《Sword M..》


 Sword foundation

    Sing, O Muse, of Vaelthoria¡ªa modest hamlet of humble souls, dwelling in simplicity and peace beneath the ever-watchful sky. In that age, when uncouth men yet trod the earth without artifice, the neighboring settlements¡ªrenowned for their mastery of the bow, the steed, and the gleam of polished armor¡ªnursed a bitter disdain for these common folk. In secret congress, they conspired, their hearts hardened by ambition, to seize Vaelthoria and claim its meager fortunes for themselves.


    It came to pass on a fateful night that as the denizens of Vaelthoria lay in slumber, a thunderous explosion rent the air¡ªa herald of doom. Roused from their dreams, they beheld, under the argent glow of the moon, warriors astride swift horses, brandishing sword and shield. From afar, as if the very heavens had unleashed their wrath, cannons roared and belched fire upon the unready. Amidst the chaos and carnage, hundreds fell; the earth drank deep of their lament.


    Yet even in despair, hope clung to life. Gelkra, the venerable patriarch of Vaelthoria¡ªan aged man of ninety winters¡ªresolved to lead his scattered people to sanctuary. With trembling yet steadfast hands, he readied a modest vessel, and thus the survivors, bereft of ample victuals and driven by fate, set sail upon the boundless sea toward an unknown shore.


    For days and weeks they voyaged until, at last, their fragile craft was dashed upon the rocks of a mysterious isle. Dominated by a solitary mountain rising a hundred feet to challenge the firmament, this land offered both peril and promise. In time, the exiles discovered deep within the earth ores of uncanny potency¡ªores destined to be wrought into mighty swords. Inspired by this omen, Gelkra decreed that these treasures be forged into arms, that his people might be ever vigilant against the specter of war.


    Under his command, the survivors built abodes and gathered fruits, and with the passing years, they transformed the island into a new polis. In homage to the gleaming ore, they named their sanctuary Xiphosia¡ªa tribute to the sacred sword. Moreover, a revered custom was ordained: upon reaching the age of fifteen, each citizen must take up a sword, to wield as both shield and destiny until the final breath.


    But fate, ever capricious, soon wrought further trial. One dread day, a mighty rumbling shook the land; the ancient mountain¡¯s foundation¡ªsteadfast for three thousand years¡ªbegan to crumble. As the peak descended in ruin, it claimed the lives of many and battered the only vessel that might have borne them hence. In the midst of this calamity, Gelkra¡¯s heart trembled at the thought of losing his kin once more. With a courage borne of despair, he rushed toward the mountain¡¯s very center. There, beneath layers of ancient stone, two feeble lights¡ªone red as the embers of H¨¥lios¡¯ forge, the other green as the flourishing groves¡ªflickered like lost souls.


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    With utmost haste, Gelkra excavated the sacred earth and unearthed two magical swords, wrought in ages long past, their power waning as if tethered to the dying mountain. In that solemn moment, the old leader made one final, desperate entreaty: he set the swords adrift, bidding them seek a worthy bearer who might restore their strength and, by extension, the fate of his people. No sooner had the blades flown forth than a fatal rock descended, and Gelkra was crushed, his sacrifice echoing in the silence that followed.


    Thus, the mountain stilled, and the red and green swords¡ªnow like wandering spirits¡ªbegan their quest for a champion. Whosoever shall claim their power, what destiny shall they forge, and what future awaits the people of Xiphosia? The answer lies hidden in the saga of ¡°Sword M¡­¡±¡ªa tale yet unfolding in the mists of time.


    Six months later , a solitary man named Dextin returned from the farm to his humble refuge. In a manner both rugged and steeped in myth, he entered his weathered hut and sank into his creaking chair. With a weary flourish, he set aside his burdens and hung his trusted sword by the wall. Uncorking a bottle of wine, he drank deeply, as if to drown the memories of love lost; for before him lay a faded photograph of a tender kiss with a fair maiden, which he then cast into the roaring blaze that kept his dwelling warm against the chill of night.


    In that hazy moment of intoxication¡ªwhen every step felt as though it were taken in the footsteps of ancient heroes¡ªDextin staggered toward his modest chamber. But before he could claim further ground, destiny intervened. Out of the darkness, a luminous green katana¡ªits power long dormant yet ever potent¡ªhurtled into his home like a modern bullet, shattering the quiet air and leaving him winded in its wake.


    Dextin fell to the floor in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief as the enchanted blade hovered in mid-air. In tones that resonated like the whisper of oracles, the sword spoke directly into his mind:


    ¡°Dextin Zirsut, know that I am the ember of the Green God, forged three thousand years ago to oppose the red, flaming embers of my kin. I seek not a chosen one but one whose heart is unyielding. Take me into your grasp, nurture my flame, for if my embers should die, this island of destiny shall vanish into oblivion.¡±


    Though his mind reeled at the notion of a talking sword¡ªa relic of ancient power speaking in the tongue of gods¡ªDextin felt the seductive allure of might and mystery. With trembling resolve, he stretched forth a calloused hand toward the radiant blade. Yet, the green katana cautioned him further in a measured, almost paternal tone:


    ¡°Be warned, mortal, your spirit is yet untested. Should you wield me without care, the hunger for power may transform you into a beast¡ªa creature who craves dominion above all. The choice is thine alone.¡±


    After a moment that stretched like the fabled trials of old, Dextin¡¯s will crystallized. He grasped the green katana, and in that instant, a surge of verdant electricity coursed through his very being, eliciting a cry of both agony and ecstasy. As the shock subsided, a wild, unbridled laughter erupted from him, echoing off the walls like the jubilant chants of ancient revelers.


    ¡°Such power,¡± he murmured to himself, his eyes alight with feverish ambition. ¡°If this transformation into a beast is my fate, then I shall embrace it fully¡ªI can never have too much.¡±


    Even as the thrill of power coursed through him, the memory of the blade¡¯s forewarning lingered¡ªa mention of a crimson counterpart of might. With a defiant glint in his eye, Dextin inquired, ¡°Where lies this red katana, that twin of yours, whose bearer remains unknown?¡±


    The green sword¡¯s voice, now somber and cryptic, replied:


    ¡°I warned thee, for our nature is not to wage battle against one another. Yet know this¡ªthe red katana has chosen its wielder far beyond these lands. Should you meet a foe who bears that sacred blade, who would triumph in mortal combat?¡±


    Pausing as if weighing the scales of destiny, the green katana finally intoned, ¡°I, the green blade, have strength that oft surpasses my red kin. But should the red katana find a master destined to be the Sword Master, our powers may falter in unison. If thou art resolved to claim its might, then act without hesitation.¡±


    Thus, with a steely smile and a heart aflame with ambition¡ªa blend of American resolve and the ancient spirit of Greek legend¡ªDextin set forth. His quest was clear: to seek out the bearer of the red katana, vanquish him in mortal duel, and claim the ultimate power for himself. In that moment, fear and the timeless echoes of Hellenic myth intertwined, forging a destiny that would alter the fate of his world forever.

 The Hunt For The Red Katana

    The dense, moonlit forest was eerily silent as Dextin approached his target¡ªthe latest wielder of the **Red Katana**. The air was thick with tension, only the faint rustling of leaves breaking the quiet. Ahead, standing in a clearing, was a young man in his twenties, his expression a mixture of confusion and awe as he clutched the **Red Katana** in both hands. His eyes flickered with recognition when he saw Dextin approaching.


    "You must be the **Green Katana** wielder," the man said, smiling slightly. "My **Red Katana** spoke of y¡ª"


    Before he could finish, Dextin vanished from his spot, reappearing behind him in an instant. A single stroke of his **Green Katana** was all it took. The young man¡¯s head detached cleanly from his body, his eyes still frozen in surprise as it rolled across the ground. His body crumpled lifelessly beside the **Red Katana**, which clattered to the dirt, gleaming under the pale moonlight.


    Dextin exhaled, slowly sliding his **Green Katana** back into its sheath. His piercing gaze locked onto the **Red Katana** lying on the ground, a wicked smile creeping onto his face.


    *"Who would have thought it would be this easy?"* Dextin muttered. *"The **Red Katana**, more power staring right at me."*


    He reached down, fingers mere inches from the hilt¡ª


    **CRACK!**


    A violent surge of red lightning erupted from the **Red Katana**, blasting Dextin backward. The force sent him crashing through the air before slamming onto the forest floor, skidding against the dirt. His muscles tensed in shock.


    *"What¡­ was that?"* he muttered, coughing as he pushed himself up.


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    The **Red Katana** hummed with power before suddenly taking off, streaking through the sky like a crimson comet, vanishing into the distance.


    Dextin''s eyes narrowed in fury. *What just happened?!*


    A deep, ancient voice echoed in his mind¡ªthe voice of the **Green Katana**.


    *"You should be dead, Dextin. Were it not for my power, you would have perished the moment you touched the **Red Katana**."*


    Dextin clenched his fists. "What do you mean?"


    *"Only the chosen wielder may hold the **Red Katana**. If anyone else dares to claim it, they suffer the punishment of death."*


    Dextin''s jaw tightened. "And you thought it wasn¡¯t important to tell me this earlier?! You''re useless!"


    Silence followed. Then the **Green Katana** spoke again, its voice lower, more serious.


    *"If the next wielder of the **Red Katana** happens to be The**Sword Master**, then it will be impossible to take it from them."*


    Dextin¡¯s blood ran cold for a moment. The **Sword Master**¡ªa warrior who had mastered the art of all blades. If such a person became the wielder, then taking the **Red Katana** would be far more difficult.


    But then, his fear was replaced by a burning ambition. *I will have that sword no matter what.*


    "Tell me," he said, his confidence returning. "Where is the next wielder?"


    The **Green Katana** sighed but obeyed, revealing the location.


    And so, Dextin continued his hunt.


    **A Trail of Blood**


    Again and again, Dextin hunted the wielders of the **Red Katana**. He slaughtered them with ruthless precision, but no matter how many fell, he could never claim the **Red Katana** before it flew off.


    *"Damn it!"* he roared after yet another failed attempt. He had killed countless wielders, yet the blade continued to slip through his grasp like an illusion.


    Then, as the **Red Katana** flew off for the hundredth time, a sinister idea took root in his mind.


    *"The **Red Katana** only flies off if its wielder is dead¡­"* He smirked. *"Then instead of killing them, I''ll just make them give it to me."*


    The **Green Katana** hesitated. *"And how exactly do you plan to do that?"*


    Dextin grinned, his eyes gleaming with malice.


    "If I take control of **Xiphosia Village** and rule it with an iron fist, I¡¯ll have an army at my disposal. My soldiers will find the wielder for me. If a villager becomes the wielder, they¡¯ll hand the **Red Katana** over themselves, knowing they have no choice. And those who refuse? They¡¯ll become prisoners and slaves¡ªlocked away to rot. Either way, I *will* get the **Red Katana**."


    The **Green Katana** fell silent.


    *"You¡¯re going too far, Dextin,"* it finally said.


    Dextin scowled. "Shut up. I¡¯ve only just begun."


    **The Tyrant of Xiphosia**


    For months, Dextin executed his plan with ruthless efficiency. He conquered **Xiphosia Village**, ruling with fear and absolute power. No one dared to challenge him¡ªhe was a god among them.


