The Lucas Clan had quite a history.
With nearly a thousand years behind it, it counted as ancient in the Fenlai Kingdom. Though it could not compare with the great clans whose legacies spanned several thousand years, it had still built up considerable resources.
Jeb pulled Loa along to his collection room.
The room was small but meticulously arranged. Shelves lined all four walls, holding all sorts of objects-rust-covered bronzes, pottery jars from other continents, jewel-inlaid daggers, and some stone sculptures.
Loa looked over the objects as he walked.
There were no unusual fluctuations.
He was a little disappointed. He had hoped he might find an overlooked treasure, but apparently he had been expecting too much.
Then he saw the blade.
An enormous blade lay quietly across a weapon stand.
Loa stopped in his tracks.
It was a warblade, its blade roughly four feet long and a palm's breadth wide. Its entire surface was a deep, dark hue, but on closer inspection, an eerie trace of blood-red showed faintly through that darkness-not resting on the surface, but seeping from deep within the metal's grain, like blood that had soaked into it countless ages ago and long since become one with the blade.
The blade was not new.
On close examination, a few tiny chips and worn spots were visible. But those were not flaws; they were medals. Some chips looked as though sharp fangs had torn them out, while others had been left by cleaving through hard scales. Every mark silently told of some battle in the distant past.
A cold, dim gleam faintly flowed along its edge. Even lying there quietly, its chilling glint made it difficult to look straight at. It was as though merely looking at it let one feel its exhilaration as it sliced through