Swords - Arknights: Endfield Database

A high-end sword released by Mieszko Industries. The finely sculpted and engraved blade also offered reliable performance. This weapon was well-received by TGCC elites and upper society.

“Well. Killed that young apprentice of mine, didn’t you? Why?”
“Oh… Ooooh… That was your apprentice? Ugh. It’s all a misunderstanding. This is how it happened… The fine young lad came to our underground arena and won ten fights in a row. He probably wanted to earn his moment of fame with our event. Unfortunately, we’re a for-profit organization, so we … not me of course, sent a couple of mediators to have a talk with him. It was supposed to be a nice conversation. But, ugh… No one expected the accident to happen…”
“Nonsense.”
“Then … I guess you’re free to correct us?”
“You weren’t worried about the unexpected accident. You just didn’t expect for the master himself to show up in your face… And quit acting all civilized and polite. It disgusts me.”
“That’d rather dull, wouldn’t you say, sir?”
“Rather dull? Perhaps I’ll tell how you about the story of the Asphalt Roundabout.”
“I’m all ears.”
“When it first started, nobody thought the Roundabout would end up like this. It began as a hostel for road construction crews. Then long-haul truckers started housing their families here as well. The roads and freight routes natural transport hub and all sorts of people started filling up the place. That was when all these underground tourneys and matches started. The Roundabout was also the place where you could buy all sorts of weapons, gear, and even luxury goods. At its heyday, the Roundabout was the center of it all … money, ambitions, and muscle… Of course, everyone respected the bottom line.
“I was amongst the founding road construction crew. I saw this patch of cargo-homes grow and attacin a size equal to that of a free city. The sight made me a happy man. I felt the Roundabout was leagues ahead of that Talos City that they could never complete. Sometimes I’d even think that I’m a little too obsessed about ‘collective glory’. Perhaps a transfer to the United Workers might have done me good. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Oh yes, I do. Very much so.”
“No, sod. Look at yourself. I don’t think you’re the type who understand what glory means. You only care about shallow decency. I won’t blame you. The Roundabout is now filled with your kind of people… like Half-Face and Signor Tommasino… Good people left when we stopped building the roads and the place was no longer a center of infrastructure projects. And then others moved in. Your kind of people, the type who respected no rules nor bottom lines. You turned the Roundabout into a cesspit…”
“A quite intriguing tale, sir. When I decided to bring the lads to the Roundabout to make a living, I actually investigated this place in a most meticulous manner. I acquired a legal license to operate from Mieszko Industries and paid respectable visits to every local organization. I believe I have conducted every step in perfect fashion to ensure the survival of our little setup. In all honesty, I do intend to extricate myself from a questionable past and start an honest business. Likewise, my organization adheres strongly to the rules… But why did you make it sound like I’m the one breaking the rules? Shouldn’t it be that hard-headed apprentice of yours?”
“Rules? There is only but one rule. Treat yourself AND others as fellow humans… This is the one rule that your kind will never figure out.”
“Huh. I’d never heard of it before. Did you just make it up?”
“I’ve bled and fought to uphold this one rule, son.”
“I think I understand now. You’re one of those ’Masked Heroes”… Hah! I thought people like you only existed in children’s books…”
“Hur. I’m no hero. Just an old fool who fights only when I’m completely out of patience.”
“Well said, sir. Perhaps we should let our weapons do the talking from now on.”

A high-end ornamental sword from Hongshan Swordmancers. The weapon is often used as an award for outstanding individuals. The name is finalized after an internal voting process in Hongshan Academy of Sciences.

Fuyao
Mama dreamed of you last night again. By this time, you should be back at Baizao with your Dada and having fun together with your grandparents. The streets should be filled with the smells of delicious feasts for New Year’s Eve. Had your dumplings yet? Hope your Dada didn’t make them this time. He never learned how to make them proper — He never rested his dough properly, and his wrappings were either too thick or too thin. If he insisted, just pray he wouldn’t mess up again. I remember that time when you were one year old. He hid a coin in the dumplings and you accidentally choked on it. Your entire face turned blue and I was panicking beyond words. Thankfully the old Tianshi visited us at just the right time and saved your life.
Alas, the mobile container-home where we once ate dumplings together got smashed by an Ankhor. Everything got drilled straight into the earth, including those crooked couplets. Mama is now escorting the crew of the pioneering base southwards. Thank goodness your father is now off duty so I got him to bring you home to the rest of the family… Otherwise you’d be on this terrible road with me, crying non-stop from the cold and hunger. The monstrosities they call “Aggeloi” are merciless and cruel. But don’t you worry, your Mama’s a master in the School of Thunder.
For tonight, we found shelter in a valley. A farmer lady made a new year rice cake soup with the food we had left and doled it out to everyone. Mama also snipped out a few window flowers and pasted them on our temporary shelter. There are workers singing a chorus with their coarse yet passionate Ursine and Victorian accents. Mama certainly did not expect to be separated from you and Dada for our second New Year Festival in Talos-II.
Mama misses you. And if you miss Mama, just squeeze the doll I tucked in your wrappings. Mama made it, you know. I can totally feel your tender squishes, no matter the number of stars that separate us.
Sincerely, Mama

