The information the ancient painting had given me was far too complicated. I couldn't explain all of it for the time being, so I could only continue searching for relevant materials. Even if I couldn't find any more useful information, I might as well look for that sword scabbard while I was at it.
This area was huge, so it was impossible for me to comb through every inch of it step by step. I could only use magic to violently blow everything on the surface away. After all, this land was buried beneath windblown sand, so using wind to restore it was the most appropriate method.
Sure enough, it didn't disappoint me. Although I hadn't found any more records to prove my theory, I had still managed to recover that sword scabbard. It had been buried even deeper underground, and buried alongside it was a crystal stele. Yet there wasn't a single word on it. I had no idea whom the person who buried the scabbard had been mourning—there wasn't even an inscription.
But for a lonely person, there was no need for anyone else to help them remember whom they mourned. As long as they themselves knew why they had buried the scabbard and for whom, that was enough. As for everyone else, who cared?
The moment the long sword entered the scabbard, the sense of perfect fit immediately put my mind at ease. Although I didn't know what connection the sword and scabbard had, judging from their materials, these two treasures hadn't been made as a pair. The scabbard's material was slightly inferior, but its craftsmanship far surpassed the sword's. It was a work of true ingenuity, and could therefore be called a perfect masterpiece. Held in my hand, it had a delicate charm that made it