A girl stood before a stone, her long hair pale blue verging on white, skin as white as snow.

She wore a simple dress—utterly ordinary, yet it did nothing to dim her beauty.

Her breathtaking loveliness could steal anyone’s breath.

Yet no one would dare desecrate her.

For she was pure as untouched snowflakes drifting in the sky.

A giant lion sat quietly beside her.

Its mane blazed like fire, as if ready to ignite the grass around it.

Even dozing, the lion’s aura was overwhelming—no butterfly dared draw near.

Calling the lion “it” felt disrespectful. For such majesty, “He” was only fitting.

And so, the lion—He—guarded the innocent girl in serene silence.

Oh, the girl… the girl. In truth, she had lived far, far longer than she could recall.

A thousand years? Maybe. She’d forgotten.

All she knew: an entire epoch had passed.

Had someone not once whispered, *You will never be a monster*, she might not be “the girl” today—but a selfless “beast.”

“Hmm…” Lebi’s azure eyes rested on the Black Sword placed upon the stone.

Its blade, pitch-black and webbed with cracks, radiated an ominous chill.

A standard longsword in form, slightly larger than usual—once a broadsword.

Its scabbard lay carelessly beside the stone.

“Hmm…” Tilting her head slightly, Lebi regarded the sword with a 0A0 expression.

Her cluelessly cute look clashed adorably with her ethereal grace.

—“Hey hey hey! What’s the meaning of leaving me on this rock?!” a voice echoed inside her mind.

Lebi wasn’t startled. Telepathic swords? Perfectly normal. Common sense, even.

“Lebi will definitely find you a suitable new Master!” she declared earnestly.

*Master*—not merely “owner.” Literally: *the one who wields*.

She’d promised the Black Sword’s previous Master to pass it on.

“But Lebi doesn’t know how to find someone,” murmured the girl who called herself Lebi, eyes half-lidded with a drowsy =A= expression.

“Finding people is such a hassle QAQ.”

—“So *that’s* why you dragged your feet?! No—‘years’ is too kind! An entire epoch passed!” The Black Sword’s voice crackled with exasperation.

“Mm.” Lebi nodded obediently.

She’d wandered everywhere, yet never found the right one.

Without a fitting Master, the Black Sword remained fragile—useless.

Suitability meant sharing the previous Master’s very soul.

Lebi tilted her chin up, finger pressed to her lips.

“He must be handsome, incredibly strong, gentle… and Lebi must *really* like him!” Her face flushed pink, expression shifting to 0V0, radiating bliss.

Yes. Only such a person mirrored the last Master.

So hard.

Her shoulders slumped instantly.

—“So you found *no one* in your whole life?!” the sword retorted.

“Forget the rest—the *last* point?! Impossible?!”

—“That guy was a depressed old man! A walking sarcasm machine!”

—“Aside from strength, *nothing* matches! And he’s been buried how long?!”

*Crack!*

Frowning, Lebi tapped the Black Sword with her tiny hand—and shattered it.

No mistake. Shattered.

Without a worthy wielder, it was just fragile scrap.

—“Hey! Don’t be mad!”

*Crack, crack, crack!*

Ignoring it, she reduced the blade to glittering fragments.

—“What are you *doing*?!” the sword grumbled.

Lebi blinked slowly. “Smash you. Sell you.”

—“???”

—“S-sell… *me*? After *smashing* me?!”

“Mm.” Her tone was utterly serious =V=.

—“Weren’t you finding me a Master?!”

Lebi paused. “Sell your pieces to many people. Maybe… someone suitable buys a fragment by chance.”

—“What kind of logic is *that*?!”

“Only the right person wakes you. You’ll sleep peacefully—you won’t get bored, da!!!!” *Smash.* Even finer shards.

The word “da” echoed. Only the hilt remained intact.

The Black Sword fell silent, sinking into slumber.

Behind Lebi, the lion lifted His drowsy eyelids and let out a low roar: “Roar!”

Even He pitied the sword.

“It’s fine. We’ll sell it like this,” Lebi told Him, wrapping the fragments in cloth.

---

Time ticked onward… then leaped.

Ten years later? Decades? A century?

“I’d like to sell this,” Lebi said, crouching before a roadside merchant, a blade fragment in hand.

The merchant stared—captivated by her beauty.

“I’d like to sell this,” Lebi repeated patiently.

He tore his gaze away, squinting at the shard. “This is…?”

“Scrap metal, da,” Lebi stated earnestly, face set in a 0V0 expression.

After this sale, she’d move to the next city. And the next.