Fuyao
You’re about to go to school, right? Mama wonders how tall you are right now. Who do you look like more? Mama or Dada? How goes your lessons? I’m sorry I couldn’t be at your side and help you with your homework. Though your Dada graduated from the Academy, he could never figure out mathematics. I hope he doesn’t slow you down. Speaking of which, what is your favorite subject right now?
So, do you know the origins of your name, Fuyao? Mama and Dada came to Talos-II because we love the cosmos. You were born right under the Cosmic Gate. We thought you might just become a Tianshi of spaceflight and thus named you Fuyao, the rapid essence. But names are just a dream. Mama’s actual wish is to see you grow up in peace. I don’t care if you like reading or enjoy doing other things. Mama will always support your choice.
Times are difficult in this war we are fighting. Not too long ago my mentor paid a visit and asked me to join a project on building a great vessel to orbit around Talos-II. We’re not the only one. The team includes many Terrans stranded at this place… Everyone generously provided all the secret tech, artifacts, and wonders they have. Many of these are unique technological marvels that could never be recreated, but they willingly staked everything for the sake of victory.
Mama is now part of the project, but I’m just responsible for the design and construction of a small support module. I never thought I could reach for the stars with my own strength so quickly. Then again, Mama also felt I’ve been waiting for this moment for far too long.
After all, we’ve spent too many days suffering upon this planet, and I missed too many moments of you growing up.
Sincerely, Mama

Fuyao
The war has ended. But I can’t but feel bitter about what happened after our “victory”. We could no longer return to Terra. Every road home has been permanently closed. We failed to make any progress. Not only that, we almost annihilated ourselves in the internecine conflicts that followed.
Mama dreamed of you again. I saw you all grown up and becoming an accomplished Tianshi with a Tianshi apparatus in hand. But when I woke, I realized I could hardly remember how you looked like in the dream. We haven’t met for so many years. Do you still remember how Mama looked like? You probably won’t recognize Mama right now since Mama’s not that young anymore. Hongshan is a massive crater, and it has been granted to the Tianshi who stayed in Talos-II. There are many compatriots from Yan here. Together, we built the Hongshan Academy of Sciences and started growing crops at this place. Mama shared the techniques and knowledge of hydroponics that I prepared for the space-faring tech demo. It took us several years but we finally received a bountiful harvest. Plenty of people can finally stop worrying about starving when the next batch of seeds are ready.
Once our granaries are full and our people clothed, I hope we can once again cast our eyes upon the celestial heights. Though the Cosmic Gate is beyond our reach, Mama shall take a great ship, ride the uplifting Fuyao vortex, sail through the stars, and reunite with you.
Please wait for that day, my dearest darling child.
Sincerely, Mama

A next-gen lightweight personal defense solution released by RAYTHEAN Industries. The sword has a special alloy blade and proved quite popular amongst certain “professionals”.

“Huff… huff… Jennings. About time you picked up the phone.
“Listen. This is a corporate war. No… it’s … it’s a political witch hunt! They learned about our discovery! They know how this would change the world!
“Those blighted buggers got their eyes on our research project! They’re looking for us! Looking all over the world for us!
“I’ll make these buggers regret their choices! I won’t forget those blasted faces. I spent years working on the thing. NO! NOT RAYTHEAN! They won’t protect us. We’re dead meat once we hand our tech over!
“NO! I won’t let them have it! NEVER! Look, I’m heading over to your place right now. Nutty got us a car. We must leave the Band. I got friends outside who’ll pick us up.
“Who? Those warmongers, that’s who. I know you don’t like them, but at least the muscleheads are more reliable than the corpo-scum pulling the strings from their glassy penthouses!
“Choice? THERE IS NO OTHER CHOICE! Our tech is going to upset their entire setup! They want to keep their monopoly and they’ll regret their decisions. But WE MUST STAY ALIVE, Jennings. We gotta keep ourselves breathing to enjoy the future!
“Jennings…? Hey? You there? Can you hear me? Jennings?”
“BWOOP… BWOOP… BWOOP…”
The man saw his own reflection on the windowpane. He had not slept for days and his eyes resembled lifeless orbs sinking in a dark mire. For a split second, he failed to recognize the ghastly image of himself.
“Blasted blightery!”

One of the weapons made by Fort Forgefane. The sword features traditional architecture that made it extremely durable and sturdy. The thick, heavy blade left countless scars upon the permafrost as the frontlines shifted with the times.

The mountain of a man laid against the wreck of the trailer truck. Blood oozed from the gaps of his heavy armor.
The man did not move. His unwavering gaze stared at the north.
“You never expected to be defeated, right?” Jerreth coughed and spat. He wiped the bloody bubbles of spit from his lips with a muddied sleeve and approached the huge figure. The shattered remains of dead Aggeloi surrounded him.
Jerreth picked up the man’s broken weapon and tossed it aside to make room for a seat.
“We were heading south. WE WERE HEADING TOWARDS THE BLASTED SOUTH! Nobody knew we were going south until we started down the road!”
Jerreth toyed with the pen in his hand. Without ink, it was little more than an empty tube.
“I … I don’t know what to write… How should I report this? Gah… I should get the hell out of this place.”
The supplies on the trailer truck were completely destroyed. One of the ropes for securing the cargo crates dangled next to Jerreth.
“You should have been the one who survived… You’re the hero of the army… You were the only one who could see this through… the only one…”
“I’m just a journalist! How would I write about this crushing defeat? They’ll murder my career for robbing the glory of this magnificent battle!”
Jerreth buried his face in his hands and howled in agony. He did not stop shaking since the fight began.
After quite a while, he finally stood up and felt the northern breeze brushing against him.
“There was this story. The hero’s name was finally recited in an epic paean, his deeds glorified and enshrined by the lines. There is no such thing as a silent and ignominious death.”

“I’m going home.”
He mumbled to himself as he cast everything aside. He threw away his memories, career, and responsibilities at this very site right next to the suit of heavy armor.
“I’m going home…”
And thus he left a trail of footprints as he trudged towards a certain direction. He was indeed going home.

A razor sharp sword born of the wildlands. Different weaponsmiths would apply decorative wrappings on the weapon in very different ways.

