Smoke curled through the streets, mingling with the scent of ale and sweat. Adventurers lounged about, some patrolling half-heartedly while others sat in small circles, laughing over card games and drinks.
A chorus of groans erupted as a dark-skinned woman raked in another pile of coins, grinning ear to ear.
"Better luck next time, fellas," she said with a deep chuckle, exhaling a stream of smoke. She tapped the deck against the table. "Now, now, who's up for another round?"
"You never get satisfied, do you, Tame?" an older adventurer muttered, stroking his thick white beard.
Julius, as he was called, regarded her with weary eyes as he sharpened his blade.
Tame downed her beer in one gulp, slamming the mug onto the table and wiping the foam from her lips with the back of her hand. "Of course, I'm pissed," she growled. "Not in a good mood, idiot. If anyone should be the Ninth S-rank, it should be me."
She leaned in, her sharp eyes locking onto his.
"You know damn well everyone wanted that title." Her voice was low, almost dangerous as the knife glinting at her waist. "Don't play dumb with me, Julius."
The old man frowned, meeting her glare head-on. Tame wasn't just some back-alley brawler—she was a powerhouse. A muscular wall of a fighter who had personally clashed with the hunters in the Fourth. And yet, here she was, wasting time drinking and playing cards.
Julius sighed. "Can't blame them for the promotion. Jumping from an E-rank to an S-rank is unheard of, sure, but from what I hear, he's got a gift strong enough to rival even the Undertakers."
He took a long drag from his pipe. "And those guys are Chief Bloodborne's elite. The kid levelled a whole volcano and forest in one strike, Tame. He's no ordinary fighter."
A lanky adventurer stepped forward, his voice carrying an air of intrigue.
"Speaking of monsters… it's been a while since we've heard any fresh tales about the Weeping Swordsman. Bards don't sing much about him anymore, I think he kicked the bucket or something"
The atmosphere shifted.
Tame shot him a sharp glare, her patience already thinning. "Shut up, Kira." She flicked a card onto the table, her tone dripping with irritation. "Your crush is a murderous piece of shit. The Weeping Swordsman? What a joke of a name."
Kira's face twisted in fury. In a flash, a dagger was at her throat.
"Weakling?" His voice trembled, but not with fear. "I watched that man slice through a mountain like it was butter. I survived… but I saw it with my own eyes."
Julius continued caring for his blade.
"And yet," the old man murmured, his gaze unfaltering, "You didn't see his face, like all the others who had encountered him. Always hidden beneath the brim of his hat." He exhaled smoke. "Others command the elements. But that man? Feels like he commands darkness itself."
Tame narrowed her eyes.
She grabbed Kira's wrist, twisted it, and hurled him over the table. Cards and coins scattered as he landed with a painful grunt.
"I'm sick of this talk," she growled. "I need a commission."
Cracking her knuckles, she turned to the others. "There was a monster-slaying job at the guild. Let's go kill some time."
A cheer erupted from the gathered adventurers.
Kira scrambled to his feet, rubbing his sore back before hastily following them.
Julius, however, remained seated, watching their departure in silence.
The new S-rank… and the Weeping Swordsman.
A flicker of memory surfaced—a demon-like figure in the skies above Pyrovile, burning like molten lava. His spine tingled at the thought.
"I wonder… who's stronger?" he whispered. "The Ninth S-Rank? Or the man who fell from heaven"
#
Mr. Swordsman moved through the city with silent, measured steps, his hands tucked beneath his cloak, his head lowered.
The world pulsed around him—lifeforce weaving through the streets like invisible veins, mapping out the rhythm of the city. He took in the simple beauty of it all: the warm glow of the sun, birds singing their morning songs, the charming rows of homes built with careful craftsmanship. Verdantia had a certain charm that seemed to soothe Mr Swordsman, it felt like a stronghold of warriors preparing for a war. Until...
"Hello, sir."
A small voice broke through his thoughts.
A boy, no older than five, peered up at him with wide, curious eyes. "Are you an adventurer?"
Mr. Swordsman nodded. "Yes."
