“Why do you wield the sword?”

A question given by his master. He had nothing to say; what could he say?

“Isolated and unloved, judged and envied, we are all nameless children. We train and train to become the very best. We strive to make a name, and bleed to show our silent pain,” he muttered, turning to the girl who pulled him in, the same girl who played the fox.

“Why so moody all of a sudden?” she said, biting from her corn.

He sat curled up on the floor, the silence lingering as the warm breeze blew in through the open windows of the dojo.

“I would like to get some sleep,” he finally said, hiding his face.

“What were you told by the master? The other boy was all jumpy-dumpy, while you—”

He stood abruptly and began to walk away. She followed close behind. “Come on, tell me! No secrets! Come oooon.”

She bumped into him playfully. He shot her a glare, but she only smirked and went back to eating.

He strolled along the halls. The sun began its descent, casting a warm, golden glow onto the polished wooden pathway. He made his way through the training grounds, where the air resonated with the sounds of chanting and the grunts of trainees. However, under these sounds, whispers of disdain and insults reached the boy’s ear. He increased the pace, while the girl did the same.

“You don’t need to listen to them”

“But, I don’t”

“Yeah, you do. It’s written all over your face. Cheer up,” she said, patting him on the back and taking a huge bite of her dinner. “Or are you mad because you’re hungry? Here, have some.”

“Not interested.”

“Your loss.”

He walked past a mirror, pausing to study his reflection. Minutes passed as he stared. The girl yawned and glanced at the mirror, curious to see what captivated him.

“There’s nothing written on my face,” he said, touching his face.

She shrieked, “It’s an expression! Even I know that! Is that why you were staring for so long!?”

The girl held onto her trousers and lowered her head. She pulled his arm and ran through the halls. They entered a dark room. It was filled with dusty boxes, containing books, maps, and old weapons.

She pointed at him; her face was stern.

“Ok, that’s it! You are way too gloomy. If anything is on your mind, tell me. Aren’t we friends?”

“I’m fine,” he said, holding back his tears.

She ran towards him, embracing him. His tears dripped down her shoulders. He held it in, his heart wavering and shattering with each sniffle he took.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alri- “she said, also crying.

“What are we? Just tools made for battle. Is there nothing more? We don’t even have names. A life for another and a death to be forgotten is our fate. Just like our masters”

She held him close, then pushed him away, also throwing her unfinished corn out the window.

“I am sick of this!” she exclaimed

“What?”

“Sick of it, I say.”

She stretched her arms toward the boy. “We may be nameless, but that doesn’t mean we’ll never have one. We may be trained to become monsters, but our soul is that of humans. We may feel alone, but we have each other. Me, you and the others.”

“Not everything can change,” he said, turning away.

“Yes, but that’s no excuse for us not to try,” she said, stretching her arms towards the boy. “We just have to begin somewhere.”

*

“Who are you?” Mr Swordsman asked.

The barren land before the meat shack was littered with bodies, the cold wind sweeping through as the enigmatic swordsman stood. Darkness shrouded his face.

“I am the one whose blade will shape the fate of this forsaken continent. Do I not look familiar?”

He looked similar to Mr Swordsman, but his sword was different.

“I see,” Mr. Swordsman replied, his tone indifferent. “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 was cool and heavy, with thunder resounding in the distance. They stood in silence, waiting for the other to draw his blade.

A drop of rain fell. The two swordsmen locked eyes and clashed swords, their blades hit, creating a massive shockwave.

“Are you working with the mercenaries?” Mr Swordsman asked.

“Does it look like it?”

Their blades collided at a fiery speed. The sound of metal rang out as they fought. Mr Swordsman pushed him, cutting down the stores and wares.

“Just who are you!” Mr. Swordsman asked, his voice resonating.

The other swordsman leapt back and landed on one of the side torches. He twirled his sword around his fingers and returned it to its sheath.

“More time. Just a little more,” he said to himself.

He threw a flying slash at Mr. Swordsman, who deflected the attack. More slashes followed. Gripping his sword tighter, he launched a counterattack. The swordsman seemed strangely familiar; his sword style and demeanour reminded Mr Swordsman of himself.

Mr Swordsman leapt over the slashes, landing on a building. This was going nowhere, and he knew it. He blocked each strike the swordsman took, and vice versa.

“I’m tired of this,” the swordsman whispered. “Why are you running? Weeping swordsman.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

What did he say, Mr Swordsman thought. The ground trembled, and the air shifted to a certain frequency. He recognized this energy. There was no doubt anymore.