    Those who feared enslavement joined his army. Those who resisted were imprisoned, left to suffer in endless torment. And through it all, he continued his search for the **Red Katana**.


    But something was about to change.


    And soon, Dextin would learn that power always comes at a price.

 The Tyrant鈥檚 Reign and the Flight of the Red Katana

    Dextin sat atop his majestic throne in the newly constructed palace¡ªa towering edifice of cold stone and shimmering obsidian that loomed over Xiphosia like a dark promise. Torchlight danced along the polished floors, casting long, quivering shadows that hinted at both beauty and dread. His eyes, cold and unyielding, surveyed the hall with a mixture of satisfaction and hunger for more conquest. Every detail of the room¡ªfrom the carved insignias of ancient battles to the grand tapestries depicting mythic wars¡ªspoke of his newfound power and the fear he instilled in his subjects.


    At that moment, his right-hand adviser, a gaunt man whose face was etched with worry and secrets, swept into the throne room. The adviser bowed low¡ªso deeply that his forehead nearly kissed the marble floor¡ªand spoke in a measured tone: ¡°My lord, the elite unit known as Soldier 4 and his brave troops have scoured the Draken Shield in the northern reaches of our realm. Alas, they found no sign of the bearer of the Red Katana.¡±


    Dextin¡¯s eyes narrowed imperceptibly, and his voice, as cold as the steel of his blades, inquired curtly, ¡°What news beyond the north?¡±


    The adviser allowed a small, wry smile to play upon his lips before continuing. ¡°Xiphosia Village, as you decree, is divided into six distinct regions. The northern region has been cleared, yet none among its people bears the Red Katana. Furthermore, Verdant Hollow¡ªour southern region¡ªwas only cleared this very morning by Elite Soldier 5 and his loyal men. I would suggest, sire, that before you proceed with further searches, you might consider consulting your Green Katana for aid. Perhaps it might whisper the location of the elusive Red Katana wielder¡­¡±


    Before the adviser could finish, Dextin¡¯s tone hardened with finality. ¡°Nay,¡± he declared with a disdainful sneer, ¡°my sword shall not budge. Ever since I claimed this land as my own, it has refused to serve as a guide. Its silence is the final straw.¡± His voice boomed across the hall. ¡°Know this: I now command the power of the Green Katana as its sole master, and no feeble voice¡ªeven one as ancient as that¡ªshall dissuade me from seizing the Red Katana for myself!¡±


    The adviser¡¯s eyes flickered with concern. ¡°But, my lord, if your Green Katana¡¯s power is withheld in battle, will that not hinder your might? Without its aid, how shall you subdue those who dare defy you?¡±


    Dextin chuckled, a cold, mirthless sound that echoed off the vaulted ceilings. ¡°Fret not,¡± he said. ¡°I have long mastered its secrets. Even if the blade remains mute, I shall hunt down the Red Katana wielder myself. Dispatch all elite soldiers at once. I command that new regions be assigned immediately to scour every corner of our lands in search of that cursed Red Katana!¡±


    His adviser, voice low and conspiratorial, added, ¡°And should the bearer turn out to be The Sword Master you once mentioned¡­¡±


    Dextin cut him off with a curt nod. ¡°Then you shall all combine your strength and see to it that he is eliminated¡ªno quarter given!¡±


    As these orders echoed in the grand hall, far away in the gloomy confines of the prisoner base¡ªa stark, dilapidated structure where those who dared defy Dextin languished in despair¡ªthe scene was unfolding with equal intensity.


    In the dim corridors of the base, beneath flickering, sputtering lamps, Elite Soldier 5¡ªknown to his comrades as Dran¡ªentered carrying a small bundle wrapped in a worn cloth. Clutched in his strong arms was a baby, whose wide eyes and innocent features contrasted painfully with the grim surroundings. Alongside him strode Elite Soldier 4, Aingo, whose one clear, sharp eye scanned the area while the other, obscured by a patched bandage, lent him an air of grim determination.


    Aingo arched an eyebrow at Dran. ¡°What brings you here, Dran? You carry a child into this den of misery?¡± he asked, his tone a blend of teasing reproach and genuine concern.


    Dran turned, flashing a smile that was both warm and weary. ¡°Ah, dear friend, worry not. Our duty here has ended for the moment, and since none else will care for these prisoners, I have taken it upon myself to feed them. A simple kindness amid cruelty, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡±


    Aingo sighed, shaking his head. ¡°What am I to do with you? I can scarcely believe you have brought your own child here¡ªjust to dole out rations to these captives?¡±


    Dran¡¯s laughter was light, as if the burden of his choices could be eased by humor. ¡°¡®Tis but a babe¡ªlittle Rider, as I call him. He need not comprehend these dark deeds. Here, take him for a while.¡± With that, Dran handed the swaddled child to Aingo.


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    Aingo¡¯s eyes widened as he cradled baby Rider. ¡°Why entrust him to me?¡±


    ¡°Relax, friend,¡± Dran replied, brushing off Aingo¡¯s concern. ¡°Just hold the little one while I attend to the task at hand. I have procured cans of food and have begun to distribute them cell by cell. The prisoners¡ªneglected for far too long¡ªmust be fed.¡±


    As they advanced through the cramped, dank corridors, Dran¡¯s soft chuckles mingled with the clatter of metal cans being opened. In one particularly grim cell, labeled ¡®Prison 67¡¯ by fading paint on a splintered door, Dran stooped to pour out the contents of a can onto a chipped plate. Suddenly, a weak voice called out his name.


    Dran looked up to behold Neon, his childhood friend¡ªonce vibrant and full of hope, now marred by bitterness and the weight of years lost. Neon¡¯s eyes burned with anger and despair. ¡°Dran,¡± he spat, voice trembling with emotion, ¡°for over a year I have roamed these forsaken halls, seeking you with hope in my heart. Never did I imagine you would become an accomplice of that wretched tyrant after all he has done!¡±


    Dran¡¯s face fell, and for a long, painful moment he looked as though he might weep. ¡°Neon¡­ I had no choice,¡± he murmured. ¡°I could not raise my son in these accursed cells. The path before me was the only one left.¡±


    Neon¡¯s anger only deepened. ¡°You were meant to stop this madness, not join it! How can you justify abandoning all honor? How can your own son be forced to witness the cowardice of his father?¡±


    Unable to withstand the mounting tension, Dran¡¯s restraint shattered. In a burst of conflicted fury, he pinned Neon to the cold, concrete floor. Tears welled in Dran¡¯s eyes even as he gripped his friend tightly. ¡°Do what you must, if you truly believe it will mend the broken things!¡± Neon challenged, voice defiant despite his pain. ¡°Cut my head from my shoulders if that is what you desire!¡±


    Dran¡¯s heart convulsed with anguish, and he trembled at the thought. Before he could deliver the fatal blow, Aingo stepped in with a firm command, ¡°Enough, Dran! We must depart now!¡±


    At that precise moment, the soft, plaintive cry of baby Rider emanated from Aingo¡¯s arms. Dran reluctantly released Neon, who lay gasping on the floor, and gently gathered his child. Casting one final, regretful glance at his childhood friend, Dran left the cell and slowly retreated from the prisoner base.


    Outside, in the shadowed corridor leading to the meeting hall, Aingo spoke quietly to Dran. ¡°You know, Neon had a point. We cannot¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not you too!¡± Dran interjected bitterly, his eyes dark with resignation.


    Aingo persisted, his voice low and urgent. ¡°What I mean is that Dextin treats us like puppets, bending our wills for his gain. If he captures that Red Katana, who knows what further horrors he might unleash? He took your wife away and¡ª¡± Aingo¡¯s voice broke as he recalled the unspeakable deed: the ruthless murder of someone dear for refusing his vile advances.


    Dran¡¯s eyes filled with tears, his voice thick with despair as he pleaded, ¡°Please, Aingo, stop!¡± But Aingo, his expression grim, pulled his eye patch lower. ¡°Look at me, Dran. That monster has cost us everything. If you wish to join his ranks, you must sacrifice something dear to yourself¡ªeither you surrender part of your very body or become nothing more than one of his slaves!¡±


    Dran¡¯s voice, hoarse with bitterness, responded, ¡°And what good does that do us? There is none who can stand against Dextin. If he wishes us to grovel at his feet, so be it.¡± His words were laden with a despair so deep it chilled the air.


    Before their conversation could deepen further, a soldier approached them and bowed deeply. ¡°My lord Dextin commands that all ten elite soldiers gather at once,¡± the soldier announced.


    Aingo¡¯s eyes narrowed as he replied, ¡°See to it that we are there without delay.¡± The soldier hurried away, leaving the two comrades in a heavy silence. ¡°I shall leave my child in my private chamber before I join the meeting,¡± Dran said softly. Aingo, though troubled, said nothing further and slowly turned away, his mind awash with conflicting thoughts about loyalty and defiance.


    Back in the opulent throne room of the palace, the remaining nine elite soldiers assembled before Dextin. The atmosphere was thick with tension, every face a study in grim determination, sorrow, or simmering rebellion. Dextin¡¯s gaze swept over the line, and he noted with displeasure that one soldier was missing. His right-hand adviser leaned in and whispered, ¡°Elite Soldier 5 is absent, my lord.¡±


    Dextin¡¯s eyes flickered as he recognized the absence. ¡°Who is he?¡± he demanded, his voice cold and dangerous. The adviser replied, ¡°It is dran my lord.¡± Dextin¡¯s lips curled into a sneer. ¡°He should know well enough that tardiness incurs punishment. Has he forgotten the consequences?¡±


    Aingo, spoke at that very moment, lowered his head in deference. ¡°My lord, Dran has but stepped away momentarily¡ªto put his child to rest in his chamber. He shall return forthwith.¡±


    Dextin¡¯s face twisted in disgust. ¡°Is that all? Then I suppose I must kill the child as well.¡± "NO" Aingo shouts immediately in fear. The shock that followed was immediate; Aingo¡¯s face drained of color, and the other soldiers stared in horrified silence. Slowly rising from his throne, Dextin demanded, ¡°Explain yourself, Aingo¡ªwhat have you uttered?¡±


    In a trembling voice, Aingo stammered, ¡°I meant only that¡­ you believe a child should bear the burden of Dran¡¯s transgressions, is that not so?¡± Dextin¡¯s eyes narrowed as he replied with icy venom, ¡°If the child shall not suffer for the sins of the father, then his blood will serve as the price. Know your place, Aingo!¡± He advanced slowly, each measured step echoing ominously.


    At that moment, Dran entered the hall, breathing heavily and lowering his eyes in deep contrition. ¡°My lord, I am truly sorry for my failings,¡± he said, voice trembling with regret and exhaustion. The right-hand adviser interjected softly, ¡°It would be disastrous to lose an elite soldier of your caliber.¡± Dextin paused, his fury abating slightly, and reluctantly resumed his seat. Dran and Aingo both offered strained thanks, though their eyes betrayed inner turmoil¡ªthey knew that their roles were about to be reshaped by the day¡¯s grim orders.


    Suddenly, without warning, a brilliant flash of scarlet lightning tore through the hall. In that electrifying moment, the Red Katana appeared¡ªdarting through the air with such speed that for an instant, time itself seemed to pause. The blade, bathed in a fierce, otherworldly glow, streaked across the room like a falling star before coming to rest, almost reverently, in Dran¡¯s trembling hands.


