Taking a deep breath, Aiden cleared his mind of all distractions, focused his thoughts, and issued a command to the system.
"Begin summoning."
Instantly, streaks of golden light materialized from the void, intertwining and spiraling before him to rapidly sketch out a complex, arcane circular magic array.
The light flared brilliantly, bathing the entire room in dazzling gold.
Countless tiny motes of light, like stardust, danced, collided, and coalesced within the formation, as if nurturing a new life.
Aiden held his breath, his eyes glued to the center of the array.
However, when the blinding light slowly dissipated, the familiar or unfamiliar figure he had anticipated did not appear.
The center of the magic array was completely empty.
Only a massive, crimson greatsword exuding an ominous and scorching aura stood quietly, embedded into the floor.
It was a lethal weapon brimming with the aesthetics of violence.
The blade was broad and heavy; its main body wasn't metal, but looked as though it were forged from some translucent, solidified magma crystal. Countless dark gold veins covered the crimson blade like hideous blood vessels, as if scalding lava could ooze out at any moment.
The edge wasn't a smooth line, but rather a vicious, serrated jaggedness, carrying a primal, savage sense of tearing power. Just looking at it, one could imagine the terrifying, teeth-aching sensation of it cleaving through an enemy.
The crossguard's design was even more exaggerated, resembling two unfurled demonic wings carved from obsidian, stretching out wantonly to either side. Nestled in the center of the crossguard was a crystalline core radiating a dark red glow, pulsating as if it were breathing.
Aiden was stunned.
Another weapon?
He instinctively reached out and grasped the cold hilt, which was rich with the texture of metal and sulfur.
The moment his fingers curled around the grip, a sudden anomaly occurred.
A scorching power, as if intent on igniting his very soul, surged violently from the hilt, racing up his arm and flooding his limbs and bones. At the same time, a piercing, agonizing pain erupted on the back of his right hand.
Looking down, he saw a blood-red mark resembling a burning rose rapidly surfacing and taking shape beneath his skin. The mark was incredibly vivid, blooming on the back of his hand like a real flower nourished by fresh blood, brimming with an eerie yet divine beauty.
"A Stigmata?"
Before he could fully recover from the abrupt change, a brief stream of information flooded directly into his mind, like an epiphany.
[Godslayer: Surtr, Spirit Weapon, Bound.]
The information was simple, and Aiden understood instantly.
What he had summoned this time was a weapon from a game he had played in his past life.
But... what on earth was this "Spirit Weapon" business?
With a trace of confusion, Aiden gently stroked the cold, smooth blade.
Of course, he knew what Spirit Weapons were. They were mythological armaments forged when ancient heroes of this world forged contracts with Great Spirits; the spirit would transform their very being into a weapon to fight alongside the hero, weaving legends together. In some respects, their sheer power was not the least bit inferior to a Divine Weapon personally crafted by the gods.
But the problem was, the weapon he had summoned clearly belonged to a game. How did it turn into a legendary Spirit Weapon upon arriving in this world?
Could it be... was this sword transformed from a spirit?
"Stop touching it."
Right at that moment, a slightly husky, exhausted, and indescribably exasperated mature voice echoed without warning right beside his ear.
The voice seemed laced with magic. Aiden stiffened instantly, his hand freezing mid-air over the blade.
He snapped his head up, looking around in bewilderment and alarm.
—He was the only one in the room!
The next second, the Godslayer: Surtr in his hand suddenly vibrated violently, actively breaking free from his grasp to hover in mid-air.
The dark red core on the blade abruptly lit up, emitting a blinding crimson radiance.
Amidst the intense red light, the massive, ominous weapon began to melt and deconstruct like snow, turning into a sky full of burning red light particles.
Rather than dispersing, those particles rapidly converged and restructured in the air, outlining the tall, graceful, and perfect silhouette of an adult woman.
When the light faded, an elegant, beautiful, yet fatally dangerous red-haired woman floated quietly before him.
In that instant, Aiden's breath hitched.
What a breathtakingly beautiful portrait of contradiction and conflict she was.
She wore a suit of black and red armor that seemed to forcibly fuse an elegant evening gown with a dangerous combat suit, brimming with a wicked beauty. Her vibrant, large, wavy red hair cascaded down her shoulders and back like burning blood, still gleaming with a heart-palpitating dark red luster even in the room's dim lighting.
A delicate black fascinator sat at an angle on her head, its brim adorned with black feathers and a budding dark red rose, adding a touch of aristocratic, dangerous allure.
Her features possessed the ultimate mature charm of an older woman. Her narrow, blood-red eyes were like sharp blades; merely being stared at by them gave one the illusion that their very soul was being seen through. Her expression was cold and resolute, as if she cared for nothing in this world.
And at her smooth collarbone, a three-dimensional rose ornament, seemingly coagulated from fresh blood, bloomed eerily.
Her upper half consisted of a tight black corset. The off-the-shoulder design and bold cutout tailoring unapologetically accentuated her breathtakingly full curves. Large areas of black tulle and lace covered key areas, yet bore perfectly placed tears, achieving a bizarre balance between elegance and decadence.
Her arms were partially exposed, paired with black mesh sleeves, and her wrists were clasped in black-and-red bracers dotted with metal rivets and spikes.
The asymmetrical short skirt was even more visually striking. The right side featured layers of blood-red satin like a blooming rose, while the left bore a black iron-grille texture reminiscent of prison bars.
A pair of long, straight, beautiful legs were wrapped in black thigh-high stockings ripped with large tears, revealing swathes of snow-white, delicate skin. The stark contrast between black and white radiated a decadent, taboo sexiness.
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