…And next to the twelve corpses, Orisha the Aldertone candidate questioned the Sandreaver.
“Why murder the Hannabit Circuitwalkers?”
“Hate,” the Sandreaver replied.
“Why hate?”
“Because black is the reflection of white,” the Sandreaver replied.
The path of the Hannabit Circuit went against the one taken by the Landbreakers. The Circuit taught people to avoid disasters so no one had to fight for survival. The Circuit taught people to farm and grow so no one had to kill each other for food… But for the killers, these only strengthen their refusal to take the Circuit’s path.
…And next to the twelve corpses, the Sandreaver questioned Orisha.
“Why do you choose to be cowards?”
“Because that is the greatest form of courage.” Orisha replied.
“Why do you refuse to kill?”
“Because we are not enemies of each other.” Orisha replied once more.
The Hannabit Circuit chose nature, a path beyond a greater distance. Coexistence with Talos-II was not cowardice, and one did not dispense with vigor and braveness when helping the needy. The melodies of the hanna began with the most primal and intense of sufferings. When the entire world choruses with the hanna, no one would be left behind.
…And thus Orisha pulled out a knife from one of the twelve bodies and asks the Sandreaver her final questions.
“From whence did they come, marks made ten thousand years ago?
“And where will they go, stars that shimmer in the heavens above?
“Why do they stop, bedazzling colors that soak the lands and the soil?
“How can they claim wisdom, when they stare blankly at nature’s trove?
“Did they truly choose to fight never-ending battles and wars?
“Are they courageous by raising weapons against those who held naught?
“How can a clan unite if they only raid but never protect nor grow?
“How can a people survive if they ignore change and pursue the feuds of old?”

The Sandreaver, drunk on violence, had no answer. But the fledgling Aldertone was not there to guide.
The twelve questions weave together to form a weapon.
The end point of vengeance is but a shattered soul.

One of the advanced weaponry manufactured by Endfield for their operators. Minimalist modular architecture resulted in a lightweight weapon with excellent balance and handling. The blade itself is extremely durable.

LOG A Mayday. Mayday. Anyone, respond? This is an Endfield survey team in the Blight Zone… [STATIC] …vivors. We were attacked by Blightmorphs… [STATIC] …long-range comm device disabled. We shall continue to broadcast our positional data on this channel. This is a mayday call! Please respond! Mayday!

LOG B Six hours have passed with no response. Looks like we’re on our own. Standard issue equipment of the team has been … rendered unusable by the Blight. We need new weapons to make our way out of here. The survivalist guidebook gave us plenty of survival tips but I don’t think sharp stones and signal flares could fight off the Landbreakers.

LOG C Just came up with something. Being creative has always been my strength! Our UAV drone got its flight system busted and I realized that I could take off the rotor blades and attach them to the tripod of our geodetic instruments… The rotor blades were made out of a pretty tough alloy and the edges were kinda sharp. These contraptions should make do for now.

LOG D We … actually managed to fight off something that blocked our way. Losses were … minimal. Bloody Talos, I never expected these makeshift weapons could work! We should be out of this Blight Zone after half a day of walking. That should bring the team close enough to a Cartel settlement and get some help! I just hope they won’t rob us blind with their bloody bills…

LOG E I finalized the drawings and designs while recovering in my bed. Hope this sword could please that old cranky arsenal keeper. Lost two of my own fingers to that thing. Hope the results are well worth my sacrifice.

The flagship product of the Outdoor Explorer series of Northmarch Support Hub. Rigged outdoor design approaches and portability made it one of the top recommendations by many explorers and hobby anglers.

I’m da boss, Kuehl. Your brother finally caught the Kingfin of the Seas.
Look. Does it shine like you remembered?
Back when our Lothar was still around, we caught every fin of the oceans. Our luck ended on that stormy night.
Little Bertha was the first to spot it from his position atop the mast. It was just as the legend says! A great fin wholly clad in shining golden scales!
I thought this was the only catch we need to plant our names in the Talosian History of Great Anglers! I ignored the advice of your good brother Links and steered Lothar right into the storm…
Ugh. I’ll tell you the truth. I still regret everything I did that day. I was a stubborn old fool.
The golden fin wrecked our Lothar and got Little Bertha on a wheelchair. Links never talked to me again.
But I refused to admit defeat. I am Spencer the Prime Angler. I refuse to let anyone else catch the Golden Kingfin and make my crew a joke.
Its golden sheen was the only thing I saw whenever I closed my eyes. “Catch the shiny megafin and I’ll win back everything I lost!”
But you were the only one who believed me, you empty-headed, blight-brained idiot! Why would you trust an old bastard like me? Why did you take out that TGCC bank loan and get me a new ship? You should have followed the others and quit!
You wasted the two best years of your life and joined my mad chase for that ephemeral golden shimmers. We almost caught it during that stormy night, but you paid for my insanity with your life…
You probably wouldn’t know what happened afterwards. Big Gassy Talos damned me with survival… And I never went out to sea again.
Until last week, that is. The thunders woke me from my dreams and I saw that familiar golden glow shimmering through the gaps in my door. I opened it and saw the Kingfin in my finbowl! But HOW?! That little flipper was just a common tropical rainbow your sister-in-law bought from an aquarium.
I asked an ex-wooster to give it a test. Turned out it’s just a common tropical rainbow. The legendary golden shimmers are just mutated fatty tissue … given off when the fat gets illuminated by lightning…
So what can I say, Kuehl? Your brother finally caught the fin.
But it was the bait and I was the fin.
A fin swimming in a sea of nothingness, baited by the lure called obsession.

One of the weapons from the furnaces of Fort Forgefane. The grip was constructed using a special rod drawing process to enhance force damping and grip. The blade itself was forged with a rare mineral quarried from the wildlands.