    As the smoke cleared, a deep, resonant voice echoed from the very steel of the blade in the mind of dran. In a sonorous tone unmistakably laced with the ancient inflections of Greek, it proclaimed,


    ¡°? ?¦Í¦È¦Ñ¦Ø¦Ð¦Å, ? ¦Ê¦Á¦É¦Ñ?? ¦Ò¦Ï¦Ô ?¦Ä¦Ç ?¦Ë¦È¦Å¦Í.¡±


    ("O mortal, thy hour is come!").

 The Fury of the Red Blade

    The great hall of the palace lay hushed in a shock so deep that even the low murmur of distant servants seemed to echo like a distant heartbeat. Under the shimmering glow of torches and the cold gleam of marble, the elite soldiers and attendants looked on in stunned silence. At the center of the room, amidst shattered porcelain and overturned tables, stood Dran¡ªa battle-scarred elite soldier whose eyes were fixed upon the gleaming Red Katana. With trembling hands, he lifted the sacred blade ever so slightly, his mind reeling from the shock of its recent speech. He whispered almost inaudibly, ¡°Why hast thou chosen me?¡± as if trying to comprehend the miracle of a weapon that had spoken directly to his soul.


    Before Dran could fully process the magnitude of the moment, the oppressive silence was shattered by the sound of cruel laughter. Dextin, the once-mighty tyrant whose iron grip had oppressed this land for so long, strode forward. His face was split by a wide grin that soon twisted into a sinister chuckle as he addressed his right-hand adviser. In a voice that carried both derision and a hint of antiquity, Dextin declared,


    > ¡°I need not search far, adviser. Canst thou believe? The Red Katana¡ªas foolish as I had suspected¡ªhath chosen one of mine elite soldiers. It could have chosen any man, hidden away in distant lands, yet fate saw fit to bestow its favor upon thee.¡±


    His words, though meant to be scornful, dripped with a bizarre pride. The adviser¡¯s eyes widened in alarm, but before he could speak further, Dextin stepped closer to Dran. With a glint of malicious delight in his eyes, he continued,


    > ¡°Look here, friend¡ªI''ll take it from here now. Hand it over!¡±


    Dextin stretched out his hand toward Dran in a manner that was both commanding and taunting. Dran, still lost in the storm of his thoughts and trying to decipher the weight of destiny in that moment, hesitated. His hand trembled as it slowly reached out, the Red Katana hovering between him and the tyrant. But then, as if guided by an inner warning, Dran¡¯s eyes drifted to the back of Dextin. There, he caught sight of Aingo¡ªthe once-loyal companion¡ªshaking his head in silent protest. The gesture was subtle, yet it spoke volumes. In that instant, Dran¡¯s eyes widened in dawning horror as he realized the betrayal about to unfold.


    Before Dran could reconsider, Dextin lunged forward. Reacting on pure instinct and a heart ignited by betrayal, Dran drew his side sword with lightning speed. In one swift, decisive motion, he slashed at Dextin¡¯s face. The blade met flesh with a sickening crunch, sending the tyrant reeling backward. Dextin¡¯s face contorted in pain and shock as crimson stained his features; he staggered over tables, collapsing onto the cold stone floor with a resounding thud.


    Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd. The right-hand adviser¡¯s haughty smile vanished as he dashed to check on his master, while other elite soldiers gaped in horror. Dran¡¯s own heart pounded in his chest¡ªa furious drumbeat of regret and resolute determination¡ªrealizing in that instant that there was no turning back from the deed he had just done.


    Dextin¡¯s roar of pain and rage filled the hall¡ªa sound no one had heard from him before. The tyrant, now bleeding and enraged, pushed aside the adviser who had rushed to his aid. The man toppled backward, knocked unconscious by the sheer force of Dextin¡¯s anger. With the hall now in pandemonium, Dextin¡¯s eyes burned into Dran as he spat out, in a voice heavy with venom,


    > ¡°What art thou doing? After all I have done for thee¡ªI spared thy life¡ªand thou repayest me thus?¡±


    Dran¡¯s voice, raw with fury and sorrow, rang out as he leveled the tip of the Red Katana at the fallen tyrant. "Done for me? Thou raped and slay my wife! Thou hast turned this village into nothing but a prison and used us as pawns in thy vile game!¡± His words trembled with pain and unyielding anger as he stood defiant before Dextin¡¯s broken form.


    The hall fell into a heavy silence once more, punctuated only by the ragged breaths of the onlookers. Dran¡¯s declaration, spoken with unwavering conviction, resonated deeply with many in the room. In that charged moment, he continued,


    > ¡°But now¡ªwith this blade¡ªI can fight back. I am no longer afraid of thee!¡±


    Dextin¡¯s eyes narrowed into slits of fury. Struggling to rise, he turned his gaze to the assembled elite soldiers, who had once revered him as their master. ¡°What wait ye for, men? Seize him! Ye are my precious elite soldiers, art thou not?¡± His voice, still carrying a faint echo of his old, imperious cadence, commanded attention.


    Before his orders could fully take hold, a voice rose from among the soldiers¡ªa clear, heartfelt interjection from Aingo. ¡°Do not heed him,¡± Aingo cried, his tone resolute yet tinged with sorrow. ¡°He will use thee as he always has. None of us truly loveth this tyrant. We have suffered under his yoke for too long, yet lacked the strength to rise. Now, we have found our courage. Listen not to his lies; let us reclaim our village and our dignity!¡±


    The tension in the hall soared as Dextin¡¯s countenance twisted in anger. ¡°Cease thy prattle, commoner! What knowest thou of power? Any soldier who defies me shall meet death. Yet if ye seize him as I command, I promise thou shalt live¡ªand thy kin, held captive, shall be freed!¡± His words thundered out, desperate to reclaim control.


    For a long moment, the elite soldiers stood paralyzed by indecision. Their faces reflected inner turmoil¡ªa battle between fear and hope. Then, from among them, Elite Soldier One stepped forward, tears streaming down his face. In a trembling voice, he declared to Dran, ¡°I will follow thee now. But should thou fail, and Dextin slay us, I swear I shall never forgive thee.¡±


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    Dran met the soldier¡¯s tearful gaze with a solemn nod, silently vowing that this path, however treacherous, was the only path to freedom. At once, Elite Soldier One turned and fled from the hall, and one by one, the other elite soldiers followed, abandoning Dextin¡¯s side. Dextin roared after them, desperate to rally his forces, ¡°Return here at once!¡± But his command fell upon ears that had finally found their courage.


    In the midst of the mounting chaos, Aingo approached Dran with concern. ¡°Dran, might I be of assistance?¡± he asked quietly.


    Dran, still locked in the moment, replied, ¡°It is too perilous here, Aingo. Thou must go and free the prisoners in the base¡ªI cannot risk thy life here.¡±


    ¡°But our people need us!¡± insisted Aingo, his eyes burning with determination.


    ¡°Go then,¡± Dran ordered firmly, ¡°and ensure that every captive is set free. I shall remain to settle this score with Dextin.¡±


    Without further words, Aingo bowed his head and rushed from the hall, leaving Dran alone with his foe.


    Dran circled the wounded tyrant like a lion circling its prey. His grip on the Red Katana tightened as he drew his old, cherished sword from its scabbard in his left hand¡ªa weapon symbolic of a time when honor still held sway. Dextin, his pride and power diminished but not yet extinguished, struggled to rise. Slowly, he drew his Green Katana, its blade catching the flickering torchlight as if mocking Dran with its cold brilliance. With a voice that dripped both menace and defiance, Dextin spoke,


    > ¡°Dran, I grant thee one final chance: hand over the Red Katana and I shall let this transgression pass. Refuse, and I shall have no choice but to end thy life. Then I shall await another wielder¡±


    Dran¡¯s eyes burned with unwavering conviction. He did not lower the blade. Instead, he met Dextin¡¯s challenge with a calm resolve that belied the turmoil in his chest. Dextin closed his eyes momentarily, as if steeling himself, and then, with a bitter snarl, said,


    > ¡°So be it!¡±


    At once, a sickly green aura began to pulse about Dextin, casting eerie shadows and making the very walls tremble as though shaken by the power of his wrath.


    Though fear raced through every fiber of his being, Dran did not waver. He leaned in slightly and addressed the Red Katana in a hushed tone,


    > ¡°Great blade, thou hast aided me before. Lend thy strength once more, for I need thy power to vanquish this tyrant!¡±


    Yet the ancient weapon remained silent, its mystical voice hidden behind a veil of inscrutability.


    Dextin wasted no time. He charged at Dran with a mighty swing of his Green Katana. In a desperate bid to block the assault, Dran raised his left-hand sword. The force of the impact was so tremendous that it shattered the old blade into splinters, sending Dran sprawling backward across the cold marble floor. The sound of breaking steel mingled with the clash of fury in the air.


    Dextin advanced swiftly, closing the gap until he stood but inches away from Dran. Despite the searing pain and disorientation, Dran managed to raise his head and swing the Red Katana in a wide, defiant arc. Dextin, however, dodged with preternatural agility. The ensuing exchange was a blur of motion¡ªDran¡¯s impressive sword skills honed through years of hardship, countered by Dextin¡¯s overwhelming power augmented by his dark aura.


    Blow after blow was traded in the chaos. Dextin, like a predator toying with its prey, knocked Dran across the room time and again, as if he were nothing more than a ragdoll. On the sixteenth strike, Dextin paused, his expression one of bitter disappointment. He looked down at Dran, who now lay on the floor, blood streaming from his split lip and eyes fixed in a mixture of pain and defiance.


    > ¡°Just hand it over, Dran,¡± Dextin growled, ¡°and I shall grant thee a death free of agony. Persist in thy defiance, and thou shalt know the fires of hell¡ªtwice!¡±


    The tyrant¡¯s words echoed as Dran, battered and bleeding, crawled slowly along the stone floor.


    In that moment, memories surged through Dran¡¯s mind¡ªthe tearful plea of Elite Soldier One, the image of his son, and the countless faces of those oppressed by Dextin¡¯s cruelty. Fueled by a potent mixture of sorrow and righteous anger, Dran refused to yield. His silence was a declaration in itself.


    Enraged by Dran¡¯s unspoken defiance, Dextin roared and charged again¡ªthis time with the sole intent to end the rebellion for good. As he surged forward, an intense heat seemed to radiate from the Red Katana in Dran¡¯s grasp. Flames leapt along its edge, transforming the sacred blade into a blazing symbol of vengeance. In a single, breathtaking moment, Dran swung the fiery sword with all his remaining strength. The flaming arc carved a deep, diagonal wound across Dextin¡¯s chest, and with a force that defied belief, the tyrant was sent crashing backwards. He collided with a massive pillar, his body thrown against the wall as if struck by divine retribution.


    Gasping in shock and pain, Dextin stared up at Dran with wide, incredulous eyes. ¡°This is the second time thou hast wounded me,¡± he gasped, his voice a mix of disbelief and terror. In his desperation, he cried out to his Green Katana,


    > ¡°Explain, Green blade¡ªwhat sorcery is at work! Could it be that thou proclaimest Dran as the Sword Master you once spoke of?¡±


    His words, laced with fear and uncertainty, trembled in the charged air.


