my king, maître?"
Adam tilted his head, caught somewhere between amusement and curiosity. There was no hesitation in her voice. No dramatic pause. She simply asked, as if offering to hand him a cup of tea.
"...You know what? Yeah. That doesn’t sound too bad."
To which Clara then began to raise her head and looked at him, and replied back saying.
"Then I shall serve under your rule, my maître." 1
Clara announced as she kept her knees bent, her posture fixed as she re-knew her knight vows under a new crown. Her declaration held no passion nor fervor.
Neither was there any fanfare, much less debate. All there was in this moment was simple obedience, delivered like a statement of fact.
Adam smirked faintly at her actions as he said.
"Alright then, I’ll hold you to that. Now, let’s get you armed. What kind of sword are you most comfortable with in battle?"
Asked Adam as Clara then raised her head once more and commented.
Clara started off, and as she continued speaking.
"In my time, it was customary to wield the flamberge...an esteemed blade, even used in the Marine Française. But I have always preferred my weapons with some weight... not too heavy, non, but enough to feel alive in my hands."
"A petty though, I once had a sword specially crafted just for me, tailored, precise to handle my special gripping technique and sword style. Since then, no other blade has ever matched my partner. Though, if I must choose, a longsword... or perhaps a claymore would be the closest to what suits me."
Adam, on the other hand, just nodded his head as she extended his hands outwards and said.
"A claymore ha? Hmmm... Yeah, I think I can make that possible, although I have no idea what the hell is a flamberge to begin with, so that is out of the question. I can’t create my feather constructs if I don’t have an image in my head to work with, but a claymore, yeah! I can do that."
Right after Adam said those words, he extended his hand, and with a faint shimmer, another set of black wings unfurled behind him.
Right after, they separated themselves from his back, one by one, with his mental gesture, Adam guided them toward his palm. The feathers didn’t fuse instantly. They shifted, folded, twisted, and began snapping into place one after the other like bones realigning.
But when it was done, the chaotic storm of feathers had reassembled into something unmistakable: It had taken the shape of a black Claymore.
It had a massive and jagged shape, and it looked wildly out of place in the hands of someone with Adam’s lean, boyish frame.
And yet it floated there effortlessly, suspended by his will alone.
"Hmmm... Yeah, this will do for now."
Adam said as he looked in Clara’s direction, and with a lazy flick of his fingers, the claymore drifted toward Clara.
And seeing that newly crafted sword floating towards her, she caught it cleanly from the air with zero hesitation. As she took hold of the sword, her grip was strange, tight in some places, loose in others. Like muscle memory was guiding her more than thought. And the moment her fingers wrapped around the hilt, the blade reacted.
It form shifting sligthly, and subtly at her unique grip.
The balance adjusted.
The hilt was reshaped.
And even the blade’s arc seemed to change slightly, as if recognizing her needs from a sword.
As such, it accommodated her comfort above all else.
Clara blinked once, shifting her grip again. The weapon adapted without resistance yet again, but in a more reform way as if the feather were learning, as such they were changing its form as they learn.
She murmured, almost to herself.
"There is something strange about it. But this... this is the closest I’ve come to feeling like I have my partner back."
Clara said, clearly complementing Adam, who is the creator of such a sword.
Adam, on the other hand, just crossed his arms, letting a smug little smile creep onto his face.
"Well, yeah... just saying this since you probably don’t know it’s made from my feathers, and my feathers are not normal. Given that each feather that exists is a piece of me, in a way, they are kinda alive, and that is why they are so responsive. They shift, reshape, regulate weight... whatever the wielder needs. And since they’re tied to me, I can control them, consciously or not."
He tilted his head slightly and nodded his head as he went on explaining.
"So if it feels perfect, that’s because it is."
"Oh, and by the way, if you cut someone with that sword? The wound won’t heal. It also gets worse over time and causes severe bleeding till the target is dead. And it also drinks blood, too."
"...I hope that it’s good enough to meet your expectations."
Adam explains, and seeing this, Clara looks downwards to the blade, her expression unreadable, but commented on it nevertheless.
"If that is the case, then I am beyond pleased. This is more than I expected from a weapon forged on the fly."
"Glad it meets your standards."
From there, Clara got up from her feet as she asked her new king.
"Where do you wish my sword to serve, my lord?"
Hearing that, Adam’s focus snapped back to the mission. What started as a simple letter delivery had spiraled into something else entirely now; it was about saving Nyla. As such, his expression hardened as he turned to Clara.
"Well then... tell me...do you know how to kill a vampire?"
This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