Strongest Sword God: I Can Cut Through Anything

The handsome man ran his long, cold fingers across the shell of the egg, as if trying to soothe the small creature yet to be born.

"You're restless again," he murmured, his deep voice calm, almost a whisper.

His golden eyes wandered toward the small carriage window, where the distant horizon of Dorthlam began to emerge, lined with stone towers and royal banners swaying lazily in the night breeze.

"Calm down."

The egg trembled ever so slightly—barely noticeable—but the man noticed immediately. He rested his chin on his knee, closed his eyes slowly, and sighed.

"Hah…" A long, weary breath escaped him. He looked down at the crimson egg nestled in his arms, then shifted his gaze to the dark sky outside the small window.

"Why am I the one stuck with this troublesome job…?" he muttered, speaking either to the wind or perhaps to himself.

He closed his eyes again, trying to fall back asleep to the rhythm of the moving carriage.

But then…

The carriage jolted to a stop.

"...My Lord…" The driver's voice trembled from the front. "We… we're surrounded."

The man opened his eyes slowly. They were soft gold, yet his gaze carried the stillness of fire, one that knew exactly when it could burn.

He stepped down from the carriage without hurry.

Outside, a group of armed men had already encircled them. There were nine in total, all looking like common bandits. Ragged clothes, unkempt hair, weapons dull but still deadly. One of them laughed as the man climbed down.

"Well, well… so this is the passenger?" he sneered, spitting on the ground. "Looks like some nobleman… or maybe a royal concubine. Too pretty to just let go, don't you think?"

The others burst into coarse laughter. A large, burly man who seemed to be their leader stepped forward, squinting at the stranger's face.

"Look at him. Smooth skin, tall posture… and those golden eyes. He'd sell for a fortune in the underground auctions."

"True," another added with a disgusting laugh. "Lord Borrell in the east loves pretty boys like him. Spend one night with him and you might end up as his personal pet!"

Their laughter grew louder. One of them whistled, another licked his lips and said, "Shame to waste him. Let's strip him, tie him up, and send him as a gift. But maybe we should have a little fun first."

Their laughter echoed through the forest.

But the man they mocked showed no anger or fear.

He only looked at them for a brief moment before lazily rubbing his temple and sighing.

"Idiots," he muttered.

The laughter stopped.

Something touched them.

Something unseen, but heavy. Like a massive worm crawling through their ears, nesting in their skulls. A foreign voice—deep, resonant, ancient, and not of this world—spoke directly inside their heads:

"Kneel."

Their bodies hit the ground all at once, like puppets with their strings cut. They couldn't resist.

"Choke yourselves."

Their mouths opened. They wanted to scream, but their bodies wouldn't obey.

"Until it breaks."

And they did.

One by one, their faces turned blue. Then—crack. Necks snapped. Bodies fell limp.

Yet their hands… kept moving.

Even in death, their fingers clawed and twisted, tearing through flesh until their heads came clean off.

Blood pooled slowly on the ground, spreading until it touched the tip of the man's boots. He didn't move.

Calmly, he turned back, climbed into the carriage again, and reclined as before. The driver stood frozen in terror, but the man spoke in a lazy, almost bored tone.

"Keep going."

The carriage rolled forward once more.

Before closing his eyes again, the man muttered to himself, his tone like that of a bored god:

"Before I return home, I'll take a short break in Glimfell. Hopefully, nothing troublesome awaits me there."

.

.

.

Soft morning light slipped through the gaps in the gray velvet curtains, painting patterns across the carved stone floor. The air was still cool, but the scent of burning wood oil and dried flowers from the fireplace carried a gentle warmth.

Riven sat by the bedside, leaning forward slightly, his right hand wrapped around his sister's small, warm fingers. He hadn't moved since dawn, his gaze fixed on Melly's sleeping face as if afraid to miss even a moment. In the corner, Ashtoria sat elegantly in an armchair, wrapped in a dark robe that made the loose fall of her silver hair glow faintly in the dim light.

Neither of them spoke.

Night had turned into morning, but neither had truly slept.

And then, after a long silence filled only by the ticking of an old clock and the soft hiss of wind behind the window…

Her eyes stirred.

Melly's thin eyelids fluttered before slowly opening, revealing a pair of warm brown eyes clouded with confusion. She blinked several times, trying to make sense of the morning light, as if doubting it was real.

"…Hnnnggh…" she mumbled softly, followed by a deep inhale.

Her small body stretched sluggishly, arms reaching upward in a clumsy stretch that looked more like a cat waking from a long nap. Her hair was a mess, part of it falling over her cheek, and her half-lidded eyes struggled to stay open as she sat up.

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "…Why are you both staring at me like that?"

Her hoarse, sleepy voice sounded almost childlike, funny in its innocence. Her gaze shifted from Riven to Ashtoria, then around the room in confusion.

"…This room…" she whispered, then turned back to her brother. "But why am I here? I… I remember light, and water… and the sound of wind… and then—"

GRRRROOOAAARRKKK.

A thunderous noise erupted from her stomach.

Loud. Long. Terrifying.

Like the roar of a small, hungry monster.

Melly froze.

Her cheeks flushed red. She covered her stomach and ducked her head under the blanket, trying to hide her face.

Riven—who had been ready to ask how she felt—paused for a second, then chuckled softly. A warm, relieved laugh.

.

.

After several plates of toast, three bowls of hot soup, and a full pot of honey tea, Melly leaned back in her chair with a content sigh. Her cheeks were still slightly pink from embarrassment, but her eyes now sparkled brightly.

Riven couldn't help but smile at her. Even Ashtoria, though quiet as always, seemed more relaxed. She sat with effortless grace beside Riven, arms folded, occasionally glancing between him and the girl.

Not long after, a gentle knock came from the door.

Lyanna entered with steady steps, wearing a gown of deep blue and gray. Her blonde hair was tied low, and her signature folding fan hung neatly at her waist.

"My Lady, everything has been prepared," she said respectfully, bowing with poise. "If you wish, we can proceed to the testing chamber."

Ashtoria rose first, nodding slightly. "Very well. Lead the way."

Lyanna turned swiftly, and the four of them—Riven, Melly, Ashtoria, and Lyanna—began walking down the long corridor of the Rathsture estate.