    For several agonizing moments, the Green Katana offered no reply. Then, in a voice that was measured and laden with ancient wisdom¡ªyet not as heavy as before¡ªit spoke softly:


    > ¡°Nay, thou art not the Sword Master. Know this, mortal: the Red Katana is an ancient God¡ªa God of emotion and of purpose, especially of the burning anger that fuels the soul. It answereth only to those whose hearts burn with true determination, and it cannot be wielded by just anyone, especially any who fight in fear or for selfish gain. Its power is meant for those who fight for every soul in this village. Therefore, Dran, thou art not the Sword Master, yet thou hast awakened enough of its spirit to challenge you.¡±


    For a fleeting moment, a pained smile tugged at Dextin¡¯s lips as if the revelation might save him. ¡°Great,¡± he muttered in a grudging tone, ¡°thou almost had me there for a moment, I will end this now.¡± With that, he summoned every ounce of energy from his Green Katana and charged at Dran once more, his movements a blur of fury and desperate ambition.


    As Dextin advanced, the voice of the Red Katana whispered gently within Dran¡¯s mind,


    > ¡°Fight with thy heart and not merely with thy steel, and then shalt my power be thine.¡±


    Those words, neither overblown nor excessively archaic, rang clear and true. They filled Dran with a quiet, determined courage that seemed to steady his battered form.


    Closing his eyes for a split second, Dran focused all his might. When he reopened them, his gaze was locked onto Dextin¡¯s with unwavering intensity. In that instant, Dran met the tyrant¡¯s next strike with a perfectly timed block. Steel clashed with steel, and for a long, breathless moment, the hall itself seemed to hold its breath.


    What will follow is a battle that transcended mere physical combat¡ªa contest of wills, of honor, and of the desire for liberation.

 The Breaking and the Battle

    Aingo raced to the prisoner base with urgency. He burst through the heavy door and immediately set to work, unlocking the cells one by one and freeing every prisoner inside. As each door swung open, a small group of villagers emerged, confused by their sudden release. One by one they stepped out, hesitant and bewildered.


    But soon Aingo noticed something was amiss¡ªthere were far too many prisoners to let them leave in disorder. With a firm voice that carried both authority and a hint of archaic cadence, he called out to his soldiers assembled nearby. ¡°Hasten, my friends! Summon thyselves from your squat; we must free them all!¡±.


    In immediate response, the soldiers rushed in. They worked quickly, opening additional cells and ushering the villagers out. The freed people, still reeling from their long confinement, crawled out in a daze. Amid the chaos, Aingo stepped forward and addressed the assembled crowd. ¡°people, gather ye; thou must flee as swiftly as thou can from this place. Look behind thee¡ªye shall find swords hung at the back of this base. Take them and leave now!¡± His words, resonated with a sense of dire urgency.


    The villagers, their faces marked with confusion and hope at the taste of sudden freedom, obeyed. In a wild, frantic rush, they grabbed the swords and began to leave the compound. Amid the stampede, Neon lingered. His eyes locked onto Aingo, who paused and slowly bowed toward him. In a soft, measured tone that betrayed both respect and a touch of solemn tradition, Aingo said, ¡°Neon, I entrust thee with Dran¡¯s son, please, take young Rider with thee and leave.¡±


    Neon, shocked at Aingo¡¯s bow and the gravity in his words, could only stare for a moment before joining the fleeing crowd. Without another word, he disappeared amid the throng.


    A sudden, deafening bang echoed from the palace. The sound of battle had reached even the freed villagers. In that moment, the soldiers under Aingo¡¯s command exchanged fearful glances. One of them cried out, ¡°We cannot tarry here, for the entire building might collapse upon us!¡± But Aingo¡¯s voice rang out resolutely as he responded, ¡°I cannot leave Dran to fight alone. Go forth without me!¡±


    Immediately, Aingo sprinted toward the palace room. His soldiers watched him from afar as the building began to shake once more, and then¡ªone by one¡ªthey all fled out.


    Inside the palace, the clash between Dextin and Dran raged on. The tyrant Dextin, his face contorted with grinning fury, and Dran, whose calm anger belied the pain in his eyes, locked their katanas together. The sound of their blades clashing echoed throughout the room like a mournful symphony of war. For a moment, both combatants stepped back to catch their breath, heavy and ragged, their breathing filling the tense silence.


    Dextin managed a weak smile as he spat out, in a voice with a faint ancient lilt, ¡°Thou art naught but a pain in the ass, Dran. Die, I say, and end this torment!¡± Yet Dran, summoning every ounce of strength, raised his Red Katana until its blade caught wild, dancing flames. The fire did not go unnoticed¡ªeven as Dextin tried to maintain a calm fa?ade, the flames began to spread. Unbeknownst to them, the fire had crept along the walls of the palace, slowly setting the building ablaze. But neither warrior cared; their focus was singular: to destroy each other.


    Dextin pointed his Green Katana at Dran, a faint green aura swirling about him as he charged once again. This time, their movements were quicker, more desperate. Steel collided with steel as they dodged, swung, and blocked with a ferocity born of years of pent-up hatred. In one savage moment, Dextin¡¯s strike sliced open Dran¡¯s stomach, leaving a gaping wound. Then came another brutal cut, this time slashing deeply across Dran¡¯s chest. Yet, even as pain threatened to overwhelm him, Dran pressed on.


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    The struggle took a terrible toll. Dextin managed to drive his blade clean through Dran¡¯s right chest, forcing Dran to cough up a torrent of blood. Still, Dran stood, defiance burning in his eyes. Dextin smirked and roared aloud, pressing his Green Katana deeper. At that moment, Dran¡¯s vision turned nearly white as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness, blood pooling around him. But in that haze, a vision of the elite soldiers he had promised he would win flickered through his mind, fueling his resolve. With trembling hands, he gripped his Red Katana tighter.


    Dextin sneered, his voice low and menacing as he said, ¡°Yield now, Dran, or thou art doomed to die.¡± In a swift, ruthless motion, he yanked his Green Katana from Dran¡¯s already bleeding chest, the movement spilling more blood onto the cold floor. Yet even then, Dran remained standing. With shaking, vibrating hands, he slowly lifted his Red Katana; its blade glowed with an intense crimson light, reminiscent of a polished, burning stone.


    Without hesitation, Dextin charged again, and Dran met him in a flurry of motion. Dran swung his burning katana at Dextin with the intent to slice his neck clean. But Dextin was quick; he dodged just in time. In the ensuing clash, Dran¡¯s burning strike caught Dextin off guard¡ªcutting clean through the tyrant¡¯s left hand, severing the palm entirely. Dextin flew back from the impact, his gaze fixed in horror upon his mangled hand. A piercing scream erupted from him, the sound echoing in the tumultuous chamber.


    Elsewhere in the palace, Neon scoured the corridors in search of young Rider¡ªDran¡¯s son. Amid the smoke and rising heat in the elite soldiers¡¯ chamber, Neon¡¯s heart pounded as he finally found Rider crying on a small baby bed. Without a moment¡¯s hesitation, Neon scooped the terrified child into his arms and bolted out of the collapsing chamber. He left the building, glancing back only once at the burning edifice, worry etched deep into his features for Dran¡¯s fate.


    Back in the midst of the fray, Dextin bellowed curses from the floor, his voice raw with pain. Dran, seizing the moment, advanced slowly as he raised his Red Katana high, intent on ending Dextin once and for all. But then, unexpectedly, Dextin¡¯s right-hand adviser appeared. Gripping Dran¡¯s leg firmly, the adviser shouted, ¡°Get off my master!¡± in a tone that betrayed shock and duty. Dran struggled and tried to shake him off, but the adviser¡¯s grip only tightened.


    ¡°Get off me,¡± Dran snarled, his voice edged with pain and fury. ¡°you don''t know  what your doing!¡±


    At that moment, Dextin, glancing at the only man who had not yet betrayed him, offered a small, almost ironic thanks. Then, without warning, he plunged his blade into Dran once more¡ªthis time, a swift thrust that pierced Dran¡¯s stomach. The blow was fatal. Dran crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath as his life began to fade.


    The balance of power shifted instantly. Just as Dextin prepared to deliver the final blow, a sudden flash interrupted the deadly scene. Aingo¡¯s sword flew through the air, finding its mark by striking Dextin on the shoulder. In a heartbeat, Aingo rushed forward, dragging Dran¡¯s motionless body out of harm¡¯s reach as he coughed from the thick, choking smoke. The flames around them grew ever stronger, their heat a constant, brutal reminder of the palace¡¯s impending collapse.


    Aingo knelt beside the fallen Dran, desperately trying to rouse him from unconsciousness. Dran¡¯s eyes fluttered open slowly. Through a haze of pain and blood, he saw Aingo leaning close, urging him, ¡°Run, Aingo ¡ªflee while you can!¡± But Aingo¡¯s tone quickly shifted, firm and resolute. ¡°No, I will not run away. Learn to cease thy foolish words, for I shall take out Dextin¡¯s eyes myself!¡±


    At that moment, Dextin, still reeling from the earlier blow, staggered and yanked Aingo¡¯s sword from his shoulder, flinging it aside with a disdainful snort. ¡°It matters not,¡± Dextin declared with a bitter sneer. ¡°I shall kill ye both together.¡±


    From opposite sides, Dran and Aingo struggled to rise. Dran, leaning on Aingo for support, managed to steady himself despite the overwhelming pain. Together, they prepared to shift the tide of battle once more.


    The clash of steel, the roar of flames, and the cries of battle filled the collapsing palace as the struggle between Dextin and those who defied him reached a fever pitch. Every moment was charged with desperation and defiance. Dran¡¯s eyes, though dimming with pain, burned with a determination forged in the crucible of loss and betrayal. Aingo¡¯s presence was a silent vow¡ªa promise that they would not let tyranny reign unchecked.

 The Last Stand of the Red Blade

    Dextin stood across from Aingo and Dran in the ruined remains of the palace, the air thick with tension and the bitter taste of impending fate. Between them, in the wavering light of the collapsing structure, lay the remnants of a once-mighty regime. The three men¡ªeach scarred by loss, burdened by duty, and driven by a fierce desire for retribution¡ªassumed their positions in a silent standoff.


    Dran¡¯s vision was fading; his eyes, clouded with pain and exhaustion, searched desperately for the familiar face of his comrade. With a rasp in his voice, he called out, ¡°Aingo¡­ my friend, my vision¡­ it is failing. I fear I shall not endure much longer¡­¡± His words, though weak, carried the weight of a warrior who had seen too many battles and lost too much.


    Aingo¡¯s face tightened with worried anger. ¡°Dran, speak not of such despair in this hour,¡± he admonished, his tone laced with both concern and a quiet determination. ¡°Thou must not give in to these dark thoughts now.¡±


    Dran coughed out a weak chuckle, his lips twisting in both pain and defiance. ¡°Aingo, listen well¡­ I have but one technique left in me¡ªa secret of the Red Katana. ''Tis a power that grants immense flame, a gift that I have barely tapped into. In my final moments, I intend to enhance it beyond its limit and strike down Dextin himself. Even if death comes swiftly, I will not let that tyrant live on.¡± His words trembled as he admitted, ¡°I am near my end, yet I shall take him down with me.¡±


    Aingo¡¯s eyes widened in disbelief and sorrow. ¡°Nay, Dran,¡± he protested, shaking his head as if to dispel the grim fate foretold. ¡°Thou shalt not die tonight. I cannot¡ªwill not¡ªsee thee perish!¡±


    Dran interrupted him, his voice gaining strength even as his body faltered. ¡°Promise me, Aingo. Promise me that, no matter what comes to pass, thou wilt follow me to the bitter end.¡± His gaze, though heavy with pain, burned with unyielding resolve.


