"Why do you wield the sword?"
The question echoed in his mind, spoken by his master. What could he possibly say? He had no answer.
"Isolated and unloved, judged and envied, we are all nameless children. We train endlessly, striving to become the best, bleeding to hide our silent pain," he said, casting a glance toward the girl who had drawn him in—the same girl who played the fox.
"Why so serious all of a sudden?" she teased, biting into her corn.
He sat, curled up on the floor, the silence stretching between them, while a warm breeze drifted in through the open dojo windows.
"I just want some sleep," he finally said, getting on his feet.
"What did the master say to you?" she prodded, her voice lighthearted. "The other boy was all jumpy, and you—"
He walked away as she followed close behind. "Come on, tell me! No secrets! Come oooon!"
She bumped into him playfully, but he shot her a glare. She simply smirked and went back to eating.
He walked through the halls, the fading sunlight casting a warm, golden glow onto the polished wooden floor. As he passed the training grounds, the sounds of chanting and grunts of trainees filled the air. Beneath those noises, he caught whispers of disdain and insults directed at him. He quickened his pace, and she mirrored his steps.
"You don't have to listen to them," she said.
"But I don't," he replied flatly.
"Yeah, you do," she said, patting him on the back and taking another bite of her dinner. "It's written all over your face. Cheer up," she added, teasing him. "Or are you mad because you're hungry? Here, have some."
"Not interested."
"Your loss."
As they walked past a mirror, he paused, studying his reflection. He stared at himself for what felt like minutes, lost in thought. The girl, curious, glanced at him.
"There's nothing on my face," he said, his fingers brushing his cheeks.
She gasped. "It's an expression! Even I know that! Is that why you were staring for so long?!"
He didn't answer, but the girl pouted and tugged on his arm, pulling him along through the halls.
They entered a dark room, dust hanging thick in the air. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with old books, maps, and weapons.
She turned to face him, her expression stern.
"Ok, that's it! You're way too gloomy. If something's on your mind, just say it. Aren't we friends?"
"I'm fine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He held back the tears threatening to spill.
She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. His tears soaked into her shoulders, and despite his best efforts to hold them in, his heart broke with every sniffle.
"It's alright, it's alright, it's alright," she whispered, her own tears mingling with his.
"What are we?" he murmured between sobs. "Just tools, made for battle. Nothing more. We don't even have names. A life for another, a death to be forgotten. That's our fate, just like our masters."
She held him close for a moment, then pushed him away gently and threw her half-eaten corn out the window.
"I'm sick of this!" she shouted.
The boy eyed her. "Sick of what?"
"Sick of it!" She raised her arms toward him. "We may be nameless, but that doesn't mean we'll never have one. We may be trained to become monsters, but our souls are human. We may feel alone, but we have each other. Me, you, and the others."
"Not everything can change," he said, turning away from her.
"Yes, but that's no excuse for us not to try," she said, stretching her arms toward him once more. "We just have to begin somewhere."
#
The barren land before the meat shack was littered with bodies, the cold wind sweeping through as the enigmatic swordsman stood unmoving.
Mr. Swordsman's gaze remained steady. "Who are you?"
The Weeping Swordsman chuckled, his voice eerily familiar—like a fainter, more distant echo of Mr. Swordsman's own. "Do I not look familiar?"
Dark smoke veiled the man's face, obscuring his features. Mr. Swordsman's expression remained unreadable as he studied him.
"I see," he murmured indifferently. "Would you pardon me? I'm only here for the boy. And while you're at it, explain why we seem to share the same attire."
"He's my prey, so no, I won't pardon you. As for the clothes… funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. I just happened to be here, but it seems fate had other plans."
The air grew thick, heavy with silence. Distant thunder rumbled across the sky. A single drop of rain fell—
Then steel clashed. Sparks erupted as a shockwave cracked the earth beneath them.
"Are you working with the mercenaries?" Mr. Swordsman asked, pushing back.
"Does it look like it?"
Blades met again, streaking through the air with blinding speed. The Weeping Swordsman leapt onto a torch post, effortlessly balancing on its narrow surface. Twirling his sword between his fingers before sheathing it.
"You should have died that day," he whispered as his energy crawled across the streets.
Mr. Swordsman's grip tightened. That aura… it's eerily similar to mine. But how?