She began to think why she was selected for this mission.
It was because of her mastery of the cryogenic Arts and adaptation to the icefields, but more importantly, it was her wildlands pathfinding skills. It was intuitive to her. She could read the stars in the night skies and use them as guiding beacons. The Order of Steel Oath was only founded barely a year ago. She was the best candidate for a scout and someone capable of re-establishing a link between the severed civilizations.
She understood her mission and set off with that hard drive.
The hard drive contained all the data that the Order of Steel Oath collected over the year about the North, their enemies, and their allies. The fearless souls once stepped out of the group and assembled in a separate formation. They recited their steel hard oaths and left Civilization to head into the North, back into the devastated fields of war. There they used themselves as lures to divert Aggeloid offensives… Many people treated their departure as a sign — A sign for the impending disintegration of Civilization. The pessimists believed that once Civilization began mobilizing people to sacrifice themselves, it would inevitably continue to check certain groups people for the grinder… These self-sacrificing individuals, whom we now call the Oathkeepers, were aware of this. Hence, they must re-connect the Civilizations. The information earned with their lives must become a navigational star to light the way ahead.
And now this small, nascent “star” rested in the courier’s backpack. She panted heavily with every step through the cold air and snow.
Blood coursed down her arms and dripped all over the ground. Her left arm and left leg were almost completely shattered. She felt every white, hot jolt of pain as bits of bone grated against the soft tissue. Her wounds were inflicted by a new Aggeloid that was never catalogued. The courier thought about the gates of the fort… Perhaps the abomination was created as a siege weapon.
Random thoughts surged through her mind. When the Oathkeepers first marched North, they encountered uncatalogued Aggeloi nearly everyday. It would seem that they were beset by an interrogator more than eager to showcase his repertoire of torture devices. Aggeloi designed to kill and massacre with ever-increasing efficacy started to appear throughout the battlefield. Defeating this host will be costly — It will require uncountable lives hellbent on a relentless march…
“Defeating the host… That’s right…”
The courier suddenly remembered that she was still alive. She, not the Aggelos, was the victor of that battle… She was the one that froze that long, heavy, and rampaging agglomeration of rock … and shattered it to pieces… Its fragments glittered in the sunlight like the stars themselves.
Other thoughts began to surface.
“The stars can guide my way. Mom and Dad taught me that they could guide travelers in the wildlands… No… We are the stars themselves… I must tell them that we stood our ground in the far North where it is colder than death… They will hear this … and ignite the embers of hope…”
More of her blood flowed and seeped into the permafrost.
“But where is the star? Is it in my hands?
“Where am I?
“I cannot see it. The night looms before my eyes, but why … why won’t any of the stars glitter for me?”
……
“It’s because the old stars have faded away, but the new stars have yet to be born…”
She tried to raise her hand as high as she could… Her Arts caused the ice to sprout from the bloodsoaked earth beneath her, creep up her body, smother her face, course across the length of her arm, and reach skywards. Its tip was directed towards safety.
“Go higher, and higher still… Be the nova that points the way.” Her final thought was crystallized. All that was left was the nascent star wholly forged of frigid ice.
……
She would not know that after many weeks, other couriers followed her guide and reached further south. Their journey ended at the edge of the permafrost. More followed, singers of painful hannas, travelers who need to cross the fields of war…
The little “nova” was handed to many people. In its final destination, the great vessel named Dijiang used it to light the northern skies.

One of the razor-edged weaponry forged by Witching Hour. Special smelting processes resulted in a wholly red blade. The Arts Unit is actually a special liquefied Originium that resembles the first drop of blood shed by the Icefields.

It was late at night. You saw smoke billowing from the next door workshop. The ringing of hammer striking the anvil could be heard within a three block radius. It was deliberate. It was loud.
“What is she trying to prove?” you didn’t want to care, but suddenly remembered the maniac next door mumbling about the near-completion of her work. Thus, you turned around and headed next door while putting on your jacket, all the while mumbling this to yourself, “Talos forbid if she actually forges it.”
Glowing embers floated through the gap of the workshop door. You now regret putting on the jacket as the place was terrifyingly hot. The light of the fire also lured in the tramp who lived three blocks away. She wore something cooler, and started scoffing at you right from the get-go.
“Idiot. Look at you, all bundled up. When was the last time you lit your smithy’s furnace?” The tramp always talked like this since she could crawl. She envenomed her weapons with her spit.
You ignored her and pushed open the door. The entire house was awash by the fiery glow of the forge. The maniac stood besides it, and unleashed a hysterical riot of a laughter when she saw you two enter her workshop.
“You’re too late! I shall be the one giving life to this weapon!” The maniac was wholly drenched in sweat. You saw only fanatical zealotry on her face.
The tramp got closer to the forge and studied the roiling hot ferrium. Her tone turned somber as she delivered these words “This is bad. She’s going to forge it.”
Envy surged from your guts. You felt like vomiting.
You hated each other’s guts, but the three of you were once the best of friends. You forgot how the hate actually started, or you grew up together. Even all those evenings you spent drinking together escaped your memories. The only thing you recalled was that prophecy spreading throughout Seš’qa “A legendary weapon shall be born this winter. And only three smiths could hope to achieve this feat.” As luck (or misfortune) would have it, the three of you happen to be the best smiths of the city.
Since then, all three of you became obsessed with forging the legendary weapon before the other two. Every meeting became a scheme and an attempt to beat the other senseless and throw them out of the city.
Both you and the tramp had nothing to say at this moment. A skilled smith need only look at the fire to know the immense power it held. The maniac worked the bellows to raise the furnace temperature, but try as she might, the furnace refused to get any hotter. She sighed and wiped away the sweat from her face.
The tramp’s face darkened as she gloated “You are going to fail.”
The maniac, however, did not even bat an eye at you. She simply laughed “Far from it!” And with that, she slit open her throat. Hot blood gushed out like lava and flowed into the furnace.
You and the tramp stretched out your hands together but it was too late. The maniac fell into the furnace and a deafening explosion echoed throughout the town. Fire spluttered out of the furnace chamber and spread throughout the entire workshop. The flames roared with greater fury and threatened to end the night itself. Even the skies feared what was about to happen, and desperately unloaded a great snow to put out the fire.
As the temperature continued its rapid rise, you looked at the tramp for a word. But decades of tacit understanding tell you that nothing needed to be said.
You approached the fire, ignored the painful burns, and worked the bellows once more. The nascent weapon within the forge hummed and complained. It was not hot enough. The temperature is too low. It demanded a flame with enough heat to sear a hole through the skies. The tramp sneered as you saw the blaze dancing in her eyes, a conflagration of fury, pain, regret, and ambition. Fire burst from her eyes and swallowed her whole. You had no time to grieve for the snowstorm of the night was relentless. It would do anything to put out their fires.
You were the idiot of the group who never mastered the Arts. The only recourse you had was better and more precise controls over the bellows for firing up the heat. Years of experience made you a master of keeping the fire going. The bellows swelled and emptied as the fire danced and howled. The flaming tongues licked your skin and it slowly gave way like molten wax. But the mere thought of the weapon maturing into its form gave you incredible elation and made you beam with satisfaction.
Did it hurt? It was far less painful than the last fight you had when the maniac tore a piece off your face with her teeth.
Before the flames completely devoured you, you finally remembered how they laughed with merriment back in the tavern.
The flames might not endure against the night-long blizzard, and there would be no trace of the three of you after the workshop fire. Nevertheless, you knew that a fireplace would remain, and within it they would find a sword capable of cleaving anything in the world apart.