    Aingo gritted his teeth and wiped a tear from his weathered cheek. In that silent moment, with the ruins of their world crumbling around them, he made his vow. ¡°I promise, Dran. I shall stand by thee, come what may.¡±


    Before either could savor this fragile bond, Dextin broke their solemn moment. Lifting his Green Katana across his shoulder with an air of disdain and dark amusement, he called out, his voice echoing off the shattered stone walls:


    ¡°Are ye done with thy futile discussion? Hasten, for ye both shall die¡ªand I shall see to it with one final assault!¡±


    Without waiting for a reply, Dextin charged. But fate intervened as the very foundation of the burning palace began to crumble beneath them. With a deafening roar, the structure shuddered and collapsed, sending cascading debris tumbling around the combatants. Dextin halted in his tracks, startled, as the building fell around him. In a desperate bid for survival, he shielded himself against the falling rubble.


    Outside, the villagers looked on in stunned silence. The once-imposing palace now lay in ruin, its collapse a symbol of the crumbling regime. Among them, Neon cradled baby Rider gently in his arms; the child, nestled in a sleeping slumber, remained oblivious to the chaos unfolding inside.


    Dextin, though bruised and momentarily halted by the falling debris, pushed aside a heavy beam of wood that had landed upon him. Casually, as if it were but a minor inconvenience, he rose to his feet. His right-hand adviser soon followed, hauling away the scattered timber and taking a seat amid the wreckage. Moments later, Aingo emerged from the rubble, his eyes scanning the carnage for any sign of Dran. Finding the battlefield disturbingly silent where Dran should be, he shouted, ¡°Dran! Where art thou?


    At last, Dran emerged¡ªthe last to stagger free from the ruins. He pushed aside a fallen wooden beam with a great effort, forcing himself to stand. Seeing his friend, Aingo rushed forward with relief and worry etched across his face. ¡°Dran, art thou well? Speak to me, friend!¡±


    Dran, still catching his breath, looked up at Aingo with a grim expression. ¡°you must hold off Dextin on your own for a few minutes,¡± he said, his voice strained. ¡°you cannot allow him to strike again, not while you can still fight.¡± His tone left no room for argument, though it carried the heavy note of inevitability.


    Aingo¡¯s eyes filled with conflict. Doubt and worry warred within him¡ªcould he truly bear the burden of fighting dextin? Yet Dran insisted, ¡°This is our chance to do what is right, Aingo. I shall join thee soon; for now, you must engage him alone.¡±


    With the villagers and a few remaining soldiers watching in hushed anticipation, Aingo steeled himself and prepared for what was to come. Suddenly, from the gathered crowd outside, Neon¡¯s voice rang out as a warning: ¡°Aingo, look out!¡± His shout cut through the tense air, urging caution.


    Before Aingo could react, Dextin reappeared from the haze of falling debris. With a swift, savage motion, he landed a mortal slice across Aingo¡¯s body, sending him reeling backwards. As Aingo crumpled, Dextin¡¯s voice rang out in a cold, mocking tone:


    ¡°Do ye truly think I shall let thee prattle on? I am enraged that my palace lies in ruin at thy hands!¡±


    Enraged, Dextin advanced toward the weakened Dran, who lay struggling on the rubble. In a moment of sheer instinct, Aingo lunged forward to intercept Dextin¡¯s lethal strike, blocking the blow with his own blade. Dextin paused in shock, staring at Aingo as he demanded, ¡°How comest thou still alive?¡±


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    Aingo smirked despite the pain. ¡°I protected mine vitals before thy slice could claim them,¡± he retorted, his tone carrying both defiance and a subtle challenge. With newfound strength, he pushed Dextin away a few feet. ¡°I will not allow thee to come near Dran,¡± Aingo declared, positioning himself as a barrier between the tyrant and his injured friend.


    Dextin laughed bitterly, sneering, ¡°Thou art nothing but a nobody, Aingo! With thy pathetic sword, thou shalt fall like all the rest!¡± With that, Dextin surged forward, swinging his Green Katana with lightning speed toward Aingo. But Aingo, as if foreseeing the attack, dodged with remarkable agility. In one fluid motion, he swung his own blade in return, driving Dextin back. The clash of steel rang out, and the gathered onlookers¡ªvillagers and soldiers alike¡ªwatched in awe. They could scarce believe that someone dared to stand against Dextin¡¯s might.


    Aingo paused, his chest heaving with exertion, and addressed Dextin with a steady, resolute tone: ¡°I may not possess a special katana, but I will not yield even if it costs me my life.¡± Dextin, incensed by this defiance, sneered and landed a vicious slice across Aingo¡¯s chest, tripping him over. ¡°Thou shalt end up like the rest¡ªdead!¡± he spat. Yet Aingo, refusing to surrender, rose once more, pressing his sword into the ground for support as he fought on.


    Dextin¡¯s anger grew as he watched Aingo¡¯s indomitable fighting spirit. But then, amid the chaos, a familiar voice echoed softly, cutting through the clamor: ¡°Do not kill thyself, hero.¡± Aingo turned to see Dran, now standing upright despite his wounds, gripping the Red Katana which glowed with a deep crimson brilliance. ¡°Thanks, my friend,¡± Dran murmured, his voice low yet determined, ¡°but I shall take it from here.¡± Without further words, Dran moved with a speed that seemed almost superhuman. In a single, breathtaking motion, he lunged forward, the Red Katana raised high and ablaze with full power, aimed straight for Dextin¡¯s heart.


    Dextin, realizing he could not dodge this final assault, shifted his stance. Yet the blazing strike came true¡ªthough not to his heart, it instead tore through the side of his ribs. A roar of pain and fury erupted from Dextin as a torrent of flames surged through his body. In retaliation, he thrust his Green Katana forward, its blade plunging into Dran¡¯s stomach. The aura of the green blade enveloped Dran for a brief, terrible moment, as both warriors pressed their advantage in a climactic standoff.


    All around them, the right-hand adviser, Aingo, and the remaining villagers watched in horrified awe as a burst of green and red light exploded from the two blades. In an instant, the brilliant radiance was replaced by a violent gust of wind that swept through the shattered palace hall, forcing everyone to steady themselves against the sudden onslaught.


    When the wind finally subsided, the scene that remained was one of devastation and finality. Before them lay a wounded Dextin, barely clinging to life, and an unconscious Dran, collapsed to the stone floor. The Red Katana¡ªits fiery glow dimmed yet still pulsating with raw power¡ªrested between them, unmoving and silent.


    Dextin, clutching his broken left side, attempted to rise and staggered toward the gleaming red katana blade. But before he could claim it, a crowd of villagers surged forward, brandishing their own swords in anger. Their eyes burned with righteous fury as they advanced upon the wounded tyrant. In a final act of defiance, Dextin produced his Green Katana once more, raising it as if to challenge them, and bellowed, ¡°Bring it on then!¡± However, his right-hand adviser rushed to his side, urgently whispering, ¡°Master, thou art too weak! Escape, now, and save what remains of thyself!¡±


    Dextin, his face contorted with both rage and reluctant acceptance, knowing that would be back. Yet the villagers would not allow him to flee; they charged him under the command of Neon, who now led the rebellion from the outskirts of the ruin. In a desperate bid, Dextin¡¯s adviser hurled a smoke bomb from beneath his sleeve, and within seconds, Dextin and his adviser vanished into a cloud of swirling smoke.


    Amid the chaos, Aingo sprinted back to Dran¡¯s side. Dran, barely clinging to life, forced himself to breathe as he lay motionless on the cold floor. Tears streamed down Aingo¡¯s face as he cradled his fallen friend, pleading, ¡°Dran, it is over. We have lost too much.¡± But even as Aingo begged, Dran managed a weak, sorrowful smile. In a rasping whisper, he recalled words from days past: ¡°Thou always did say if I kept acting careless, I¡¯d be the one to die¡ªand now, friend, thou art right.¡± His voice trembled with both regret and resignation. ¡°I am a failure¡­I could not stop Dextin. He will return, mark my words. But promise me, Aingo¡ªpromise that thou wilt train my son, that thou wilt give him the life and strength I could not. Let him grow to be a warrior, as noble as thee. Promise me, I beg thee.¡±


    Aingo hesitated, his heart aching with grief and duty. After a long, painful pause, he whispered, ¡°I promise, Dran. I shall raise thy son as my own, and he shall one day wield the power of the Red Katana.¡± At once, Dran managed a final, faint smile and murmured, ¡°Then thank Neon for me¡­¡± His words faded as his eyes closed, and he slipped away into eternal silence.


    Aingo cradled Dran¡¯s lifeless body, tears mingling with dust and blood on the ruined floor. In the midst of his sorrow, he noticed something unusual¡ªthe Red Katana did not soar away as it had so many times before. Instead, it remained, suspended in a quiet glow. Neon, who had rejoined the crowd outside, informed Aingo in a hushed tone that a villager had just declared the weapon could now be wielded by anyone¡ªit no longer required a chosen one.


    A moment later, a villager emerged from the throng, holding aloft the Red Katana with a look of exuberant joy. ¡°Now, anyone may claim this blade!¡± he shouted, then immediately he was faced with instant death. But  Aingo bellowed, ¡°Step back, all of ye!¡± The villagers obeyed in a trembling rush, understanding that the Red Katana had lost the energy to fly on its own after Dran¡¯s final desperate attack but still can''t be wielded by just anyone and needs the Sword Master for it to regain its lost strength again. Its power now lay dormant, waiting only for the true Sword Master to reclaim it and restore its glory.


    Aingo looked upon Dran¡¯s still form, his face hardening into a mask of resolve. In that moment of grief and determination, he made his decision. Though his heart was heavy with sorrow, he would raise young Rider¡ªDran¡¯s son¡ªand prepare him to become the next wielder of the Red Katana. He would ensure that the legacy of Dran¡¯s sacrifice would live on in the form of a new champion, one who might one day fulfill the promise of freedom that had been so dearly paid for.


    The air grew quiet as the ruined palace and scattered villagers bore witness to this solemn vow. Aingo, with steeled determination and a heart full of both grief and hope, gathered what remained of the broken swords and the shattered remnants of a fallen regime.


    Fifteen years later¡­

 The village tournament

    (15 Years Later)


    In the vast, modern grand hall of the village training center, Rider moved through a specially designed swordsman practice field with practiced ease. He dashed from one end to the other, his blade slicing through mannequin dummies that suddenly sprang to life. The rhythmic sound of steel meeting a padded surface echoed as he executed each move with speed and precision.


    For a few moments, Rider felt invincible¡ªuntil his momentum betrayed him. Mid-stride, his boot caught on the leg of a fallen dummy. In an instant, he tumbled to the ground. ¡°Awww,¡± he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, as he slowly pushed himself up, holding his head in mild embarrassment.


    From the far end of the field, Aingo watched with a look of discontent. His face was etched with disappointment, and he shook his head heavily as he signaled for Rider to step out of the field. ¡°That¡¯s enough for today,¡± he said, his tone firm and unyielding.


