Deus Necros

He gave the Emperor respect without kneeling in gratitude.

“Now, for the second purpose of this visit… Andre, come forward.” The Emperor said.

The phrase second purpose carried weight.

Everything before had been judgment and theater. This was now a controlled pivot into something else: reward, test, or demonstration.

The guards remained rigid, but their shame now mixed with curiosity, because a craftsman summoned to court usually meant a symbol was about to be unveiled.

Suddenly, a large, burly and old man came out. He had a beard that reached all the way to his chest. Clothes that felt far too noble and cumbersome for his size and presence. His arms were thick, and the calluses on his fingers were thicker than some of these nobles’ thumbs.

The man looked like he’d been dragged into silk and told not to fight it. The fabric sat awkwardly on him, as if his shoulders rejected refinement. His hands, however, were undeniable, scarred, callused, the hands of someone who had wrestled metal into obedience for decades.

Those hands didn’t belong to a court flatterer. They belonged to an artisan.

This was a man who worked with his hands.

And in these hands was a sword. A large sword, extremely so, and at the same time… a very familiar one too.

Even before Ludwig’s mind fully accepted it, his attention locked onto the grip and guard. Familiar proportions.

Familiar scars in the metal. A weight memory, not just a visual one. His stomach tightened with recognition that wasn’t quite emotion and wasn’t quite fear, more like the body recalling a dangerous tool and a friend that fought gods alongside him.

The hall didn’t yet understand what it was seeing, but Ludwig did, and that meant the next minutes mattered.

’That’s Oathcarver…’ the words weren’t Ludwig’s. But the Knight King who spoke.

Andre walked up toward the emperor and took a knee, presenting the massive weapon with both hands.

The kneel wasn’t mere reverence; it was necessity. The sword’s size demanded a posture that could support it without shaking. Andre’s arms flexed as he held it out, and Ludwig noted the small tremor in the man’s wrists, not weakness, but physics. This wasn’t ceremonial steel. This was a slab with intention.

The emperor stood up, and walked down the stairs to grab the sword.

That alone shifted the atmosphere. An emperor stepping down was always deliberate. It signaled either respect for the object or dominance over it. The nobles’ eyes followed every step

Andre kept his gaze lowered. The Emperor reached, fingers wrapping around the handle like a man accepting a tool rather than receiving a gift.

With one hand, he held it up.

The gesture was a quiet flex of power. For others Oathcarver looked like a mighty heavy sword, little did they know it was the least heavy of Ludwig’s arsenal.

Ludwig saw the second prince’s posture stiffen again, pride prickling.

He saw the third prince observe without reacting, which was its own reaction

“What impressive craftsmanship…” the emperor said as he looked at the weapon.

After all, the old Oathcarver wasn’t a sword meant for mortal hands. It was too heavy, too broad, too long. It was nothing but a slab of steel with a handle, it was never meant to cut, only crush, break and destroy.

Though this one, was changed. but not by much.

The weapon itself retained its former size and width. Though the handle itself seemed to be thicker and longer.

One side of the sword was sharpened, but the other remained thick and dull. And at the edge of the unsharpened side was a crooked protrusion. Perfect for cracking skulls and dragging enemies if need be.

Ludwig’s eyes traced the modifications with a craftsman’s respect despite himself.

A longer grip meant leverage and control, it was something he found… lacking, since this was in fact a one handed sword in the hands of the Knight King of Tibari. Since the old half elf was mighty large. For Ludwig however he had to use both hands to grab the handle and swing the weapon, and it always felt rough and small.

The emperor channeled his aura into the weapon but something wrong happened.

Ludwig felt the shift before anyone else did, because aura rejection had a texture in the air.

Then the aura met the sword, and it just died. Not absorption. Not resonance. Not even the faint shimmer most enchanted steel gave when touched by power. The refusal was absolute, a silent denial that carried more insult than words could.

“Andre… I’m impressed with the craftsmanship. After all I heard reports that this was a weapon made of Elven Steel…”

The whole hall went into shocked awes. Elves were not humanity’s friends despite their abundant resources, long life and their own craftsmanship.

But Elven Steel was a name that carried myth and money and envy, and envy was the real religion of noble courts.

Ludwig watched the second prince’s eyes widen. Not admiration, covetous hunger.

’Is elven steel that rare? I thought it was just wrought iron…’

The Knight King laughed, “A mere thumb size ingot of Elven Steel is capable of buying a castle.”

Ludwig didn’t need the explanation for himself, but he welcomed it for the room. Suddenly the nobles’ awe made sense.

’If it’s that good, how come it broke…’

’After five years of beating it into the very definition of a Demi-God, I’m surprised it even held on that long…’ the Knight King replied in snark.

Ludwig’s mouth didn’t move, but the internal exchange sharpened his focus.

’Fair enough.’ Ludwig had to agree.

“Not only is it rare, it’s not even possible to find Elven Steel now. Especially with how elves are illusive,” the emperor gave Ludwig a knowing glance.

The glance was not subtle. It was a blade of attention. The Emperor knew Ludwig’s steps had crossed boundaries most men couldn’t even locate on a map, and he was reminding Ludwig that nothing he did remained private.

’He knows I visited the Elven kingdom… I also need to check on Lorina too… I have a quest with her.’ Ludwig sighed inwardly, his task of things keep growing larger by the day.

The thought was a bitter weight behind his ribs. Even when he survived one political trap, another obligation appeared. Ludwig finally understood the saying that ’The difference between nobility and imprisonment was often just the quality of the chains.’

“But… why is it incapable of channeling aura?” The Emperor asked.

The question landed with controlled interest. The Emperor wasn’t confused; he was probing. He wanted to hear what story Andre would attach to the sword’s refusal, and Ludwig suspected he also wanted to see who in the room would react as if challenged.

Andre looked at the emperor and said, “It’s a weapon that fought a god… it will not recognize anyone but its true master…’

The words carried reverence and fear at once. Andre wasn’t merely making a technical claim; he was attributing will to steel, as if the weapon had a loyalty stronger than law.

’Masters’ the Knight King corrected.

Ludwig kept his face still. The correction mattered. Ownership wasn’t singular. And as much as Ludwig had claim over Oathcarver. It was, and forever will be and remain the Knight King’s weapon.

Even if Ludwig had fought the Wrathful Death with it and bonded over it. The Knight King had done that before when he fought the Glutenous Death.

For now, it was a sword with two Lords, and both were undead.