[Third Person Pov]

“Due to your [Mystic Insight], you can see the enchantments on the blade, right?” Lucian asked casually, though there was a clear edge of anticipation in his voice. He glanced at Annabeth, watching her closely. “So… what are they?”

“Hmmm… let’s see here,” Annabeth muttered thoughtfully as she leaned in, narrowing her eyes in concentration. Her gaze carefully traced the invisible runes and layered magic bound to the weapon. A moment passed in silence before her eyes suddenly widened, and the corners of her lips began to twitch as if she were holding something back.

Lucian frowned, tilting his head. That reaction was definitely not what he had been expecting. “Okay, now you’re just being weird,” he said slowly. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh man, talk about a coincidence—you are going to love this!” Annabeth burst out laughing, doubling over slightly as she tried and failed to contain herself. “Hahaha! Nope, I’m not even telling you. I’m letting you figure this one out on your own.”

Lucian stared at her for a moment before letting out an exaggerated sigh. His curiosity was already burning at full throttle. “Wow. Thanks. Really appreciate the help,” he said dryly as he extended his hand forward.

‘Trace,’ Lucian commanded mentally.

Arcane symbols flickered through his mind as the spell activated, rapidly breaking down the sword’s structure, composition, and magical framework. Once the analysis was complete, Lucian brought his hands closer together and followed up with Projection, carefully weaving magic into form.

The Sword of Kupriotes—a spatha in design—took shape between his palms, assembled piece by piece through precise spellwork. The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, Lucian froze. Red sparks shot out from the contact, his eyes widened in pure astonishment as the enchantment fully registered.

His body trembled as he curled forward slightly, overcome with a sudden, uncontrollable surge of excitement. He clenched his fist and shook it in triumph, barely able to keep his voice steady as he whispered, “The sword… it lets me exert my Will onto others…”

Lucian turned toward Annabeth, his eyes glossy with emotion. “This thing basically lets me use Conqueror’s Haki,” he said shakily. “I—ugh, I’m actually going to cry.”

He quickly tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “Nope. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry,” he muttered to himself like a mantra.

Annabeth, meanwhile, was openly laughing at his over-the-top reaction. She rolled her eyes, but then paused as a sudden thought crossed her mind. “Hey,” she said, curiosity sparking, “don’t you also have Psychometry? What do you think you’d see if you touched the real sword?”

Lucian blinked, then nodded slowly. “Honestly? That’s a really good question,” he admitted. A grin spread across his face. “Let’s test that theory.”

He glanced around the room, making sure no one was paying attention. Just to be safe, he subtly manipulated the Mist, warping perception around them to hide his actions from prying eyes.

Calling on the shadows, Lucian slipped his hand cleanly through the protective glass and placed his fingers against the actual Sword of Kupriotes. The moment he made contact, he activated his Treasure Seeker abilities, bracing himself for whatever visions or memories the ancient weapon was about to reveal.

…

The world shifted the instant Lucian’s fingers brushed the real Sword of Kupriotes.

Sound vanished.

Then—

It returned all at once.

The thunder of thousands of boots striking earth. The scream of wind across an endless plain. The metallic rattle of armor and shields vibrating with tension. Lucian’s vision blurred before snapping into clarity, and suddenly he was no longer standing inside a quiet museum hidden by the Mist.

He stood beneath a blazing sun.

Before him stretched a vast battlefield, the land stained with dust, blood, and bodies of soldiers. Endless ranks of soldiers spread out like a living sea—Persian infantry clad in ornate armor, banners snapping violently in the wind, horses stamping nervously as if sensing something terribly wrong.

At the heart of it all stood one man.

Alexander of Macedon.

He was younger than Lucian expected—barely a man by mortal standards—but there was nothing youthful about the weight of his presence. He sat astride Bucephalus, posture straight, eyes sharp and burning with absolute certainty. The Sword of Kupriotes rested easily in his grip, its blade catching the sun as though the light itself bent toward it.

Then Alexander lifted the sword.

Lucian felt it.

A crushing pressure rolled outward like an invisible tidal wave.

It wasn’t magic—not entirely. It was will, raw and overwhelming, a force that pressed against Lucian’s chest even as a mere observer. The Persian front lines buckled instantly. Soldiers staggered, some dropping to their knees, others fleeing outright as terror seized their minds.

This wasn’t fear born from numbers or tactics.

This was domination.

Alexander’s presence alone declared him king of the battlefield.

With a single swing of the Sword of Kupriotes, the air screamed.

The force of Alexander’s will surged outward, flattening shields, scattering formations, and sending entire ranks crashing backward as if struck by an unseen giant, body parts flew in arcs along with the color of blood. The Persian army collapsed into chaos, morale shattering beneath the weight of a will that refused to be challenged.

Lucian’s breath caught, ‘Awesome… So this is what a Conqueror’s like’

Alexander charged.

The Macedonian phalanx followed like an unstoppable spear, cutting clean through the disorganized Persian lines. And at the center of it all, Alexander moved with terrifying grace, every strike precise, every motion infused with that same crushing authority.

Lucian barely had time to process the carnage before the vision shifted again.

The battlefield narrowed.

Two figures now stood facing one another amidst the wreckage of war.

Darius III.

The Persian king was regal even in defeat, clad in fine armor, his expression tight with fury and disbelief. He wielded his weapon with practiced skill, but Lucian could feel it—Darius was already losing. Not because he lacked strength, but because he lacked conviction.

Alexander stepped forward, sword humming faintly as if resonating with its master’s spirit.

Their blades clashed.

The impact sent a shockwave rippling across the ground, dust spiraling skyward. Darius fought desperately, every strike fueled by pride and the weight of an empire—but Alexander answered each blow effortlessly, his will suffocating, relentless.

With one final exchange, Alexander disarmed him.

The Sword of Kupriotes hovered at Darius’s throat.

Silence fell.

Alexander didn’t gloat. He didn’t rage.

He simply claimed victory.

And in that moment, Lucian understood—the sword did not grant Alexander his dominance. It merely amplified what was already there.

The vision shattered.

…

Lucian gasped as he stumbled backward, pulling his hand away from the glass. His heart pounded violently in his chest, breath coming in uneven bursts. The museum lights flickered back into existence, the sounds of distant footsteps returning like echoes from another world.

Annabeth grabbed his arm. “Lucian—hey, you okay?”

He laughed breathlessly, wiping at his eyes as he tried to steady himself. “Okay? Annabeth, that was—” He stopped, shaking his head in disbelief. “That was insane.”

Lucian ran a hand through his hair, “I’m not someone that normally admires other people, but he… He’s definitely someone worth my admiration”

Annabeth just stared at Lucian in surprise, she had never seen him compliment someone so openly before, she couldn’t help but be curious about what he saw.

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