The Shepherds Are Dense

Chapter 119: The Curse of the Red-Handled Sword

On Monday morning, Aiwass arrived at the classroom half an hour early.To his surprise, Professor Bard was already there.

“Our assistant teacher has arrived,” Bard called out, turning with a smile as he heard the wheelchair rolling on the wooden floor. “So early? Had breakfast yet?”

Even with Aiwass in his wheelchair, the short, balding professor wasn’t much taller. Known for his stern classroom demeanor, Bard was otherwise cheerful, radiating a rare optimism and vitality for his age.

“I’ve eaten, Professor,” Aiwass replied warmly. “It’s not that early… Look, half the class is already here.”

He glanced at the students, nearly half of whom had taken their seats despite the time.

Bard shook his head. "That's because you're here, so they arrive early.

Usually, even ten minutes before class, hardly anyone's here. They come either at the last minute or late. The people who are here early aren't here to learn—otherwise, it's because they're reading novels, sleeping, or doing homework for other classes.

I don't mind, but I'm not so old I can't see what's happening.

He sighed, but smiled instantly, laughing. "Who can blame them? My lectures are not exactly captivating. I can't expect them to sit on the edge of their seats every time I speak when I know that I am not teaching well."

"Not many professors possess that self-awareness," Aiwass smiled.

It was neither flattery nor lies.

For professors, mentoring was generally more important than lecturing.

Classroom instruction was routine; real learning resulted from independent study in the library using a professor's outline or personal tutoring through an introduction by a mentor.

Being familiar with public lectures meant little, so few professors were deeply willing to care. However, as figures of authority, they seldom stood for student disrespect, even when their instruction was subpar.

Bard waved it off. “I was hot-headed once, like them. But looking back, it was their anxiety about their research, their youth, their drive to improve.

Now, I’m calm because I’ve reached the peak in archaeology and history. No goals to surpass, no resources to fight for, no interest in technical posts or Round Table seats.

All I can think of is leveraging those old bones to venture into difficult-to-date ancient ruins and document lost history with whatever time remains. "No wants, no weaknesses," Aiwass nodded. "Without the need to compete or surpass others, one's heart remains strong and tranquil." "You know Primordial Tongue as well?" Bard asked in surprise. "A little, not much," Aiwass replied modestly.

"Already that's impressive," Bard complimented, becoming more fond of the learned yet modest Aiwass.

Mentoring Aiwass was initially a business arrangement, but now Bard believed his decision was correct.

Their conversation turned to last Thursday.

"That sacred sword in your hand…" Bard's voice became serious, speaking softly. "Unless I'm wrong, was it the 'Red-Handled Sword'?"

"You knew?" Aiwass was shocked.

The newspaper photo showed the sword’s blade wreathed in flames, its hilt gripped in his hand. How could Bard identify it?

“That’s an ill-omened sword,” Bard warned, concerned. “Be careful. History records it as a cursed blade used by the holy knight Galahad.”

Not a holy sword? Aiwass thought, intrigued.

“…I recall Galahad was Lancelot I’s son, right?” he probed.

"Where'd you hear that? Some weird folklore?" Bard rubbed his head in confusion. "When I met Lancelot I, Lancelot hadn't married Queen Guinevere yet, and Galahad was already grown.

The first Round Table comprised twenty-two knights, one of whom was not named. The other twenty-one were Lancelot I and his twenty Founders. The Galahad clan, now the Camelot clan, is not related to the Du Lac clan…"

Bard looked over at Aiwass. "Galahad was made an Apostle, so his name was altered, as was the case with Mordred, Morgan's son, whose family line mutated into Moriarty.

'Morgan' is 'born of the sea.' Mordred, a foreign knight, was a bold, acting figure in the Round Table. When he became Apostle, his family came to change their last name to Moriarty—'warrior of the sea'—to honor but conceal Apostle Mordred."

What?

Aiwass was amazed.

He knew the Founders' names had evolved through time, and several descendants weren't able to pinpoint their ancestors. As an adopted child, he'd never learned about the Moriarty family's "ancient glory." Old Moriarty would never tell him from which knight they were descended.

Mordred? It seemed. strangely appropriate.

Bard went on, describing the history of the Red-Handled Sword. "It resembles a giant cross, its handle encircled by a dark red gem. Discovered stuck in a floating marble slab with, 'Only the best knight can move me.'

Galahad was not its first user, nor Lancelot I. The most powerful knight at the time, Balin, pulled it out and became extremely powerful.".

But the sword is cursed with Selfhood, which can only be controlled by the most strong-willed and incorruptible. If used with ill will—desire to kill or to work evil—such desires are forever magnified, leading the wielder to madness and craziness.

Balin's personality openly distorted, arrogant and unpredictable, and Balin himself perished from the deadly effects of the sword.

No one touched it after he died. It was dreaded as the 'Cursed Blade' and was inherited by Galahad.

Once Galahad became Apostle, it passed to Lancelot I, who barely employed it. It finally came to Saint Guinevere. Considered too threatening—able to corrupt noble knights—it was broken and sealed by the magician Merlin. Its hilt is now the door to Saint Guinevere's Chapel… I think that's what you were carrying."

"…You know so much about Avalon's founding history?" Aiwass was amazed.

It was his first time witnessing the professor of history show such proficiency, broaching transcendental and mystical knowledges—far more than Aiwass was aware.

He had not known the nature of the curse or that it was Selfhood derived, rather than the Serpent Father.

"Easy," Bard laughed confidently. "I discovered a piece of the Red-Handled Sword in an underwater ruin, Merlin's note that sealed it. It's the sole piece in Avalon, housed in the Edward Museum. I documented all its historical accounts.".

My research indicates that it's inspired by Selfhood and Amber, the hilt red in color most likely to represent 'Amber.' I think it encloses a potent phantom—perhaps a wayward Celestial Sovereign or Apostle of the Dusk or Love Path, most probably the latter."

"Perhaps a Devotion Path phantom?" Aiwass ventured.

Bard rubbed his chin, considering. "Possible. Galahad had Devotion Path affinity, which may've allowed him to use it safely… But why would Selfhood and Amber bind a Devotion phantom? The Candlekeeper should do that.

Nevertheless, use it sparingly. The curse is in the blade shards, but the hilt makes you more susceptible to curses. Even the strongest transcendent is as weak as a babe against its curses."

"I see," Aiwass nodded submissively.

But his brain flared to life, picking up a vital hint from Bard's speech.

The Red-Handled Sword's shard is in the Edward Museum…

The museum, constructed by the old James for Edward's sake, was family property of Moriarty.

If he had the opportunity, Aiwass could retrieve it.

Even if it didn't require reassembling the sword, it might be used as a medium of curse.

And if he possessed a fragment, Bishop Mathers couldn't remake the sword, losing a piece like a wily collectible card.

Without the whole sword, Mathers wouldn't dare fall victim to its curse as a tainted holy knight.

But…

A mighty phantom… a fallen Sovereign or Apostle? A higher-level phantom?

Aiwass's gaze narrowed, lips twisting.

If he gathered the fragments, he would be able to awaken a light-attributed upper-rank phantom locked inside the holy sword.

Great timing.

He had been deliberating which light-attributed "Great Beast" to capture. This was almost handed over to him.

(End of Chapter)