    Rider reluctantly sheathed his sword, running a hand through his damp hair. ¡°Worked up a sweat, didn¡¯t I? Next, I¡¯m heading to the spring,¡± he replied with a half-smile.


    Aingo¡¯s frown deepened. He stared at Rider intently. ¡°You didn¡¯t complete any of your training drills today or master any new techniques,¡± he chided. ¡°You deserve to take a break, but you¡¯re not going anywhere until you show some real improvement.¡±


    Anger sparked in Rider¡¯s eyes as he shot back, ¡°I tried my best, Aingo! Instead of always telling me what I did wrong, maybe you should talk to me about what I could do better sometimes.¡±


    Aingo¡¯s expression hardened, and his voice rose, ¡°Trying isn¡¯t gonna make you like your dad!¡±


    Rider sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. ¡°Here we go again¡­¡±


    Aingo¡¯s tone softened for just a split second before he continued, his voice loud and determined: ¡°Your dad was a warrior¡ªhe did everything flawlessly. He saved our village and trusted me to carry his legacy by training you to become the Sword Master. You will wield the Red Katana whether it kills you or not. That¡¯s my promise.¡±


    Rider¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°It¡¯s always about what you and my dad want. What about what I want?¡±


    Aingo¡¯s response was immediate and raised, ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what you want!¡± He paused, noticing the curious stares of the onlookers in the grand hall. Clearing his throat, he lowered his tone slightly and said, ¡°Your destiny is already set in stone. You¡¯re meant to wield the Red Katana and lead this village to victory when Dextin comes back.¡±


    Rider frowned, his voice bitter, ¡°But no one even knows where Dextin is. They¡¯ve searched this village for over three years and found not a trace. What if he¡¯s really gone?¡±


    Aingo¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°He¡¯ll be back. I know he will. And mark my words, he''d do anything for the Red Katana. I want you to be the best and protect this village. There¡¯s no room for ''trying''¡ªonly the best will do. What I¡¯ve seen so far is nothing but trash when it comes to your sword skills.¡±


    Rider¡¯s anger flared. He clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword, his eyes flashing. Just then, a soldier from the new elite army of Xiphosia approached, bowing as he spoke. ¡°Commander Aingo, King Neon is calling you to come to the palace.¡±


    Aingo¡¯s face remained stoic as he sighed, ¡°What does he want now?¡± He glanced at the soldier. ¡°I¡¯ll be there,¡± he said, then the soldier added, ¡°Your chariot is already waiting.¡± Turning his gaze to Rider,  aingo instructed, ¡°Make sure you don¡¯t do anything stupid while I''m gone.¡±


    Rider pouted slightly as Aingo departed with the soldier. He watched the chariot pull away before he reentered the grand hall, wandering aimlessly. His eyes eventually landed on a large, impressive sculpture of Dran¡ªhis father. As he stared blankly at the statue, memories of Aingo¡¯s words and his father¡¯s legacy began to flood his mind.


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    Lost in thought, Rider barely registered the sound of footsteps behind him until Bianca, his best friend, suddenly appeared. With a mischievous grin, she snuck up and pounced on him from behind, wrapping him in a tight bear hug.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go spacing out like that!¡± she scolded playfully, her smile infectious.


    Rider, caught off guard, gasp for air. ¡°Whoa¡ªtoo tight!¡± he managed to say before she let go, apologizing as he caught his breath.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Rider asked, his tone softening.


    Bianca beamed at him. ¡°I came for the apples! You know this place sells the best fruits. I couldn¡¯t resist grabbing a few.¡±


    Rider¡¯s lips twitched in a smile. ¡°Yeah, I love their apples too.¡± He paused, then Bianca asked, ¡°So, where¡¯s Aingo?¡±


    ¡°He went to see King Neon,¡± Rider answered. Bianca sighed in relief, murmuring, ¡°Good, because for some reason, I always get the feeling he doesn¡¯t like me.¡± Her tone was tinged with sadness.


    Rider shook his head, trying to lighten the mood. ¡°Nah, he just says you¡¯re a distraction¡ªlike all the people I¡¯m close to get in the way of my goals.¡±


    Before Bianca could respond further, all eyes in the grand hall turned toward a new arrival¡ªa teenage boy roughly Rider and Bianca¡¯s age. Three guards followed him, and as he walked, there was an unmistakable aura about him. His steps were measured, his expression distant and serious, and his presence drew attention as if he exuded an otherworldly intensity.


    Rider waved hesitantly. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± he asked, more to himself than to anyone in particular.


    Bianca rolled her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s Zack. He¡¯s not from around here¡ªhe didn¡¯t grow up in our village.¡±


    Rider frowned, glancing at Zack¡¯s back, noticing the sword strapped to him. Bianca continued, ¡°His father was called by King Neon this morning, so Zack is here now. Rumors about him have already spread across the eastern side¡ªapparently, they say he¡¯s the strongest swords fighter ever.¡±


    Rider scoffed lightly. ¡°Really? That sounds like just another rumor.¡±


    Bianca shrugged, ¡°Maybe, but you never know. I mean, my dad is in news transfer, so I hear things.¡±


    Suddenly, Rider¡¯s eyes locked with Zack¡¯s. For a split second, the teen¡¯s stare was intense¡ªalmost filled with hatred and anger. Rider blinked, startled, and looked away, wondering what he had just witnessed.


    Zack began walking directly toward Rider, and as he did, a group of teenage girls rushed over, clamoring for his autograph. Zack ignored them, pushing past with a cold efficiency until he stopped right in front of Rider.


    ¡°Listen up,¡± Zack said, his voice low and determined. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if your father was Dran. I''m going to be the Sword Master and  Claim your village¡¯s precious Red Katana for myself.¡±


    With that, he turned and walked away. Bianca and Rider stood speechless, watching Zack exit. One of the guards murmured an apology on Zack¡¯s behalf before following him out.


    Bianca, seizing the moment to break the tension, tugged on Rider¡¯s arm. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s check out those apples,¡± she said, trying to change the subject.


    Meanwhile, the scene shifted abruptly as Aingo arrived inside King Neon¡¯s palace. Alone in the grand interior, Aingo¡¯s eyes were drawn to a glass display case on the wall. Inside, the legendary Red Katana hung in all its glory. He reached out and placed his hand on the glass, a determined look in his eyes as if he could feel the weight of destiny pressing down on him.


    Before he could dwell on it for long, King Neon entered the room. Aingo snapped out of his reverie and took his seat as Neon joined him. After a brief moment of silence, Aingo asked, ¡°Why did you summon me, King Neon?¡±


    Neon¡¯s tone was measured, and he began by saying, ¡°Before we begin, I want to thank you again for choosing me to lead. You were meant to rule, but you refused the crown and gave it to me instead.¡± Aingo shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ¡°So, what is this about?¡±


    Neon leaned forward, his eyes serious. ¡°It¡¯s been fifteen long years, Aingo, and we still haven¡¯t found anyone worthy of wielding the Red Katana as the true Sword Master.¡±


    Aingo interjected, ¡°Rider will be that man. Just give him more time.¡±


    Neon shook his head slowly. ¡°Time isn¡¯t on our side. Dextin¡¯s return draws near every day. That¡¯s why I¡¯ve made a painful decision. I¡¯m holding a grand tournament. Anyone who thinks they can wield the Red Katana¡ªor prove themselves as a formidable fighter¡ªwill have their chance. And there¡¯s more: I¡¯ve reached an agreement with Bell. His son, Zack, will also be competing. Bell insists that Zack¡¯s strength is immense, and I couldn¡¯t refuse.¡±


    Aingo¡¯s expression darkened with worry. He knew well that Rider¡¯s current skills were far from perfect. ¡°But Neon, Rider¡¯s technique still needs work.¡±


    Neon¡¯s voice was firm as he explained, ¡°In the tournament, Rider will begin by facing an opponent. If he wins, he¡¯ll sit out the remainder of the contest and only fight the final winner. That¡¯s the best I can do for you.¡±


    Aingo bowed slightly, a gesture of reluctant acceptance. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said quietly. Yet inside, his heart pounded with fear. The idea that someone else might emerge as the true Sword Master¡ªand that his promise to Dran might be broken¡ªhaunted him. He gritted his teeth, silently vowing that he would train Rider until every ounce of potential was honed to perfection. He would see Dran¡¯s destiny fulfilled, no matter what it took.

 Expectations

    Late at Night


    After the meeting with King Neon, Aingo sat alone in a dimly lit bar. He cradled a glass of wine in his hand and stared blankly into its depths as he tried to figure out how to face the upcoming tournament in which Rider was set to participate. His mind drifted back to that moment when King Neon had informed him that the tournament would begin in the next two days. The memory flashed in his mind, and Aingo¡¯s face fell as he took a large gulp of wine and finished the glass. Without a word, he quietly paid the bar attendant. When the attendant asked if he was alright, Aingo offered no answer¡ªhe simply walked out slowly, lost in his thoughts. The attendant could only watch silently as Aingo¡¯s figure disappeared into the night.


    Aingo¡¯s slow, measured steps echoed on the pavement as he wrestled with his thoughts. ¡°What should I do now?¡± he muttered under his breath. ¡°Tournament, my ass¡­ Damn it, I knew I should have ruled back then so none of this would ever have happened.¡± His inner monologue grew angrier as he considered the past. ¡°No¡­ If I had accepted the position of king back then, I wouldn¡¯t have even had time to be with Rider and train him this far. Besides, Neon is a great king¡ªI can understand why he wants a tournament. Only the strongest can win.¡±


    Just then, dark rain began to fall, the heavy drops pelting the pavement. Aingo looked up at the dark, rain-filled clouds. Determination slowly replaced his inner turmoil. He squared his shoulders and promised himself that he would seize this opportunity. In the next two days, he would train Rider for the match-up and focus with every ounce of his energy on winning.


    Meanwhile¡­


    At home, Rider lay in his bed, struggling to sleep. The silence of the night was broken only by the steady sound of rain against the window. Yet Rider¡¯s mind was far from quiet. ¡°Where did he go off to now?¡± he wondered aloud. ¡°It¡¯s already late¡ªshouldn¡¯t he be back by now?¡± Sitting up, Rider stared out the window, trying to shake off his restless thoughts. As he peered into the darkness, he noticed rain droplets streaming down the glass, confirming that the storm was real and relentless.


    Abruptly, Rider threw off his pajamas and hurried to his closet. He changed into his regular training outfit and grabbed his sword before heading for the door, determined to find Aingo. But before Rider could even open the door, it swung open¡ªand there stood Aingo, soaked from the rain, his expression hardened with anger.


    Without any preamble, Aingo stepped inside, glaring at Rider. Rider, caught off guard, only managed a puzzled, ¡°What the hell are you doing away all day? It¡¯s already 10 o¡¯clock in the evening!¡±


    Aingo didn¡¯t reply with words at first. Instead, he roughly grabbed Rider by the collar and dragged him out of the room. Rider protested weakly, ¡°What are you doing? Let me go!¡± But Aingo¡¯s grip was unyielding. He dragged Rider through the hallway until they reached the training area¡ªa place that now looked more like a battleground than a field of practice.


    Without warning, Aingo flung Rider to the floor with a force that made Rider land painfully. For a long, excruciating moment, Rider lay there, staring up in confusion and shock, trying to read the expression on Aingo¡¯s face. Finally, Aingo¡¯s eyes hardened as he drew his sword and assumed a fighting stance. ¡°Draw your sword,¡± he ordered in a clipped tone.


