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The Sword That Hates Me (But Is Better Than Me)

Kael, the warrior chosen by prophecy, is terrified of fighting. His partner? A talking sword named Tharon, composed entirely of sarcasm and unshakable self-confidence. They have no interest in saving the world. If anything, the world seems hell-bent on killing them first. Absurd quests. A broken guild system. Emotionally unstable crops. What people call “adventuring” is, in reality, a daily struggle to barely survive the nightmare. Bound together by prophecy, a cowardly man and a venom-tongued sword. They clash constantly—but have no choice but to keep walking side by side. And step by step, they unknowingly inch closer to the heart of the world’s unraveling. A man haunted by the past. A sword that gave up on the future. Will their journey become someone’s hope? Or is it just a drawn-out spiral into failure? Either way, they keep messing things up—accidentally saving people’s lives, accidentally ruining someone’s master plan. Life is annoying like that. Tharon says: “You’re useless. But no weapon out there is better than me.” Kael thinks: “Did you really need to say that right now?” Still, they walk on. Begrudgingly. This is the story of a man who couldn’t become a hero, and the sword that gave up believing in them. A tragicomic tale of irony, despair, and just a flicker of hope. The kind that leaves you unsure whether to laugh or cry. “Become a hero? You’ve got the wrong guy. I can barely get out of bed in the morning.”
Kamiya_Reishin · 4.2K Views

A War for a Place to call Home: First blood

Sarus Fortress is a titanic bastion of stone, steel, and sorrow—an ever-expanding bulwark built by the Bullard Empire to encircle the accursed island at the world's end. Beneath that island’s ashen skies lie the shattered hearts and skulls of three dead gods, whose corpses still fester with divine malice. From them crawl endless horrors—monstrosities birthed from madness and spite—that claw relentlessly at the walls of reality, seeking to unmake all mortal life. To sustain the fortress and fund the eternal war, the empire long ago enacted the Tithe: a grim tradition that claims lives in lieu of taxes, conscripting men, women, and children alike into the grinding teeth of its war machine. Here, survival depends not only on strength, but on adaptation. Soldiers wield heirlooms that are passed through blood , channel blessings from careless gods, command alien spirits, and harness Mori—the lingering essence of the dead. Through the Bonding ritual that is performed by the followers of the great unison the graft the flesh of the enemy onto their own in desperate bids for power is common place . And yet, despite all this, the dead gods’ corruption spreads. This is the tale of five conscripts claimed by the Tithe—five souls bound not by blood or banner, but by the absence of home. A salt miner who murdered his kin to claim their mori-born magic. A disgraced noblewoman clawing her way back from exile with charm, spite, and ambition. A glass-winged pixie the size of a thimble, who named herself after her favorite animal and chose to follow humans out of love. A disillusioned blessed Apothecary who seeks a purpose as he lost his. A Veteran soldier born into the Fortress who has undergone the Bonding more times than she can remember, all to live up to the memories of her parents. Together, they are thrown into the gullet of war not as saviors, but as offerings. Whether they will survive—or change the shape of the world in their struggle—is a story still unfolding beneath the an unending sky.
Duckspuck · 4.3K Views
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