Chapter 35: The Wind Whisperer.

Seven days later.

In the depths of Ordis’s underground black market—buried within the city’s ancient drainage system—

sunlight could never reach this gray zone.

Here, there were no rules—only profit.

The air carried the acrid stench of cheap tobacco mixed with old rust.

Dim magical lanterns cast flickering, grotesque shadows across damp walls; every corner seemed to hide watching eyes.

“It’s… so scary here.”

Phyllis clung tightly to Hill’s arm, pressing her entire body against Hill’s side.

She had wrapped herself completely in her pristine white travel cloak, leaving only a pair of wide, startled-doe blue eyes peeking out, anxiously scanning the surrounding rough-looking vagrants and black-market dealers.

“Don’t be afraid. Stay close to me.”

Hill patted the back of Phyllis’s hand reassuringly; her gaze instantly sharpened.

She deliberately released a faint trace of her previous-life Sword Saint killing intent, sweeping a cold glance around.

The predatory stares that had begun to linger on the two beautiful young women shrank back instantly—as though pricked by needles—the moment they met Hill’s eyes.

In this place where the law of the jungle reigned supreme, even the worst thugs had sharp instincts.

They knew danger when they saw it.

“Where are we going?”

Phyllis asked in a small voice, her sweet, fragile tone thick with reliance on Hill.

“To that shop ahead.”

Hill nodded toward the end of the alley, where a dilapidated sign hung over a store: Old Palram’s Curios.

“That’s… the place I read about in books before. They say it has really good things.”

In truth, this was a shop Hill had frequented often in her previous life.

The owner—blind old dwarf Palram—was one of the continent’s finest weapon appraisers.

His temper was terrible, but his stock was always top-tier.

…

Ding-ling-ling!

The heavy wooden door swung open; a dull bell rang.

The shop was crammed with all kinds of oddities.

Bloodstained armor, broken spears, monstrous bones radiating eerie auras…

Behind the counter sat an old dwarf wearing a black eyepatch, white-streaked beard, polishing a dagger with a greasy rag.

“Buying or selling—same rules. No questions about origin, no questions about destination.”

Old Palram didn’t look up; his voice rasped like sandpaper.

“I want to buy a sword.”

Hill went straight to the point.

She placed a heavy pouch of gold coins on the counter with a solid thud.

“The best you have. Light, durable, and… able to withstand high-intensity mana bursts.”

This choice was based on her current fighting style.

She now relied on Phyllis’s support magic combined with her own swordsmanship for high-speed, lethal strikes.

Ordinary iron swords couldn’t endure that kind of force—they dulled or chipped after a few swings.

Heavy blades or those with poor mana tolerance wouldn’t suit her agile approach either.

To maximize her strength, the sword needed three things: lightness, durability, and exceptional mana endurance.

The dwarf’s good eye cracked open slightly. He glanced at the coin pouch, then at Hill.

“Hmph… big talk. Those street stall goods not good enough for you?”

He casually pulled a longsword glowing faintly blue from the rack behind him and tossed it to Hill.

“Northern mithril steel, low-grade frost enchantment. Fifty gold.”

Hill caught it; her wrist dipped slightly under the weight.

Manageable, within comfortable control range.

She gave it a quick flourish; the blade sliced the air with a sharp hiss.

Then she shook her head.

“Too brittle.”

She placed it back on the counter, eyes critical.

“The balance point is three inches ahead of the guard—better for slashing than thrusting. And the mana circuits inside are too messy.”

“Fine for showing off. But against a dragon… it would break before my bones.”

Old Palram froze.

He lifted his head; for the first time, genuine interest flickered in his single eye.

“Dragon-slaying, eh? Heh… interesting. Looks like you know your stuff.”

He rummaged beneath the counter and finally produced a long box wrapped in black velvet.

“Since you’re so picky, take a look at this. But I warn you—this isn’t for just anyone.”

The moment the box opened—

Hill felt the air around her begin to flow.

Inside lay an almost completely transparent longsword.

The blade didn’t seem made of metal but of some semi-transparent crystal—thin as a cicada’s wing. Faint cyan currents drifted slowly within.

The guard was carved into a pair of folded wings.

The hilt was wrapped in silver-white unknown leather.

Beautiful.

Heart-stoppingly beautiful.

“Ancient elven relic—Wind Whisperer.”

The old dwarf grinned, showing yellowed teeth.

“Forged from wind-elemental crystal. Weightless. Intangible. Ignores fifty percent of physical defense. For a speed-type swordsman—it’s a divine weapon.”

Hill’s eyes lit up.

This perfectly matched the dream weapon she had been longing for.

In her previous life she had wielded heavy swords—her style was forceful and direct.

In this life her body lacked raw power but excelled in lightness and agility.

This sword seemed tailor-made for her current combat approach.

She reached out eagerly and grasped the hilt.

However…

“Mmph!”

Hill’s face paled instantly; her body swayed violently, nearly collapsing.

“Hill!”

Phyllis—silent until now—immediately stepped forward to support her, face full of worry.

“What’s wrong? Is the sword poisoned?”

“No… not poison…”

Hill panted, staring at the sword in horror.

The moment she gripped the hilt—

she felt her mana surge toward the blade like floodwaters breaking a dam.