    Rider slowly got to his feet, still reeling from the sudden attack. ¡°It¡¯s like the middle of the night, and you want a sparring session? No, I¡¯m going to bed,¡± Rider protested, his voice shaky with a mix of irritation and disbelief.


    Aingo¡¯s face remained impassive for a moment before he muttered quietly, ¡°Fine then.¡± In that instant, without further hesitation, Aingo charged at Rider with impressive speed, swinging his sword as if aiming to end things immediately. Reflexively, Rider drew his own sword and managed to block Aingo¡¯s incoming strike.


    ¡°What the hell is wrong with you?¡± Rider shouted, his voice edged with both fear and shock as he gasped for breath. ¡°You almost killed me!¡±


    Aingo¡¯s tone grew cold and hard as he replied, ¡°Do you really think your enemy would go easy on you because you beg? Until you¡¯ve seen death up close, you¡¯ll never be able to wield the Red Katana¡ªlet alone defeat Dextin.¡±


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    Before Rider could process the words, Aingo kicked him hard in the stomach. The blow sent Rider tumbling backward onto the floor. He clutched his stomach in pain, struggling to catch his breath. Aingo then walked slowly toward him, his eyes dark with determination. ¡°Get up now,¡± Aingo ordered. ¡°You need to fight with everything you¡¯ve got.¡±


    Rider forced himself to rise, the pain in his stomach threatening to overwhelm him. He staggered, falling back to the floor momentarily before summoning every last bit of strength to stand again, barely managing to hold himself upright.


    Aingo wasted no time. He charged again with full speed. This time, Rider managed to block three consecutive strikes. But then, Aingo switched tactics: using the hilt of his sword, he struck Rider at the bridge of his nose. The impact sent Rider flying backward.


    ¡°Get back up!¡± Aingo roared, his voice echoing in the quiet training area. ¡°I¡¯m not done with you yet!¡±


    Rider struggled to rise as blood began to stream from his split nose. ¡°Why?¡± he whispered weakly, his voice barely audible as he tried to muster the strength to speak.


    Aingo, his face twisted in a mixture of anger and grim determination, swung his sword again. As his attack came, he shouted, ¡°The winner of the tournament will be known as the Sword Master and will wield the Red Katana¡ªeverything I lived for¡­¡± His words were cut short as he kicked Rider¡¯s head, and Rider began to bleed, collapsing to the floor in a dazed and dormant state.


    Aingo continued his tirade, his voice rising in anger, ¡°It will all be for nothing! I wish¡­I wish Zack was Dran¡¯s son instead of you so my work would be easier!¡±


    Rider¡¯s eyes widened in shock at the harsh words, his body already broken from the beating. Aingo then brought his sword down toward Rider once more, fully expecting a block. But to his surprise, Rider did not even try to stop the blow. Mid-attack, Aingo paused, his momentum suddenly halted as he yells Rider''s name in worried anger. He looked down to see tears streaming from Rider¡¯s eyes. For a long, silent moment, Aingo stood there, stunned by the raw emotion on Rider¡¯s face.


    Unable to find any words, Aingo finally sheathed his sword and turned away. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go take a bath now,¡± he said in a subdued tone, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°You go get some sleep. We¡¯ll continue where we left off tomorrow.¡±


    And with that, Aingo left the training area, leaving Rider alone in the silent, dark room, his emotions a tangled mess as he lay on the floor for what felt like an eternity.


    The Next Day


    Morning light filtered softly through the tall windows of the grand hall. Rider sat atop a large stone structure in the hall, his eyes heavy with exhaustion as he attempted to catch some sleep. Every time he tried to drift off, the memories of last night¡ªa brutal, relentless training session¡ªraced through his mind, keeping him awake.


    Before long, Bianca entered the grand hall. Her face lit up when she saw Rider sitting there, and with a burst of energy, she rushed toward him, pouncing like she had the previous day. Rider¡¯s eyes snapped open from the unexpected embrace, and he teetered as he tried to maintain his balance atop the structure.


    ¡°Whoa! You almost killed me, Bianca!¡± he exclaimed, half-laughing, half-annoyed.


    Bianca apologized, smiling broadly as she stepped back. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I couldn¡¯t help it,¡± she said, her tone warm and teasing.


    Bianca¡¯s grin faded as she caught sight of the bandage on Rider¡¯s head. Her expression shifted to concern as she asked, "What happened to you?"


    Rider instinctively raised a hand to cover the bandage, recalling Aingo¡¯s brutal training session the night before. "Nothing much. I just fell," he said, forcing a casual tone.


    Bianca pouted, unimpressed. "You¡¯re lying."


    Rider sighed, knowing there was no point in hiding it from her. Reluctantly, he explained everything¡ªAingo¡¯s sudden aggression, the relentless sparring, and most of all, the words that had cut deeper than any strike.


    Bianca listened intently before nodding. "Oh yeah, the tournament. I¡¯ve heard about it."


    Rider blinked in confusion. "How do you always know these things before they happen?"


    She smirked. "My father¡¯s a news transfer remember. He¡¯s at the center of everything the king decides."


    Rider looked up, his expression darkening. "Aingo was right," he murmured. "If Zack was Dran¡¯s son instead of me, everything would have worked out better."


    Bianca studied him carefully, her usual playfulness gone. "Look, do you even know what you want? Do you want to wield the Red Katana?"


    Rider hesitated before giving the same answer he always did. "I¡¯m not sure yet."


    Bianca scoffed, crossing her arms. "Stop lying to yourself."


    Rider¡¯s eyes widened in shock.


    "You say you don¡¯t know, but the truth is, you¡¯re just scared," she continued. "You don¡¯t want to get people¡¯s hopes up because you¡¯re not sure if you can live up to being the Red Katana¡¯s wielder yourself. But more than anyone, I believe in you. And if nobody else gives you the encouragement you need, you know where to find me."


    For a moment, Rider was speechless. Then, a small smile broke through his doubt. "I figured you¡¯d do something like this to cheer me up."


    Before they could say more, a loudspeaker echoed through the grand hall, interrupting their conversation. They exchanged glances before rushing inside.


    King Neon sat on his throne as Bianca¡¯s father stood in the center, holding a microphone. His voice boomed through the hall. "Gather around people of Xiphosia, I''m here to announce that A tournament will be held tomorrow. The winner will be crowned Sword Master and inherit the Red Katana. If you wish to participate, sign up at the post area. Oh, and before I forget¡ªsomeone from outside the village will also be competing."


    The crowd murmured in curiosity, speculation rising about the outsider.


    Bianca¡¯s father raised his hand for silence. "Without further delay, please welcome Zack Kings, the contender from beyond our village!"


    A hush fell over the hall as Zack stepped forward. He appeared out of nowhere, his expression cold and unreadable. The moment his presence registered, the crowd erupted into cheers, their excitement palpable.


    Rider, however, wasn¡¯t celebrating. His heart pounded as he turned to see zack standing stiffly, his fists clenched, his eyes locked onto Zack with pure hostility.


    The real battle was only beginning as he finally recognize Zack as his rival.

 A Day Before The tournament

    After the announcement, Rider and Bianca sat together in the grand hall while everyone continued with their activities. Rider¡¯s eyes burned with determination as he sat quietly, lost in thought. Suddenly, he pushed himself up from where he had been sitting. Standing tall, he declared firmly,


    > ¡°That¡¯s it¡ªno more hiding. I¡¯ve made up my mind. I¡¯ll win the upcoming tournament and become the Sword Master. That Zack guy isn¡¯t showing me up!¡±


    Bianca clapped at Rider¡¯s sudden burst of determination, her smile bright as she encouraged him, ¡°That¡¯s the spirit¡ªyou can do it!¡±


    At that moment, Aingo walked in from behind them with his arms folded. His tone was cold and measured as he said, ¡°You know, action speaks louder than words. And so far, all you¡¯re doing is talking.¡± When Rider turned to see that it was Aingo, he frowned and avoided eye contact. ¡°I don¡¯t want to speak to you right now,¡± he muttered.


    Aingo returned the frown and said sharply, ¡°Stop acting like a child.¡±


    In response, Rider faced Aingo squarely and, with anger in his voice, demanded, ¡°What are you even doing here? Aren¡¯t you supposed to be with Zack, since you know he¡¯s better than me right?¡±


    The two men stared daggers at each other in silence while Bianca stood off to the side, clearly uncomfortable. Sensing the tension and wanting to break the atmosphere, Bianca spoke up, ¡°Hey, um¡­ Aingo, nice to see you. It¡¯s been a while, hasn¡¯t it?¡±


    For a brief moment, Aingo ignored her until he finally glanced at her with a cool, sidelong look and replied, ¡°It hasn¡¯t been long enough.¡± With that, he began to walk out.


    Bianca muttered under her breath, ¡°That¡¯s mean,¡± and watched as Aingo left. Suddenly, Aingo stopped in his tracks, turned back, and said, ¡°One more thing¡­¡±


    Rider sighed in tired resignation and asked, ¡°What now?¡±


    Aingo continued, ¡°I won¡¯t be around until the day of the tournament because of the king¡¯s orders. I have some business with him, so the next time you see me, it¡¯ll be tomorrow. In the meantime, train hard for the tournament¡ªand know this¡­I know you can do it.¡±


    Rider looked shocked while Bianca smirked as Aingo silently left the scene. A smile slowly spread across Rider¡¯s face as he turned to Bianca. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s sign up for the tournament,¡± he said as he reached out and took her hand. Together, they raced to the registration area.


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    When Rider saw the line of competitors, his heart sank at the sight of the strong, intimidating, and heavily armored opponents ahead of him. He swallowed hard and thought to himself, Damn, are these the people I¡¯ll be facing in the ring? I can¡¯t do this¡ªI¡¯m just a kid! And they¡¯re all grown-ups with armor and... He paused and then added silently, No, I can¡¯t make excuses. Zack is the same age as me, and he¡¯s entering the tournament with no fear, so I can do that too. I¡¯m not scared.


    Bianca noticed sweat beginning to form on Rider¡¯s face, and though her hand trembled slightly, she squeezed her fist reassuringly. Then, summoning her resolve, she spoke up, ¡°Hey, Rider¡ªI¡¯ll be entering the tournament too.¡±


    Rider¡¯s eyes widened in shock at Bianca¡¯s unexpected announcement. ¡°No way¡ªthat would be awesome! For some reason, I don¡¯t see any other women here. You¡¯d be the only one in the tournament. Are you sure?¡±


    Bianca took a deep breath, her expression hardening into determination. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    Rider smiled, a mix of surprise and admiration in his tone as he teased, ¡°Wow¡ªI never knew that you wanted to be the Sword Master.¡±


    Bianca quickly clarified, ¡°No, no¡ªno lady really wants that. I have my reasons for joining. Let¡¯s go then, shall we? We¡¯ll do this together. Remember, we made a promise that day when we met to stick together and get past everything, right?¡±


    Rider¡¯s smile broadened as he nodded in agreement, and the two joined the registration line. As they advanced, the line slowly shortened. Rider sighed, collected his registration card, and stepped out of the line. When it was Bianca¡¯s turn, the person at the counter looked at her in shock and asked for verification if she was indeed joining. Bianca simply nodded, and the stunned murmurs around them grew louder. Many in the hall wondered aloud what a young lady was doing in a tournament for the Red Katana. Some even made fun, saying she should be in the kitchen instead. Although Bianca heard the jeers, she refused to let them affect her. She ignored the comments, but the situation soon worsened.