The boy hesitated, shifting on his feet. "My father told me to go find one, but the guild is full of scary people." He gulped. "Sir… are you scary?"
Mr. Swordsman chuckled softly, kneeling before the child. He placed a gentle hand on the boy's head, letting his lifeforce recede—dimming its intensity so that he felt no different from an ordinary man.
"No, I'm not," he said.
The boy's face lit up with a smile.
"What's your name?"
"Aaron," the boy whispered. "I'll take you to Daddy!"
With a delighted bounce in his step, Aaron led Mr. Swordsman through the bustling streets, weaving past market stalls brimming with fruit, fresh bread, and trinkets. The city felt alive, its heartbeat steady and warm.
Then, as they passed a shop window, Mr. Swordsman caught his own reflection in a mirror.
He paused.
His crimson eyes were gone and replaced by deep azure.
His lips curled slightly as he adjusted his hat, tilting it back down. "Haven't used it in a while, then. Good."
They left the city behind, stepping into the vast embrace of the forest. As the sunlight thinned beneath the canopy, Mr. Swordsman stretched out his lifeforce again, feeling the pulse of the land. An act of precaution was more than a neccessity.
Then—
"Daddy!"
Aaron broke into a sprint, running straight into the arms of a broad-shouldered man. The father lifted his son, tossing him into the air before catching him again.
"Look, Daddy! I brought an adventurer, just like I promised! Told you I'd handle it!"
The man smiled, ruffling Aaron's hair. "Oh you really brought an adventurer, that's my little warrior," he said before turning to Mr Swordsman. "By the way, what rank are you?"
"S."
The father's eyes widened, his grip on Aaron tightening. "S-rank?"
"We can't afford someone like you," he said. "A-All we need is an E-rank for the job…"
Mr. Swordsman stepped past him, brushing his fingers against the rough bark of a nearby tree. "Lucky for you," he murmured, "I was an E-rank just three months ago. Consider this a favor."
The father's breath hitched. His mind raced, piecing things together.
Three months ago… an E-rank…
"You're the Ninth S-rank." He whispered. "The one who saved Pyrovile." His hands clenched. "Does that mean… the others are here, too?"
"Yes."
Mr. Swordsman didn't turn around. "We plan to pass through the Fourth Realm. After that, the Second."
The father paled. Stories of the Land of the Departed flickered in his mind where the cold alone could kill, or worse, the blade of a mad hunter.
"You'll be fighting the Hunters, then?" he asked.
Mr. Swordsman's hand stilled against the tree.
"I have no interest in getting involved," he said finally. "We're just passing through. A battle doesn't concern us."
He exhaled. "Now—what's my commission?"
The father hesitated, then gave a sheepish chuckle. "Ah, right. Nothing fancy. I just need help cutting down some trees. Today's a big day and all. New adventurers are heading out, and firewood sells well."
Mr. Swordsman sighed, already turning away.
"Go enjoy your morning," he said, striding deeper into the forest. "I'll handle it myself."
His footsteps grew fainter, swallowed by the rustling leaves.
#
Mr. Swordsman moved through the forest with his usual silent steps, then halted. He glanced over his shoulder.
Nothing.
He continued forward, only to stop again, casting another look behind him. Still, no one.
His brow furrowed. He picked up his pace and then. He vanished.
From the dense foliage, Aaron peeked out, eyes darting in confusion. "Where did he go?"
"Perhaps he's hiding," a voice whispered behind him.
Aaron yelped, spinning on his heel, fists raised in a stance that was anything but threatening. "You vanished! That's not something a swordsman does. You're a magician!"
Mr. Swordsman offered a faint smirk before continuing his walk.
"Why are you following me?" he asked.
Aaron puffed out his chest. "I'm not following you. I just happen to be going in the same direction."
He matched the swordsman's stride. "Also, Daddy said you might take a while cutting the trees, so I came to keep you company."
Mr. Swordsman drew his blade. "So you came to watch?"
"Yeah!"
He lowered the brim of his hat. The world drained of colour as he adjusted his stance. Then, in a blur, he moved across the trees and returned back to his same position.
To Aaron, it seemed like he hadn't moved at all.