A weapon from the furnaces of Fort Forgefane. Though it has undergone multiple rounds of recasting, the subsumed edge is still imbued with an intimidating force of domination.

As the great guns thundered into the skies, night finally returned to Fort Forgefane. The steam stopped hissing as the last Aggelos was crushed into gravel. Victory trumpeted throughout the icefields, the clarion call of triumph echoed amongst collapsed bastions before it reached a stone crypt used as a provisional morgue to house the fallen warriors.
To the smiths of Fort Forgefane, the clarion call felt more like a final farewell to the soldier. A forgesmith pulled a cart of salvaged equipment and paused before a young Oathkeeper, long bereft of breath.
Why did the smith stop? Was it his fear of death? He did not think so. He dreamed about falling like a true Oathkeeper soldier from the day he submitted his enlisting papers to the Order of Steel Oath. And since his first arrival at the gates of Fort Forgefane, he was determined to be a nail, permanently hammered into his post. There were only two things that could stop him from swinging his hammer the future he dreamed had been achieved, or it became necessary for someone else to take his post.
The smith stooped over and took the long sword from the hands of the young soldier.
He could not remove his gaze from the soldier’s face. Was he paying his final respects to a former comrade? No. He had said his farewells to all sorts of people in the south before he marched for the north. He saw his loved ones secretly weeping for his sake, witnessed the reluctance in their eyes, and even attended a close friend’s funeral on the night before he reported to the training camp.
But what he felt at this very moment was new. A mysterious surge of emotions gripped him to the ground, even though he tried, again and again, to get himself to leave.
Heavy footsteps echoed in the crypt. The smith raised his head and held his breath.
“Lord Castellan Gerald! Apologies, I’m just … salvaging the equipment.”
The armored giant stretched out his hand and took the blade from the smith. The edge was curled and a fine crack ran along its length.
“Do you know him?”
“No… We’re not familiar. But I did share some drink with him in the welcoming feast held for us several days ago…”
“What do you intend to do with this blade?”
The smith took the blade and shook off the snow from the hilt. He carefully studied the wounds suffered by the weapon and gave his verdict “It will be my honor to return this blade to the furnace and have it recast, and the joy will be equal to seeing you throw this Aggeloid host back to whence they came. He is a hero … that no one will remember.”
“He is also a common man, just as common as this blade.”
“My Lord Castellan… what would you have me do to this blade?”
“Even the perfect blade will one day shatter,” Gerald patted the smith on the shoulder. “It shall be returned to the forge, pass through the ranks of Oathkeepers, and fulfill his unfinished duty.”

One of the standard-issue operator weapons manufactured by Endfield Industries. This weapon is designed by Endfield Arsenal Engineer Tarr. It is often the very first weapon of many field operators.

Don’t worry. What you see is what you get.
Twin edges, a rather thick ridge, and center of gravity near the holding end towards the grip.
The crossguard is slightly curved, but it might be too small for a novice.
Go on. Hold it.
This is a single-handed weapon. Tighten your grip, but keep your wrist supple enough for movement.
Now, stand before the dummy. Swing and strike with your entire body.
Make a descending hew from above the shoulder to the other side of the chest. Repeat the motion.
So you want to fight like the Endmin? And you’re afraid you’ll never succeed?
Don’t let that idea get in your head. What you see is what you get.

One of the elite weaponry manufactured by Endfield for their operators. The sword features a seamless grip-and-guard hilt and stress-triggered energy storage mechanisms to enhance its damage potential.