    A group of men began to close in on Bianca. A large, intimidating man known as Dargal approached her face-to-face with anger. ¡°You think this is a joke, huh? A mere lady entering a tournament of men? You should go lie down in my bed instead,¡± Dargal spat venomously. His cronies followed him, and soon everyone around them burst into raucous laughter at Bianca¡¯s expense.


    Bianca, undeterred, acted as if Dargal¡¯s presence was nothing more than background noise. However, Dargal¡¯s temper flared when he saw her dismiss him. He reached out and grabbed her roughly by the hair. Bianca cried out in pain, ¡°You really think you can disrespect me like that, you bitch? I¡¯ll rip your head clean off your body!¡±


    Before Bianca could even draw her sword to defend herself, Rider intervened. He stepped between Dargal and Bianca, aiming his sword at Dargal¡¯s throat. ¡°Let her go now, or you won¡¯t make it to the tournament,¡± Rider commanded firmly.


    Dargal glared at Rider, his voice dripping with scorn as he retorted, ¡°What did you just say, you brat?¡±


    With seething anger, Rider pointed his sword even closer to Dargal¡¯s throat, his eyes bloodshot with fury. ¡°She¡¯s in pain! Let her go now, or you wouldn''t be able to even make it to the tournament!¡±


    Dargal sneered, ¡°You¡¯ve got some nerve, boy.¡± Before the altercation could escalate further, soldiers in the grand hall appeared immediately. Seeing their arrival, Dargal dropped Bianca to the ground and stumbled away, threatening, ¡°It isn¡¯t over¡ªyou and your girl will pay!¡± Dargal left with his men without further incident.


    Rider rushed to Bianca¡¯s side, helping her to her feet and asking if she was alright. Bianca looked up at him with a big smile and said, ¡°You were cool back there,¡± causing Rider¡¯s cheeks to flush red. ¡°Stop saying stuff like that,¡± he mumbled, though he couldn¡¯t hide his pride. Bianca burst into laughter at his response.


    As the commotion died down, Rider smiled and said, ¡°We should both train hard for the tournament tomorrow and surprise Aingo.¡± Bianca agreed, even adding that his match would be first, so she¡¯d support him every step of the way. Rider grinned and nodded, then suggested, ¡°I know the perfect place.¡± With that, Bianca grabbed his arm, and they ran out of the grand hall together.

 Zacks Tale

    As Rider followed Bianca from behind, he felt confused about where they were going¡ªbut he continued to follow her regardless. After a while of running, Bianca arrived at her place first and waited on the doorstep, calling out for Rider to hurry. When Rider finally arrived, short on breath and clearly tired, he muttered, ¡°He¡¯s coming,¡± barely audible.


    Bianca looked at Rider in confusion and asked, ¡°Why are you breathing so heavily?¡±


    Rider, catching his breath, retorted, ¡° why don¡¯t you look tired? We just ran 350 meters to get here.¡±


    Bianca smiled and replied, ¡°I run to my house every day, so I¡¯ve mastered it. But even though you¡¯re more tired than when I first ran from the grand hall to my place, you waste too much energy.¡±


    Rider frowned slightly, countering, ¡°Anyone would be tired if they ran 350 meters with no break.¡±


    After catching his breath, Rider stood up straight without needing to lean on his knee and then asked Bianca, ¡°Why did you bring me here anyways?¡±


    Bianca explained, ¡°The training place I was talking about is in my house.¡±


    Rider looked confused. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with training in the grand hall? It has better equipment and obstacles for different challenges.¡±


    Bianca shook her head. ¡°If we trained in the grand hall, the competitors might spot how we fight and use that against us. Besides, my father is out and my mom is at the market now, so we could train peacefully here.¡±


    Rider agreed, and Bianca led him into her house, where the training arena was set up.


    Meanwhile, Zack arrived at his home with his three guards trailing behind him. As usual, he wore an emotionless expression¡ªuntil he saw Bell, his father, waiting inside his house. At that moment, Zack¡¯s face transformed; his usual impassive look gave way to fear.


    ¡°Dad, um¡­ I didn¡¯t know you¡¯d be coming to Xiphosia,¡± Zack managed to say as his voice wavered.


    Bell quietly walked toward Zack, stretching out his hand and placing it gently on Zack¡¯s shoulders. Each time Bell touched him, Zack trembled and flinched slightly. Bell then looked closely into Zack¡¯s eyes and asked in a calm but firm voice, ¡°What¡¯s taking you so long, son? You promised you¡¯d be back with the Red Katana for your dad, right? And I¡¯ll rule over Xiphosia with you as the Sword Master because daddy is too old to fight anymore. So tell me¡ªwhat¡¯s taking you so long? ANSWER ME!¡±


    Bell¡¯s raised voice frightened Zack. Forcing himself to speak, Zack stammered, ¡°There is a tournament tomorrow to decide the Sword Master, and the winner gets the Red Katana. Just wait a little longer until the tournament is over. I¡ªI will be the Sword Master, I promise¡­¡±


    Before Zack could finish, Bell¡¯s anger exploded. Bell punched Zack, sending him tumbling to the ground. Bell began stomping on him furiously. ¡°Don¡¯t give me that crap, you worthless shit! You had one thing to do¡ªone thing! I wasted my time training you ever since you were six because I thought you¡¯d be reasonable, but you¡¯re as pathetic as your mom!¡±


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    Too scared to fight back, Zack shielded his head as his father continued stomping on him. After a few moments, Zack suddenly apologized softly. Then, before things could get any worse, one of Zack¡¯s bodyguards, Leo, stepped in and stopped Bell in his tracks. Leo said, ¡°You¡¯re taking it too far. Remember, you¡¯re the one who signed him up for the tournament, so don¡¯t go turning psycho on him. If you injure him, you¡¯ll reduce his chances of winning¡ªand I know you don¡¯t want that.¡±


    Bell frowned at Leo before brushing him off and leaving without saying another word. Leo offered Zack a hand to help him up, but Zack pushed his hand away, insisting that he didn¡¯t need help. He tried to stand up on his own but immediately lost his balance. Quick to react, Leo used his shoulder to steady Zack, saying, ¡°Take it easy; you¡¯re only sixteen.¡±


    A heavy silence fell over the room as Zack leaned against Leo, almost like a hug, both of them trying to catch their breath. Then, Zack pushed Leo away, saying he didn¡¯t need anyone¡¯s help and that they should go. Leo could see the pain etched on Zack¡¯s face as he quietly stared at him. One by one, Zack¡¯s other guards left, except for Leo. Frustrated, Zack shouted at Leo to leave, but Leo quietly stayed and then asked softly, ¡°What happened?¡±


    Zack was shocked by the question for a long moment before maintaining a frown and asking, ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Leo slowly stepped closer to Zack and said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ªI never noticed. For the past two years, I¡¯ve stuck with you, and I couldn¡¯t have known the depth of your pain or let you express yourself more.¡±


    ¡°SHUT UP!¡± Zack interrupted furiously, pointing his sword at Leo¡¯s throat.


    Leo continued calmly, ¡°Let me help you. That¡¯s my real duty¡ªto make sure you¡¯re okay, not just to guide you. Let me carry your burden with you. Please, tell me, Zack¡­¡±


    Zack stared at Leo silently, gritting his teeth until he finally lowered his sword back into its sheath. He sat down on a nearby boulder, silent for a long while before he began speaking.


    ¡°My mom loved traveling. She moved around the world a lot¡ªit was her way of escaping dad¡¯s anger. That¡¯s what my elder brother used to say. I wasn¡¯t even born back then. Her favorite mode of travel was by sea. One day, just two weeks after giving birth to me, Mom had an argument with Dad, as usual, and after Dad beat her again, Mom just disappeared with me and my older brother. At that time, my brother was twelve. Nobody knew where she went, but she left to explore the sea. It was the only thing that could calm her down; she regretted marrying a man like my dad. Our boat eventually came to this island, Xiphosia. The villagers saw her as a threat at first, but the more they talked to her, the more they loved her. She decided to spend her life in Xiphosia, and my dad didn¡¯t even care if we were missing or not¡ªhe didn¡¯t even care.¡±


    He paused, his voice heavy with memory. ¡°A few days after arriving in Xiphosia, the unexpected happened. Yes¡ªthe Red Katana chose my mom, and like the others, she fell into Dextin¡¯s hands. He killed my mom messlessly right in front of my brother as he ran for help. But the only thing the citizens could do after witnessing my mom¡¯s dead body was send us back to our town because they couldn¡¯t afford taking care of more kids until they figured out what was causing all these deaths. They left my brother with Mom¡¯s sword, which was made here in Xiphosia, as we sailed back home on our boat.¡±


    Zack¡¯s voice trembled as he continued, ¡°My brother told Dad everything that happened, but he wasn¡¯t even listening. The only thing that caught his interest was the name my brother mentioned¡ªRed Katana. He understood everything about it, about how one of the katanas made this Dextin guy so powerful, but he knew he couldn¡¯t do it on his own as he is now old. So he forced my brother into messless training for over four years. By the time my brother was sixteen, I was four¡ªbut that didn¡¯t stop our father from hitting us to stop us from joking around. He wanted my brother to train every day so he could be strong enough to wield the Red Katana. The way my brother described Dextin and his character¡ªhe was definitely a reflection of our father, almost as if they were the same person. Then, when my brother turned eighteen¡­¡±


    Zack hesitated for a long moment before continuing in a hushed, broken tone, ¡°My brother died. He went to sleep the next day and couldn¡¯t stop having nightmares about the brutal training he had to endure every day. So he killed himself. But he left me a note that said, ¡®I know you can do it, Zack. You¡¯re already turning six this year, and you¡¯re looking as tough as I ever will. I¡¯m sorry to leave Dad to you alone, but I can¡¯t take it. Take over the training for me¡ªnot for Dad, but to avenge Mom¡¯s death. I left her sword for you.¡¯ The sword was too heavy to carry back then because I was six, but that wasn¡¯t an excuse for my dad. He just kicked my brother¡¯s body aside, calling him worthless, and then turned his attention to me¡ªtraining me from the age of six until I reached his expectations, so that I could go and claim the Red Katana. Then he heard about the tournament and signed me up. That¡¯s why I have to win and hide what I¡¯m feeling¡ªnot for my dad, but for my mom. Even after becoming strong, I¡¯m still so scared of my dad, and I hate it. I could beat him if I wanted to, but I¡¯m just so scared.¡±


    Leo gripped his sword firmly as he listened to Zack¡¯s emotional story. Leo, who had been silently observing, spoke up quietly, ¡°I get it now. Well then, you fight your battle, and I¡¯ll protect you from your dad. Is that a promise, friend?¡± Leo extended his hand for a shake. Zack looked at it, and after a moment, he slapped his hand away, saying, ¡°Sure, whatever.¡± Standing up, he added with a slight edge, ¡°Friend,¡± as Leo managed a small smile.


    Meanwhile, in the palace¡­


    Aingo arrived to find King Neon sitting on his throne. Aingo said, ¡°What is it now?¡±