The monotonic voice belonged to a sword that looked no different from other swords, yet it commanded an urge to worship it. Its blades felt dangerous to all who saw it—their primal instincts warned them of the sword's sharpness.
The sword levitated in the sky, drawing attention from everyone.
It soon transformed into a man, with long dark hair and samurai-like clothes—like a swordmaster detached from the world and focused solely on the way of the sword.
"Who are you? Are you the one who manifested this realm?" Commander Joshua asked, his mind finally clinging to a more reasonable explanation for the majestic will manifesting before him.
[You can say that, but I'm not human or any race you know. I'm not living but sentient. I am that which has existed for epochs, birthed from the moment a two-edged blade was first used. Now, no need for chit-chat. I'm offended that you dared act arrogantly before my host because of some measly manifested will.]