I know who you are. I know where you came from.
You were one of them. You must be. I see the forge fire in your eyes. You stood vigils over the smelting furnaces for years.
You came to the south because you could no longer face the Aggeloid nightmares. But you feared of being called a deserter. That was why you changed your name and joined us as an arsenal engineer. You found this simpler life at Endfield worth living. You helped fellow Endfielders survive their battles. They were grateful and praised the weapons you designed. Your work was balanced and operated smoothly. Your designs incorporated years of actual combat experience. You read Endfield science and research and it probably made you think about things. If the Fort had these technologies, you might have stayed at that place.
Despite your reputation as a cranky old man, the girl likes you a lot. You always had a story to tell, stories that her parents never talked about. Stories about heroes, how they lived, how they fought without a care of their lives, and how their sacrifices went unsung and unremembered. You even learned a thing or two from her, right? This seamless design feature … would be an oddity at the place where you once served.
This was why you hesitated when the girl asked you to teach her how to swing a sword. At first, you thought of your dashing, youthful years. Fencing skills would help the girl better protect herself. But your mind changed. The girl had the entire Endfield arsenal as well as loving parents to support her. She did not need to know about fencing. You then convinced yourself that the girl needed no instructions from a deserter and ex-butcher who broke his oaths. The old road had been abandoned for years. No one should take it anymore. It calls for no one, and needs none.
Thus, you applied for divisional transfer. You wanted to leave the arsenal and force yourself back to field service — you believe you should be able to stomach the frontlines of Endfield Industries.
Please do not look at me like I’m some sort of a Sarkaz Djall mind-floggers. And no. I wasn’t using any mind-reading instruments.
I do have a message for you Supervisor Perlica will not oppose any decision you make, but please, don’t make the girl sad.

A mid-tier product of Mieszko Industries. The sword features chic, avant garde designs plus amazing cost performance index, making it one of the most fashionable choices of the year in the TGCC.

Somewhere in the wildlands, a convoy of heavy caravans switched off their engines and parked before the roadblock. The wind-stirred dust raked against the windows as the dull booms of explosions and things hitting the ground reverberated.
A young trucker lowered the window and poked his head out. “Blasted weather. Looks like it’s gonna rain again! And do we have more buggerloids up ahead? This is our third encounter this month!”
An older trucker got out of the cab. The Originium device of his caravan was already attempting to clean the windshield of the dust. “The redistribution post has dispatched an emergency team. See that engineering vehicle? The crew is already clearing the rubble off the road.”
“Eh, mate. You look like a real veteran. Seen any special buggers?” the young trucker asked curiously.
The old man lit a cigarette “Saw one at a nearby outpost ten years ago. Blasted buggerloid was bigger than a caravan. I also witnessed a fellow trucker scampering into the cab.”
“Did he make it?”
“Well, that oversized bugger followed but couldn’t hold its grip. Rolled off with the caravan container and got crushed by fifty tons of raw Originium ore.”
“Sounds like a really stupid bugger. Man, that trucker got super lucky. People told me there were rocky-crawlies all over this place back then.”
“It was way worse back then,” the old trucker blew a smoke ring into the air. “This highway didn’t exist, and there were no RD posts nor support teams from the TGCC. It was a time when local town and villages, no matter the size, would fight each other or breakers over tinned provisions.”
That got the young trucker interested. Half of his body was almost out of his cab. “Fighting breaker clans over a few tins? Dayyum. All I see are just crafters selling their wares and stuff nowadays. I even see people from Kjersch.”
“That was how we founded the Chamber of Commerce. The entire venture started with a dozen or so very experienced truckers. My mentor was amongst the Chamber Founders,” the old trucker smiled. “See that Endfield installation? It ran out of food ten years ago. We took the risk, forced our way through breaker turf, and delivered the food. That was my first time behind a caravan wheel.”
“I bet they were super grateful about the food.”
“Not really. They mopped the floor with a band of breakers who tried to raid them. The Endfielders looted the breakers’ rations and that kept them going for a while.”

The sound of explosions got closer and the rubble began cascading off the slopes of the hill in the far distance. The truckers waited patiently for passage.
“The RD post kept talking about … ‘business conformance’,” the young trucker got back into his cab and took out a huge bar of chocolate. He tore off a piece and threw it at another trucker who waited by his caravan. “Route reviews are okay, just a tiny waste of time. But now they’re even slapping a uniform price on Origo-fueling, and the price is friggin’ ex. These guys are siphoning our T-Creds.”
Another trucker taking a walk overheard the conversation and decided to join in. “Say what you want, but things would be so much better if we didn’t have to pay TGCC its cut.”
“Then who’s gonna mint the T-Creds? Who’s gonna take care of freelancing truckers like us?” the veteran trucker smiled as he puffed another smoke ring.
“Oh?”
“And forget about that Extra Crispy Drumsticks from Caravan Express, or decently priced fueling stops when the TGCC disappears.”
“I…,” the young trucker was at a loss of words. He finally shook his hands and returned to his cabin. “Meh. He can’t even take a joke about the cartel.”

They heard another explosion, this time closer than before.
“The TGCC is all about big business nowadays…” the trucker added after his momentary hesitation. “Heard about some company trying to monopolize Origo-fuel supplies…”
The veteran trucker looked at the smoke in the distance.
“Monopolies… The last one who ignored the Accord and tried to do that got a generous serving of jail time, courtesy of the TGCC joint session. Speaking of which, trading of key resources will always be controlled, but they’re doing it for the Northern Front. I made plenty of deliveries to that place. Those trips were really hairy.”
“Oh, the North, right? I actually squished a buggerloid with my truck.”

A few workers at the front of the caravan suddenly carried the roadblock away. A raspy noise blared out of the Originium radios “Road section cleared. Roll along and keep your distance.”
“You’re going to Valley IV, right? I guess this is where we part ways,” the young trucker roared as loud as he could.
“Are you tired of me already? I’m heading to Wuling too!” the old trucker strapped into his seat and checked his rearview mirror. “We’re far from parting ways.”
“Da hell, old boy? Are you following me or something?”
“You take me as a stalker? I’m gonna load up on food at Wuling, drop them at Valley IV, get some Originium ore for Kjersch, and then haul a container full of craftwork to La Fantoma.”
The truckers continued their crude banter, started their engines, and got back into the never-ending caravans.

A basic product from the Pioneer-series released by Northmarch Support Hub. The Mk IV thermal cutter was constructed using patented thermal materials and delivers powerful cutting performance. Positively reviewed by many UWST crewmates.