“The only companion we have is silence, where words fail to express our pain,” he said, turning to Mr Swordsman. “I have 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”

He jumped into the air. With the sword resting on his shoulder. Mr Swordsman fixed his gaze on his airborne stance, his skin quivering. 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. Something he wanted to forget. He lowered his head and began mumbling to himself as the swordsman's blade neared him.

“Do you hear that?! That’s our regret. Forget about everything. Everything that happened!”

A two-sided scythe flew towards the weeping swordsman. He redirected its trajectory midair and assessed who his new enemy might be. It was a girl, accompanied by another.

“Mr. Swordsman, are you alright?” Emilia asked, running towards him and placing her hand on his body. “You’re hot. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

The scythe returned, and the swordsman’s eyes widened as he swung his sword to divert its path. It landed back in Tori’s hands, and she struck it to the floor.

“Hey, stop right there,” a mercenary said, running into the scene, “You all are under arrest”

More joined in, gripping their weapons as they approached the weeping swordsman.

“Pathetic,” the weeping swordsman said, his energy seeping out for a burst.

“Don’t move, you mongrels!” Mathew said, struggling to get to his feet.

“Sir, the other mercenaries are on their way. We should-“

“Grab that boy over there and let’s move. This battle does not need our involvement. NOW MOVE!”

Mathew glared at a cloaked Hudson who stayed hidden in the shadows. He fled, with the other guards supporting him as they picked up Pasta.

Mr Swordsman stood, gasping for breath. The air shattered like glass, and a sudden storm began. Despite feeling calmer, Mr Swordsman experienced a headache and swelling in his eyes. He should be back at the market, not here. It wasn’t a dream. He touched a huge rock, his blade dripping with blood. His clothes were drenched in rain. A memory, he thought.

Back on the floor of the market, he held his throat and punched himself.

“What’s wrong? Why did you do that?” Emilia asked.

Tori gritted her teeth and twisted her scythe.

“I may not have my headphones here but I’ll kill you, regardless”

Tori dashed towards him, aiming for his head, which he dodged with ease. She continued moving her arms, hoping to land a hit. He grabbed her hands and squeezed them.

Her coating became stronger, and so was her weapon. She coughed up blood the moment she achieved it.

“You foreigners are strange beings indeed. What a calm yet beautiful aura. Not one revealing your pain, but joy and peace. Yet,” he said, bringing himself closer to her ears. “I can see through your facade.”

“Shut up!” Tori pushed him away and swung even faster than before. The swordsman drew his sword and clashed it against her blades. She kept swinging and swinging while the weeping swordsman smiled, kicking her blades off her hands. His sword was at her neck. The world turned monochrome, and she stared at the blade aimed at her neck. Everything seemed slow. It’s over, she thought. I wasn’t able to have my revenge in the end. I’m so selfish, so selfish. The droplets of rain began to drip down her face. It was over.

“Tori!,” Mr Swordsman screamed, blocking the blade. “Emilia and Hudson, listen to me. I’m fine. Go after Pasta, leave this man to me”

A smile played on her lips as she thought, So Emilia was right.

Tori picked up her blades and chased after Pasta, including Emilia and Hudson. Despite not being fast enough to catch up, Hudson kept on running.

“I’ll leave it to you then,” Tori said.

Mr. Swordsman rose to his feet, his blade hanging from his arm. He glared at the figure before him, a sight that made his skin crawl, his headache, and his soul crushed with each passing second. However, they were alike, no; they are the same person. So why did he despise him? The ominous presence, the enigmatic nature even to oneself, the solitary hat, the pain concealed within words, and the unique style of his swordsmanship. Mr Swordsman gripped his blade and charged towards him. I will give everything I have for this fight, he thought. Their blades clashed once more. The tension in the air grew, and each strike sliced through the surrounding terrain. The melody echoed in Mr. Swordsman’s ears, accompanied by the cold wind and the vibrant green grass above the clouds. This time, he let it play.

The Weeping Swordsman evaded his attack and kicked him. He flew, crashing into a nearby shop. His coating lessened the pain.

“A man with no name, huh?” the Weeping Swordsman said. “This life does not deserve such filth. We know that better than anyone”

Mr Swordsman glared at him. He was furious. Of course, he knows that. He does not need a reminder from a copy.

“Your existence has been meaningless until now,” the Weeping Swordsman declared. “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.