The Weeping Swordsman sighed and landed lightly on the ground. "The only companion we have is silence, where words fail to express our pain," he said, turning toward Mr. Swordsman. "I've figured it out. Who I am. Who we are. We are worse than the lords themselves—cunning as the devil, and blessed by the blade."
Mr Swordsman stared at him as his heart weighed heavy, and a melody began playing in his ears, a song from a child's game, a tail on a mischievous girl. He lowered his head, screaming in pain before he went silent, muttering something to himself.
The Weeping Swordsman watched Mr Swordsman suffer in agony. "Do you hear it?" he said. "That's our regret. Forget everything. Forget the past and start afresh—"
A two-sided scythe tore through the air, spinning toward him.
With a lazy flick of his wrist, he deflected it, his gaze snapping toward the one who dared interrupt.
Tori stood with her arm outstretched, her weapon returning to her grasp. Her violet eyes gleamed with malice.
Emilia appeared, panting as she rushed to Mr Swordsman's side. "You're hurt," she said, trying to help him up. "We should get out of here."
Tori spun her weapon and lunged, her scythe slicing through the space between them. The Weeping Swordsman blocked effortlessly, steel grinding against steel.
"Hey, stop right there!" a mercenary shouted as he and his men rushed onto the scene.
Before they could interfere, Matthew stepped forward, stopping them in their tracks.
"Take the boy and retreat," he commanded, holding down his wound. "It's too dangerous out here"
As Matthew turned to leave, his gaze lingered on a lone figure watching from the shadows.
Hudson.
Matthew said nothing as he and his colleagues escaped, taking Pasta with them.
Mr. Swordsman stood, gasping for breath as he saw images flashed across his mind. An unrelenting storm beneath a blood-soaked sky, and a towering mountain before him. His palms trembled, and his lips parted in a futile attempt to speak, but nothing came out.
Back on the marketplace floor, he clutched his chest, forcing himself upright with Emilia's help.
"Are you alright?" Emilia asked, but Mr. Swordsman remained silent, his gaze unfocused.
Meanwhile, the Weeping Swordsman shoved Tori back as she swung her scythe again, aiming for his head. He dodged effortlessly, his movements fluid and measured. Tori's strikes grew fiercer, her arms a blur, but each one was countered, her efforts futile. He caught her wrist, his grip unyielding.
"You foreigners are strange beings indeed," the Weeping Swordsman mused. "What a calm, yet beautiful aura. Yet…" He leaned in close, his voice a soft whisper against her ear. "I can see through your facade."
"Shut up!" Tori snapped, forcing him away. She struck the ground with one side of her scythe, sending a shockwave through the earth, splitting it in two.
The Weeping Swordsman sidestepped the blast and appeared before her in a blink, kicking her weapon away, then swung the cold steel of his blade to her neck. Tori closed her eyes in fear as blood dripped on the cold floor.
She opened her eyes to see Mr Swordsman standing before her, his hands locked around the blade.
"Join the others and find Pasta," he whispered, facing Tori. "I'll take care of this"
Tori lowered her gaze, clenching her fist. "But-"
"I'll tell you everything you need to know," Mr Swordsman said, his eyes hidden.
Tori stared at him for a moment, then nodded, walking away. "Guess Emilia was right after all," she said, picking her scythe. "You can be reliable sometimes"
Hudson and Emilia tugged at her as they followed the mercenaries who had taken Pasta, leaving Mr. Swordsman behind.
Mr Swordsman took a deep breath and released his hold on the blade and turned to face the dark swordsman.
He understood now. They were not just alike—they were the same. The ominous presence, the cryptic nature, the solitary hat. The pain they both concealed, hidden in words unsaid. And yet, there were countless things missing that would make him the perfect version of himself.
"Say," Mr. Swordsman whispered, his gaze locking onto the Dark Swordsman. "What happens if I kill you?"
The Dark Swordsman said nothing. He simply raised his blade, and their swords clashed once more. Each strike sent shockwaves through the ground, the air crackling with raw energy.
Mr. Swordsman's mind echoed with the melody that had haunted him, accompanied by the wind that sliced through the vibrant green grass above the clouds. This time, he let the song play.
The Dark Swordsman deftly evaded the blow, and with a forceful kick, sent Mr. Swordsman crashing into a nearby shop.
"A man with no name, huh?" He taunted, his voice now colder, more detached. "This life does not deserve such filth. We know that better than anyone."
Mr. Swordsman stayed silent, his eyes cold as he watched the dark swordsman run his mouth.