Northmarch Support Hub has, on multiple occasions, emphasized that their products were personal power tools designed for industrial and construction uses. This particular cutter proved mediocre for its intended purpose. However, it worked pretty well as a two-handed claymore.
— Reviewer 1

The user manual is misleading. The product feels more like a weapon than a cutting tool. Just be careful when using it, though. This thing gets seriously hot.
— Reviewer 2

Think of it this way. Owning this cutter means you don’t need to bring a weapon to work, right?
— Reviewer 3

A first tier weapon released by Hongshan Swordmancers and also the only one that achieved decent popularity in the market. Many copies have been found in the wildlands, though.

It was early autumn and already the snow were falling in the north of Talos-II. Beneath the heavy gray skies, snowflakes fell as bone-chilling winds howled across the plains, unchallenged by the wilting grass as it burrowed into an old, leaking observation post… There the winds were briefly checked by a campfire before they stopped by a young man’s cheek.
“ACHOO!”
The sneezing did not slow the young Perro speed in stuffing two slabs of bread and a meat stew into his mouth. He even wanted to lick the plate if he could.
“Oh… Thanks a lot for this…”
“You’re welcome. The cold drove us to this campfire. We’re friends now.”
The grinning Forte “chef” sat by the campfire and gazed at him. He looked around thirty or so.
“So, friend, why venture to the North alone?”
“I’m trying to visit the masters of the fighting arts and complete my Catalog of Warriors Under the Heavens! Oh, that’s just a book with the backstories of every warrior… We have this legendary master named Chen Chichi of Hongshan but nobody knew where she went. I thought I could visit the North and find out… But as luck would have it, the Aggeloi was the one that chased me all the way here. Dammit, I bet we’d be getting another Ankhorfall soon enough.”
The Forte helped himself to a ladle of the stew.
“I know this one. Orphaned at a young age and got admitted to Tanjian Hall where she became the worst disciple of the cohort. But after doing her Jianghu tours, she became a legend amongst those of her generation and a lauded master of swordmancy… Even got herself a happy family. Husband’s quite the master in leapmancy. They also have a daughter. Name’s Chen Qianyu, I think.”
“That’s so detailed. Are you a swordmancer as well?”
“I learned a few swordmancy moves from the wildlands from a Songseeker.”
“So, what do you think about Master Chen Chichi?”
“An great and imposing mountain.”
“Yeah… She’s the dream of every swordmancer. They say her swordmancy is imbued with a state of unrestrained freedom. It’s more than being faster than a comet. Those who witnessed her sword singing across the skies could feel the ‘heavens and earth’ itself. It felt as though everything in this world, from the tallest peaks to the deepest seas, has achieved oneness with her blade. Her sword itself is light and elegant. It’s like a speck of dust and a gust of wind. It strikes with a force contained within every existence… I can hardly imagine anything that could withstand her blade. Not even the Aggelos…”
“Ankhor.”
“Indeed. Her sword can probably cleave the largest Ankhors in two…”
“I’m saying we have an Ankhorfall.”
The young Perro instantly leaped up without raising his head, jumped over the campfire, and bounded for the outside.
“You can’t outrun an Ankhor.”
“Well, at least I won’t be crushed by it. I’ll take my luck outrunning its Aggeloid spawn.”
“Haha. That’d be quite a challenge. We lost that race years ago.”
The Forte strolled out casually and slowly.
“When I was a lad, I herded stockbeasts for a Songseeker. We were surrounded by the Aggeloi when a swordmancer drew her iron blade and unleashed a crimson cleave that pulverized the rock buggers. A master leapmancer then grabbed me with his arms and helped me escape the encirclement… I spent years traveling and paid more than a few visits to Hongshan, but my search has found nothing. I have nothing but respect for this couple…”
The Forte then drew sword swords from his hip scabbards.
“I may not achieve their levels of mastery, but such is my goal. I spent years honing my swordmancy and managed to replicate a fraction of that overwhelming cleave I have witnessed. This is one auspicious day. May you witness my achievement.”
The Ankhor smote the ground and turned their former shelter to a pile of rubble.
What followed was a flurry of glinting blades.

A standard weapon produced by Endfield Industries. Design is provided by the Creative Prototyping Team founded by Senior Arsenal Engineer Opero. The hilt features auxiliary modules that can be taken off.

…Let me get this straight. Your team lost to Z7 in the combat drill ‘cause you didn’t graduate from a military school and Lil’ Dodge wasn’t your instructor?
Enough excuses, kid. I trained tons of raw recruits like you and I totally lost count on the number of losers who hamstring themselves by boo-hooing about their sad backstories.
Look at your face! Do you think I’m gonna give you a motivational story how a missing degree or diploma isn’t that important? HAH! WRONG! I’m your friggin’ instructor, not your pathetic shrink! I’m not going to make you feel good about your academic failures!
Since we mentioned degrees, then I gotta say — it’s actually pretty important.
But if you’re missing one, there are solutions to go about it.

I became an instructor after all. Guess how I did it?
WRONG AGAIN! I, Sato Kogo, never read a proper book in my life. In fact, I only learned how to write in Victorian thanks to courses offered aboard Dijiang. When I was your age, I was just a bummed out debt collector in Neo Tsukushi!
Wha? Don’t you know what a debt collector is…? Ugh. Forget it. I’ll put it simply. Hired muscle. That was my job.
So did that for about three or four years. I was either bruising people or getting bruised myself. As long as someone paid the creds, it didn’t really matter to me.

I was in my twenties and I thought I’d be doing that for the rest of my life… I never expected something big to happen.
Oh yes… Stepped on a few toes. The wrong tail, actually. Not some cartel security firm, but an actual big shot oyabun.
Ugh. This is exactly why I kept telling you to pay attention to the surroundings when you fight. I learned it the very hard way, so at least take this from me.