Then—shhhk.
The trees around them groaned, tilting ever so slightly before toppling over.
Aaron's jaw dropped. He bounced in excitement. "Magician Swordsman! Magician Swordsman!"
Mr. Swordsman fought the urge to chuckle. This is why I avoid little ones, he thought, rubbing his temples as the boy skidded to his side.
"You're super strong, Magician Swordsman! Daddy said you destroyed a whole volcano with one attack! Is that true?"
Mr. Swordsman gave a small nod. "Your father is right."
Aaron mimicked the nod. "And you have the strongest companions too! You guys must be the strongest adventurers ever!"
The swordsman fell silent. His gaze dipped beneath the brim of his hat. He may have gotten used to them, but…
"They're not," he muttered. "They're weak. Far from being strong. They still have a lot to learn."
Aaron blinked. "Whoa. That means you're the strongest man in the world! That's so awesome! Awesome! Awesome!"
Mr. Swordsman let out a short chuckle. "I'm not the strongest, Aaron—"
Aaron suddenly stopped his excited banter. "So if you're not the strongest… then you're weak too, Magician Swordsman."
Mr. Swordsman's gaze snapped toward him, but the boy remained unfazed.
Grinning, Aaron snatched the swordsman's hat and plopped it onto his own head. "See? You're stronger than your friends, so they're weak. But you're not the strongest, so you're also weak. And I can't fight at all, which makes me super weak. But!"
He hit his chest. "I killed a lizard the other day! And Daddy says swordsmen are noble and shouldn't kill, so that means I'm stronger than you!"
Mr. Swordsman simply stared at the boy, the corners of his lips twitching.
Being called weak by a child… He sighed and rose to his feet, ruffling Aaron's hair. "Tell your father he doesn't need to pay for the commission."
Aaron's grin faded. "Are you leaving? Is it 'cause I called you weak? I-I'm sorry! Please stay! You're stronger than me, and—and—"
He sniffled, rubbing his eyes.
Mr. Swordsman knelt and hoisted Aaron onto his shoulders. "You're not weak, Aaron," he said, offering a small smile. "Your suffocating presence has rendered me your personal walking swordsman. I shall take you anywhere you wish."
Aaron wiped his tears and let out a joyful laugh, clapping his hands. "Okay then! Onward! Let's go tell Daddy we're done cutting the trees!"
Mr. Swordsman took off through the forest, Aaron's laughter ringing through the trees.
And yet, his mind lingered elsewhere.
If strength was not what he sought… then what was?
#
The merchant blinked at Mr. Swordsman, arms crossed as he gave him a scrutinizing look.
"I assumed it was just the two of you," he muttered, glancing away. "If you weren't an S-rank, we would've left you behind. But, since you brought free firewood, I suppose I should thank you."
A slight tug at his cloak drew Mr. Swordsman's attention.
"Where have you been?" Emilia asked, peering up at him. "You're late. You did rest, right?"
"Somewhat," he whispered. The memories of earlier stirred with the laughter of a child. A time he'd rather forget.
Stepping forward, Emilia faced the merchant with a polite smile.
"Forgive us for the lack of introductions. I'm Emilia, this is my brother Pasta, and this is our friend, Mr. Swordsman."
Mr. Swordsman lowered his gaze toward Emilia but remained silent.
The merchant sighed, rubbing the back of his head.
"You lot have the strangest names. I'm Bhaahinakandas but just call me Bhaa for short."
A moment of tense silence.
Pasta and Emilia clenched their jaws, their shoulders trembling as they desperately fought back laughter.
Bhaa frowned. "Hey. What's wrong with you all?"
They couldn't reply.
Mr. Swordsman merely ushered the two into the wagon before they could embarrass themselves further.
As the wagon rolled past the city gates, Emilia and Pasta stuck their heads out the window, saying their goodbyes to the land of prosperity.
Mr. Swordsman remained inside, sitting quietly among the merchant's goods. His hands rested loosely together, his posture relaxed as he gazed at the siblings.
For now, the sight was enough.
But, like a fleeting, pleasurable dream. No matter how cherished it is, one day it must come to an end.