Strongest Sword God: I Can Cut Through Anything

After the laughter and embrace faded, the warmth still lingered in the air.

But now… it was Riven's turn.

He took a slow breath and gently released his sister from his arms. Though his face remained calm, a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes. Watching Melly's awakening had filled him with pride and something heavier, something like invisible pressure tightening around his chest.

Every gaze in the room turned to him.

His steps echoed lightly on the stone floor as he walked toward the obsidian altar where the dodecahedral prism floated, still and silent.

Riven stopped just inches from the crystal's surface. He glanced at Lyanna standing beside him, then raised his hand, palm up, a silent request.

Lyanna met his eyes briefly, exhaled, and pulled a small engraved blade from her sleeve. With practiced precision, she drew a thin line across his palm. Warm blood welled and trickled down his hand.

Inwardly, Lyanna couldn't help wondering, After what his sister showed us… what kind of surprise will this man bring?

Riven didn't wait. The moment the blood began to drip, he pressed his palm onto the surface of the prism.

Instantly, it reacted.

Just like before, as if the artifact possessed a will of its own, the floating dodecahedron began to pulse faintly, sending out soft waves of light.

The glow within it deepened as his blood was absorbed. Veins of red light traced across its facets, shimmering like living arteries.

Riven's blood streamed into the core of the crystal, swirling in tiny spirals as if undergoing some ancient alchemical process.

He watched in silence.

His heartbeat seemed to sync with the crystal's rhythm. Holding his breath, he waited for the first color to emerge. The scene mirrored what had happened to Melly, but for him, every second carried a different weight.

Three seconds passed.

Then the blood stopped flowing.

Unlike Melly's prism, which had glowed a gentle pink at first, Riven's turned a deep, dark red—thick and heavy, like blood that had aged for centuries.

The light pulsed slowly, then began to spiral inward, spreading a dense, oppressive aura through the room.

Riven's gaze stayed fixed on it. His chest rose and fell, but his face betrayed nothing. He waited for the next color… the next sign… the verdict.

Then—

DUUM.

A pulse shook the air. Not sound, but pressure, a wave that rippled through the room from the heart of the crystal.

Hair and fabric stirred in the sudden breeze. The red light flickered violently.

DUUM.

Again.

The prism seemed on the verge of bursting. Its color flared, glowing like an ember holding back a final explosion. Inside, Riven's blood spun faster and faster, until the whole thing seemed to burn from within. Then—

—it dimmed.

Not into another hue, but into silence.

The pulses stopped. The air stilled. The red light… sank.

It softened into a dull, flat crimson. No glow. No resonance. Just a quiet, harmless shimmer, like all that power had been an illusion, a trick of hope.

Ashtoria's calm voice cut through the silence. "Red. Dull."

The words dropped like cold rain.

Melly stood frozen, wide-eyed. Lyanna lowered her head slightly, expression unreadable, a faint sigh escaping her nose—relief, maybe… or pity.

Riven didn't move.

His eyes stayed locked on the prism, on that weak, swirling red trapped inside. No pulse. No color shift. No burst of brilliance like his sister's.

Only red.

Still.

Ordinary.

He slowly lifted his hand away. His palm was slick with blood, but the pain there was nothing compared to the one spreading quietly inside his chest.

Standing before the prism, he stared at the faint red glow.

Then, quietly, he looked to the one person who might understand.

"Ashtoria," he said, voice low but steady. "That pulse earlier… what was it?"

Ashtoria studied him, then turned back to the prism.

"I don't know," she admitted, her tone as calm as ever. "I've never seen anything like it."

Riven's eyes narrowed slightly. He searched for meaning—for a hint, a loophole—but the red light offered nothing. It only turned, slow and silent, like mockery in motion.

"So," he murmured, "I really am… Dull?"

Ashtoria didn't answer right away. Her face remained composed, but the pause lasted just long enough to sting.

Then she nodded. Once.

A quiet nod, but enough to shatter the last fragile thread of hope inside him.

Riven said nothing.

He glanced toward Lyanna, maybe to speak, maybe just to breathe in her steadiness, but he stopped himself. The thought of asking for another test felt pathetic, desperate. If the result was the same, it would only dig the wound deeper.

So instead, he inhaled slowly, let it out, and looked at them all—Ashtoria, Melly—and smiled. A faint, careful smile. Not happy, not broken. Just… there. A fragile mask built from pride that hadn't quite died yet.

Night crept down softly, bringing the scent of wet earth and cool wind after dusk. In the quiet of the courtyard, only the hum of insects and the whisper of leaves filled the silence.

Riven sat on the grass, exhausted, but his mind refused to rest. His breathing was uneven, sweat running down his temples. Beside him, the sword Riftmaker lay still.

They say those born Dull live short, sickly lives, he thought. But I'm fine. I can still channel mana. That prism must've been faulty, maybe after Melly's test.

He tried to convince himself, eyes on the stars.

But before he could lose himself in the sky, he heard soft footsteps behind him.

A woman stepped into the moonlight. Her hair—dark as fresh blood—gleamed in the silver glow. Her gown swayed gently, melting into the night.

Ashtoria.

She approached quietly, then sat beside him. Not too close, but close enough to change the rhythm of his heartbeat.

"You've been training since noon," she said, voice low and cool as falling dew. "Aren't you tired?"

Riven glanced at her, giving a faint smile.

"Tired… but calm," he replied.

He looked down at his hands, scarred and rough. "If I stay still, my thoughts get too loud. So I keep moving."

He turned his gaze skyward again.

Silence settled between them for a while before Riven finally exhaled and spoke again.

"Ashtoria…"

"Hm?"

"If someone had an S-rank affinity… a Fated one…"

He turned to her. "If that kind of person touched the prism… what color would it show?"

Ashtoria's eyes met his.

They were calm, but something flickered deep within, something unreadable.

She didn't answer right away.

And when the silence stretched too long, Riven couldn't help but wonder if he had just stepped somewhere he shouldn't have.