Weather was great that day. I besieged that gambling den with two dozen bros from the organization. There were just around eight people on the other side and I thought it would be a cakewalk.
But those dudes fought like beasts in heat. Half of the lads were down in a heartbeat. I was out of ideas but I couldn’t just leave my bros behind. So I came up with the clever idea of using the revolving doors…
How did I do it? Well, i simply undid the security latch and got it spinning… Anyways, I got two enemies down in an instant. Some of the bros started helping and we sent the rest of them packing.
There was one thing I miscalculated. The revolving door was connected to the one upstairs. Now that wouldn’t sound like a thing but my boss suddenly got the bright idea of enjoying the spectacle. Suffice to say, his tail got caught — Boss man was also a Lupo and you know what they do when somebody messes with their tail.
What happened next? Geesh. Do I have to spell it out? I escaped to the frontiers before they gave me cement shoes! I slogged two years in trucking, four in janitorial work, and three in bounty hunting. My liver was dying on me and luck finally turned when I arrived at Endfield — Some old client wrote me a recommendation. Thank the Big Gas for that.

Alright. Your turn. Tell me about your plans on beating Z7 next time?

A quality weapon manufactured by Endfield Industries. Innovations include using an experimental Originium-based material as the blade body to give it excellent energy conductivity.

“It looks like a well…”
He rested his elbow upon the railings of the observation deck and allowed his gaze to trail after the twelfth empty bottle sailing through the air before plummeting into the faraway sea. He then saw the majestic “ring”, the facility where he works. This was his first time gazing upon it from such a great height.
“What is its purpose? Some kind of an underwater shelter? I think I heard mentioned it’s for the firing or launching of something…”
He started making wild guesses but quickly restrained his surging thoughts. The existence of this facility had nothing to do with him… If he had taken the selection trials just a few months ago, before he lost an eye and his entire team in the battlefield, he might have seen the top secret work being carried out inside the place. But now, he no longer felt the pride nor drive of contributing to the future of humanity. Those virtues had been buried beneath his comrades’ bones.
He’s now just a common deck scrubber… “Who’s my employer again?” he thought as he looked down at his work ID. Endfield Industries. Whatever. They’re all the same… Endfield, UWST, TGCC, HAS… This place was filled with all sorts of people.
The top brass of every faction gathered at this locale, far removed from the major theaters of war, to work on some mega-projects again…
“It probably end up failing. The frontlines are collapsing one after another. Habitable areas are being squeezed out of existence. Can they really find something to turn the tide of defeat?
“Ugh. Stop thinking about it… I’m just gonna get a headache…”
If he were to live out his days without a care, he should take it to the extremes. But he still heard them talk behind his back — The only child of a proud family of soldiers. The rising young star who gave in to self-loathing, who willingly took up a deck scrubber’s job so he could be as far away as he could from the battlefields — Oh yes, his ears still caught wind of that every now and then.
He was surprised how these words could still hurt him. That was why he came to this place to release himself. Of course, that release inevitably evolved into self-pity and many bottles of kohl.
The thirteenth empty bottle flew and fell into the sea.
So why did he feel so terrible? Was there something that he could not put to rest? Medals? He threw them away. His preferred weapon? He couldn’t even remember where he buried it. “Oh… Yes, there is indeed something else.”
He took off his eye patch, then scooped out the thing that never warmed from his socket. The prosthetic eye of gold and Origocrust stared at him from his palm. In the story passed down through the generations, the eye was fashioned out of gold rewarded by the emperors… His ancestors strode the fields in the Battle of the Four Emperors and witnessed the fall of Gaul… It did not matter if they became powerful magnates or explorers of Terra. The eye was always handed down to the next in line. He, the disgraced failure, was the last inheritor.
The glory of his house shone through the pupil hemmed by golden filigree, and it cast a spine-chilling glare into his soul.
He clenched his fist and closed his fingers around the heirloom of an unbroken line, then cast it into the sea without hesitation.
“There. It is done. All clean and quiet.”
The kohl within him swirled and made him burp. That ring in the far distance looked more and more like a well. He remembered the wishing well he saw in a small village he chanced upon during his Grand Tour of Terra. People threw coins of gold and silver into the well and prayed for their wishes to come true. The price of the item cast into the well would determine the scope of the wish manifested.
“Hurhur. Bunch of fools.”
If that were true, what about the thing he just threw into that well? What wish could it hope to accomplish?
The eye was a prized treasure that witnessed the fall of great nations, transforming civilizations, carnage, rebirth, destruction, and perseverance. Would the well mold it into something else?
“Forget it. I’d rather sleep this off.”
He raised his hand and launched the fourteenth bottle into the air, and followed its trail until it was held in stasis in mid-air.
The wishing well had granted its response.

A complete silence was followed by the emergence of an enormous crystal formation.
The heavens were rent asunder and revealed a path of Originium.
Countless figures of grand majesty stood amongst the clouds by the end of this long road. A massive Cosmic Gate appeared behind them.
“Why, Your Majesties? Why?
“Is it because I have cast away your gift? Because I abandoned my history, my lineage, and all my glories?”
His fallen comrades sprouted from the Originium road. They stretched out their withered limbs and shattered weapons, and did all they could to make him stay.
So he took out a spear.
Every carcass he pierced revealed a great many words. He bowed his head to read these weighty words and revealed them to be names.
He saw the names of his father, his grandfather, the pasha, the pope, the inquisitor, the frontiersmate, the miner…
He followed the River of the Dead and walked past the historical figures.
Finally, the emperors left their names upon the tip of spear.
With that, he raised the broken spear up high, and made a great thrust against the massive gate before the deafening roars woke him.
The great ring in the distance opened up the sea. That piercing spear, the monumental construct forged by every faction with every moment of despair, every sliver of hope, and every weeping wound, was thrust into the heavens above.

And on ██/██, ██, was Dijiang successfully launched.