“We are monsters, nameless monsters sent to this world to bring about its destruction and our own demise. We are not human, nor can we ever be. That path has long been forsaken. Isn’t this what we were created for? To destroy and be left in the hands of death?”

Mr Swordsman clenched his fist. There is no point in this fight, there never was. He had abandoned everything ever since the day he fell. He should forget about every memory he held about that place. That way, maybe. Just maybe, the pain he felt would disappear.

*

“How about Hades?”

“What? Why that name?”

She laughed, holding her tummy. “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 asked, patting his head.

He chuckled a bit but hid it immediately. She held his collar, her eyes beaming. “Was that a smile?”

“Nope”

“It was. Nuh-uh. You just did. I saw it”

“Nope. I didn’t”

“Ok then, it’s your turn”

“My turn for what?”

“Should I spell it out for you, silly?” she said. “Well, give me a name there. I said it”

“I- uh. Can’t think of one right now”

“No fair, Hades”

“I’ll give you one, I promise,” he said. “And thank you.”

His smile was so bright, having the ability to bring down worlds - a name befitting him and him alone. She smiled back at him, crossing her arms behind her back.

“Just pick a cute one for me, okay?”

“Alright.”

*

“My life hasn’t been in vain,” he whispered. The air shifted once again, and the faint sound of a weeping child echoed.

“Don’t tell me,” the weeping swordsman said, taking a defensive stance. He was right all along. They were once the same person. Now he’s different.

“I may be a murderer, an assassin, but I’m still human. I am Hades, the one who will end you here for her, for my companions, my friends, and myself.”

Hades held his sword, and it wept, releasing a cry that echoed through the space. A sword containing all his sins. His energy shook the clouds as the skies joined in the symphony of tears.

His aura, the weeping swordsman thought, it changed. Everything about him just did.

“What do you think you’re doing!? Did you just accept that fate? It’s already late. Redemption? You don’t deserve it”

Despite the storm drenching the streets, there was silence, and a bird remained frozen in the air.

“Who said I wanted redemption?” Mr swordsman whispered, revealing his dark eyes. “I’m here to prove a point”

Hades ran to him, landing multiple strikes. The attacks were too fast. It escaped the weeping swordsman's defences.

“YOU ARE NOTHING! WE ALL ARE!” the swordsman bellowed, his aura surging as he enhanced his coating. Images of Pyrovile’s gates flashed through his mind, an instruction echoing in his head: ‘Find him and remind him of who he was.’

Why? Why was this happening? He thought. Was I nothing more than a puppet in someone else’s twisted game? A mere imitation? No… His grip tightened on his blade. I am the real one. That name is mine. I’m no fake!

“I will end it here!” he screamed.

The wind howled, tearing through the nearby shops, shattering windows, and ripping signs from their posts. The chef of the Meaty Shack hastily barricaded his doors, his employees huddling behind him.

The Weeping Swordsman charged at him. His strikes improved with more energy. Hades met him blow for blow, their swords clashing. But then Hades pushed further, faster, each strike growing more relentless. He surged past the Weeping Swordsman, overwhelming him with a flurry of strikes too quick to counter.

Hades struck him and his sword, sending them to the floor.

The weeping swordsman coughed up blood. He gazed down at his reflection in the bloody puddle, but there was nothing. No face. No humanity. Just darkness.

I was wrong, he thought, the bitter truth sinking in. I was never human to begin with.

“Blessed to birth, departed by death,” Hades said, breathing slowly. His aura flowed through his body, giving a soft red radiant glow.

The sorrowful warrior beheld an astonishing sight. High above the billowing clouds, he glimpsed an enormous beast with mysterious yellow eyes that seemed to be obscured from view. The apparition resembled a demon covered by dark clouds. Hades’ energy intensified. Every ounce of his body was filled with pure energy. Increasing with power by every second.

“I made a mistake,” the weeping swordsman whispered. “She created me for this, right? To die at your hands. But I will not accept such fate”

He swung his sword again and dashed towards Hades, screaming out, his tears dripping.

Hades dashed through him. The beast above the skies gave a sinister smile. Surrounding houses crumbled, one by one, unable to withstand the force. The entrance to the Meaty Shack was obliterated, leaving nothing but splinters and debris.

“She’s right. The name does fit,” Hades said.

He sheathed his sword and turned back to the decapitated head. The rain grew wilder as the creature up above the clouds disappeared into the night, leaving nothing in its wake.