"Your existence has been meaningless until now," He sneered. "While I acknowledge your strength, I loathe you. A swordsman who relies on emotions is nothing more than a sinful aberration. They taught us that."
Mr. Swordsman's gaze sharpened, tilting his head in quiet contemplation. When had he never been level-headed?
"We are monsters. Nameless monsters," the Dark Swordsman continued, his words dripping with disdain. "Sent into this world to bring about its destruction—and our own demise. We are not human, nor can we ever be. That path was forsaken long ago. Isn't this what we were created for? To destroy and be left in the hands of death?"
The words finally hit Mr Swordsman, and for the first time, he clenched his fist in recognition. He's right. We can't be humans anymore. Our lives hold no meaning except to die by the blade. Nothing else can define us.
#
The girl pointed at the long-haired boy with a mischievous grin. "How about Hades?"
He raised a brow. "Hades? Why that name?"
She burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. "Well, sometimes, you act like some sort of destroyer. Also, it's kinda cute."
"Hades? Cute?"
"Yep, cute little Hades. I know you like it, right, right, right?" She patted his head with a teasing glint in her eyes.
He chuckled slightly but quickly masked it with a frown. She tugged at his collar, her eyes sparkling. "Was that a smile?"
"Nope."
She shook her head. "It was. Nuh-uh. I saw it," she insisted, poking his chest.
"Nope. Didn't happen."
She grinned, uncrossing her arms. "Okay then, it's your turn."
"My turn for what?"
"Should I spell it out for you, silly?" she teased, tapping her foot. "Well, give me a name. I asked first."
"I—uh… Can't think of one right now."
"No fair, Hades!" she pouted, crossing her arms.
"I'll give you one, I promise," he said softly, his voice warm. "And thank you."
His smile was like the sunlight breaking into the dark room causing the girl to smile back at him as she leaned forward to touch his nose.
"Just pick a cute one for me, okay?"
"Alright," Hades whispered.
#
Hades chuckled. "Even now, you annoy my memories," he said under his breath. "Lily."
The storm broke in an instant, the wind howling through the stalls, fierce and unrelenting.
"Don't tell me," the Dark Swordsman said, his eyes narrowing as he shifted into a defensive stance. They had once been the same, but now… now, there was only a stranger before him, someone different, colder.
Hades stopped smirking, his expression turning sombre as he turned toward the dark swordsman, his blade stretching. "I am Hades, the Weeping Swordsman," he declared, his voice steady and commanding. "While you are nothing but a puppet in my way, taking up my precious time."
The dark swordsman's fist clenched in fury. "What do you think you're doing!? Did you just accept that fate? It's already too late. Redemption? You don't deserve it!"
Despite the storm, the world fell silent, frozen in time. A bird hung motionless in the air, and the vibrant hues of life drained away, leaving only a cold, ashen world.
"Who said I wanted redemption?" Mr. Swordsman whispered, his voice carrying the weight of dark memories. His eyes, now revealed, burned with intensity as he took a step forward. "I'm here to prove a point."
"YOU ARE NOTHING! WE ALL ARE!" the dark swordsman roared, his aura flaring as his coating surged in response. He could feel his life flash before his eyes—the memory of Pyrovile gate, the single task echoing in his mind: Find him. Remind him of who he was.
Why? Why was this happening? The dark swordsman thought, his grip tightening around his blade. Was he truly nothing more than a pawn in someone else's twisted game? A mere imitation? No… His resolve solidified. I am the real one. That name is mine. I'm no fake! I'm the Weeping Swordsman, dammit!
He screamed, the sound abruptly cut off as his head was severed from his body. His lifeless form crumpled to the ground.
Hades stood behind him, his face lacking even the slightest hint of emotion. "I grew bored of your shouting," he whispered, returning his sword to his scabbard. He turned, his piercing red eyes locking onto the floating head of the dark swordsman.
The dark swordsman's final thought lingered in the air. I see. He is truly the original. It was my destiny, after all, I'll accept it.
The decapitated head fell, hitting the ground with a sickening thud, the smoky shadow swirling around it as it revealed the face of a young man—a mere imitation of the true Weeping Swordsman.
Hades gazed down at him, the frozen world shifting into a hue of bloody red. Far above, an enormous beast with bright yellow eyes loomed within the dark clouds, its form hidden. The beast's gaze fell upon Hades, its sinister smile spreading across the sky.