In a single second, nearly a third of her meager mana reserves had been drained.

“Heh heh, felt that, did you?”

Old Palram chuckled maliciously.

“This sword has one fatal flaw—mana starvation.”

“It has no true edge. It requires the user’s mana to maintain the wind-blade form. Without a massive, constant mana supply, it’s just a fragile glass rod.”

Hill gritted her teeth and tried to cut off the mana flow.

The cyan light immediately dimmed; the blade lost all lethality.

“…”

Crushing regret.

This was the tragedy of a reincarnated soul.

She possessed top-tier swordsmanship awareness, but this body’s mana capacity was merely average—nowhere near enough to feed this weapon.

“…I can’t use it.”

Hill’s hand trembled; she finally released the hilt.

A heavy aura of disappointment radiated from her.

Like a lovesick fool who had searched for years, finally found their fated partner, only to discover they were terminally ill and could never be together.

“It’s perfect… but not for me.”

Hill lowered her eyes, voice thick with regret.

“Boss, another one. Just a normal mithril sword is fine.”

“Tch. Shame.”

Old Palram was about to put the sword away.

“Wait.”

A fair, jade-like hand pressed down on the box.

Phyllis stared at Hill’s crestfallen profile.

She thought to herself:

If Hill gives up here, she’ll accept it on the surface…

…but a seed of regret will take root in her heart.

I won’t allow Hill to carry regrets.

If Hill wants it, she must have it.

As for the price…

Phyllis suddenly turned and looked at the translucent blade; a subtle light flickered in her blue eyes.

…This sword needs an enormous amount of mana?

Heh heh.

“Hill, do you really like this sword?”

Phyllis asked softly.

“What’s the use of liking it.”

Hill gave a bitter smile.

“My mana isn’t enough. A few swings and I’d faint.”

“Then… what if your mana were sufficient?”

Phyllis extended her right hand and grasped the hilt Hill had just held.

Whoosh!

Wind Whisperer erupted with dazzling cyan light.

The unfathomably deep mana within Phyllis instantly flooded every corner of the blade.

A visible storm vortex even formed around the edge, rattling loose items in the shop.

Old Palram’s single eye bulged.

“What… what kind of monstrous mana control is this?!”

Hill was equally stunned.

“Phyllis, you…”

Phyllis did not swing the sword.

She slowly released her grip; the light faded.

She turned to face Hill and gently took Hill’s right hand in both of hers.

“Hill, let’s try an experiment.”

Phyllis’s voice trembled slightly—as though making a bold decision.

“Hold the sword. And… don’t let go of my hand.”

Hill did as instructed.

Right hand on the hilt, left hand clasped tightly by Phyllis.

“Ready?”

Phyllis closed her eyes.

Her vast mana flowed through their joined hands—pouring into Hill, then channeling through Hill’s body into the sword.

Whoosh!!!

Wind Whisperer blazed once more.

And this time, the light was steadier, sharper.

The cyan blade edge extended more than a meter, almost solid.

Hill felt no fatigue at all.

Instead, a warm current coursed through her veins, filling every cell.

As long as Phyllis held her hand, it felt like she had an endless well of energy.

“It worked…”

Hill stared at the sword in disbelief.

“But Phyllis—this burden on you is too great…”

Phyllis slowly opened her eyes.

Sweat beaded on her forehead; her face looked pale—but her gaze was impossibly gentle and resolute.

“It’s fine, Hill.”

She reached out and softly stroked the back of Hill’s hand—the one holding the sword.

“As long as it’s for Hill… this much mana is nothing.”

“And besides… isn’t this wonderful?”

Phyllis gave a shy yet utterly sweet smile.

“It means… from now on, Hill can never let go of my hand during battle, right?”

“I’ll become Hill’s scabbard. I’ll become Hill’s wellspring.”

“As long as we stay connected—this sword is invincible.”

“Hah…”

Hill stared blankly at Phyllis.

In this filthy, dim black market, the smiling girl before her seemed to sprout a pair of pure white wings behind her back, radiating golden holy light.

…Phyllis, are you an angel?

To fulfill Hill’s dream, she was willing to bear the strain of constant mana drain.

This devotion was too heavy, too precious.

“…Are you sure?”

Hill asked seriously.

“If we buy it, every battle will tire you out.”

“I’m sure.”

Phyllis nodded firmly, then shook Hill’s hand playfully like a spoiled child.

“Buy it, Hill. I want to see Hill looking dashing while fighting with this sword.”

“…Alright.”

Hill took a deep breath and turned to the stunned, slack-jawed old dwarf.

“Boss, we’ll take it.”

…

When they left the black market, a nearly invisible transparent longsword hung at Hill’s waist.

Her left hand remained tightly clasped with Phyllis’s.

“Phyllis.”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

Hill said softly.

“I’ll use this sword to protect you well.”

“I know.”

Phyllis leaned against Hill’s shoulder.

In her heart, she laughed quietly.

Silly.

This sword isn’t for protecting me.

It’s for chaining you to my side.

From now on—

you can never fight alone again.

We must be together.

Forever. Forever. Forever…

Forever together.

…

In the sunlight.

Phyllis gazed happily at their joined hands, blooming into a pure, innocent smile—like a little girl who had just received her most beloved toy.