My sword

"So, what you all think about him?" One the heroes asked.

"He is...pathetically weak, are you sure he is a hero?"

"Yes, he was summoned by a goddess but he refused the blessing, which explains his weakness."

"Tch, how disrespectful. So why did we let him go anyways? He sensed him before he even entered, I just don't get it."

The woman with blue flame eyes—clearly their leader—turned to face the others. Her expression was contemplative rather than concerned.

"We let him go because he's shown us exactly what we needed to see," she said, kneeling to examine the broken artifacts. "His power is unstable, crude... dangerous primarily to himself. And now he's taken the bait."

One of the other heroes frowned. "The sword? But that's a genuine artifact. We can't just—"

"It's precisely because it's genuine that this works in our favor," she interrupted, rising to her feet. "The sword responds to divine energy. For someone with those... unnatural pathways he's created, it will have interesting effects."

"You mean it will destroy him from the inside," another hero said, understanding dawning.

The leader smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Either that, or it will force him to seek proper training. Either outcome serves Nelara's purpose."

"And if he manages to control it?" the youngest of them asked.

"Then he's more interesting than we thought," she replied. "And worth recruiting rather than eliminating. Nelara appreciates strength, regardless of its source."

She moved to a map on the wall, marking something with deliberate precision. "Notify our other teams. The rejected one is now part of the greater plan, whether he knows it or not."

---

Luther examined the sword in his room. The blade had an unearthly sheen to it, patterns flowing across the metal like water. It vibrated faintly against his palm, almost as if resisting his touch.

"Stupid move," Luna said from the doorway. Her voice was flat, controlled anger simmering beneath the surface.

He didn't look up. "Worked, didn't it? Got what I wanted."

"And what exactly did you want? To let them know exactly who you are and what you can do?" She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "To give them a perfect chance to track you? Or maybe just to throw away whatever advantage surprise might have given us?"

He finally met her gaze. "I wanted them to know I'm not afraid."

"Well, congratulations. They now know you're stupid, untrained, and working alone." She noticed the bloodstain on his shoulder. "And injured. Perfect."

"I took something valuable from them," he countered, holding up the sword. "This isn't just any weapon. It has power."

Her eyes widened slightly as she got a better look at the blade. "You fool," she whispered. "That's a Channeler. It's meant for divine energy, not... whatever you've created in yourself."

"Then I'll make it work differently," he said stubbornly. "I've already done what everyone said was impossible."

"There's a difference between difficult and impossible," she snapped. "Creating crude mana pathways through sheer force of will? Difficult, dangerous, but theoretically possible. Making a divine artifact work with unstable, self-taught mana?" She shook her head. "That's like trying to power a precision instrument with lightning."

He smiled thinly. "I like lightning."

Before she could respond, pain shot through his arm. The sword pulsed, its patterns flowing faster as it reacted to his mana. Yellow light surged beneath his skin, racing toward the blade.

"Drop it!" she shouted, lunging forward.

He tried, but his fingers wouldn't release. The sword seemed fused to his hand, drawing his mana into itself. His pathways burned, the crude channels widening as power flowed against his will.

She grabbed his wrist, trying to help pry his fingers from the hilt. The moment she touched him, the sword's patterns flashed brilliantly. A shock wave of energy threw her across the room.

"Luna!" He managed to call out, fighting against the sword's pull. 

She hit the wall hard but immediately pushed herself back up. "It's trying to purify your pathways," she gasped. "Divine artifacts reject unstable energy. They try to correct it—or destroy it."

The pain intensified. It felt like his veins were being torn open, rewritten. His vision blurred, yellow light filling the room as mana poured from him into the sword.

"What... do I... do?" he ground out between clenched teeth.

"You have two choices," she said, keeping her distance this time. "Let it burn out your pathways completely—which might kill you—or surrender to its nature. Let it reshape you."

"No!" he snarled. "This power is mine. I won't let some divine tool take it from me."

He focused inward, fighting against the sword's influence. Instead of trying to pull away, he pushed more of his crude mana into it, flooding the blade with his power.

The patterns on the metal began to change, yellow streaks appearing among the original design. The sword vibrated violently, caught between its purpose and his will.

Blood dripped from his nose, his ears. The room spun around him. But he didn't stop. He poured everything he had into the weapon, determined to bend it to his will rather than be shaped by it.

"Luther, stop!" She shouted, her voice seeming to come from very far away. "You'll kill yourself!"

"Better... than... surrender," he gasped.

The pendant Maq had given him suddenly grew hot against his chest. Its energy surged, interacting with both his mana and the sword. For a moment, everything went white.

When his vision cleared, he was on his knees. The sword lay before him, its patterns now a swirling mix of its original design and jagged yellow lines that matched his mana signature. His hand was blistered but free.

"Impossible," she whispered, staring at the transformed weapon. "You... changed it."

He laughed weakly, blood still trickling from his nose. "Told you... I don't care what's supposed to be impossible."

He reached for the sword again. This time, it accepted his touch without resistance. The yellow patterns glowed in response to his mana, no longer fighting against it but amplifying it.

"This changes things," she said, helping him to his feet. "A divine artifact, corrupted by unnatural mana... The heroes will come for you now. All of them."

He smiled, despite the pain still coursing through his body. "Good."

She studied him for a long moment. "You wanted this all along, didn't you? To force a confrontation."

"I'm tired of hiding," he admitted. "Tired of being hunted. If they want me, let them come. But they'll find I'm not as easy to kill as they think."

Luna shook her head, but there was a reluctant admiration in her eyes. "You're either the bravest person I've ever met or the most suicidal."

"Why not both?" he suggested, examining his transformed weapon.

The door burst open as Vess rushed in, drawn by the commotion. She froze at the sight of Luther holding the changed sword.

"What have you done?" she breathed, her eyes wide with shock.

Luther looked at the sword, then at the yellow mana still visible beneath his skin. For the first time since arriving in this world, he felt something like purpose.

"I've changed the rules," he said simply.