The dojo air had once been warm, filled with the earthy scent of polished wood and the faint rustle of shifting gis. Jin and Hades knelt before their Sensei, their breaths steady, their young faces attentive.
“Why do you wield the blade?” Sensei's voice was calm but piercing, the weight of the question settling between them like a boulder.
Hades looked down, his silence heavy with uncertainty. But Jin, eager and full of conviction, spoke out without hesitation. “To save the ones I love!”
Now, Jin lay slumped against the jagged mountainside, his vision blurred by the relentless storm. Wind howled through the peaks, and each flash of lightning illuminated his battered body, blood seeping into the rocky ground. His chest heaved as he coughed up blood as he held back his tears.
“Why… why am I thinking of that now?” he whispered, his words trembling against the thunder's roar. “At the end of it all, I was useless… unable to protect my friends. Is this how it ends for me? Is this… how I’ll die?”
His hand stretched out weakly, shaking as if reaching for something beyond the storm. The irony of his gift clawed at his mind—a power that severed the bond between warrior and weapon. It felt like a cruel joke for someone who had always dreamed of creating weapons, forging blades that could carry the hopes of others. But in the sanctuary, dreams were luxuries he could never afford.
“If I survive this… if I pass this exam…” he whispered through gritted teeth, his breath shallow. “I’ll retire. I’ll become a swordsmith… even if Sensei sends the whole world after me.”
Another coughing fit wracked his body, his shattered legs refusing to move, his right arm a lifeless weight at his side. Lightning struck nearby, shaking the ground as the storm raged on.
Jin's bloodied red eyes gazed up at the stormy skies before drifting down to the figure approaching him.
Shinari’s dark dress shimmered against the rain-soaked ground, its flowing fabric spreading like ink across the wet surface. Her tail swayed behind her and her ears twitched in the cold. In one hand, she held an umbrella shielding her from the storm, while her other carried a fan that snapped open with an effortless flick. Beside her stood a man, an exact replica of Jin—his features eerily flawless, his expression devoid of emotion.
“I must be in the afterlife,” Jin whispered, his voice rasping through the pain. He weakly waved his one good arm. “If not, leave already. You’re ruining my last few moments alive.”
Shinari’s crimson lips curved into a soft smile as she knelt beside him. Her fingers brushed tenderly across his battered face. “The Supreme Being has done this to you all,” she said, her voice laced with sorrow. “It pains me deeply.”
Jin’s bloodshot eyes flickered toward the doppelgänger. “So… this isn’t an illusion”
“No illusion,” Shinari said, her voice warm. “I’m here to help you.” She gestured toward the replica. “This is my creation, formed to protect what little hope remains. Like you, I was once a student of the sanctuary. The Supreme Being… he sacrificed my friends to extend his wretched lifespan, just as he has done to countless others like your friends and the people of Heathens.”
Jin’s trembling fist clenched weakly at her words. “What…?”
“It’s true,” she whisered. “He deceived us all. I tried to warn the villagers, but they called me mad and banished me. Only Sensei tolerated my presence, though even he sought to change me.”
Jin coughed violently, blood trickling down his chin. “Why… are you telling me this now?” he whispered, turning his face against the jagged stone. His voice cracked, raw with despair. “I can’t even stand, let alone fight a god…”
Shinari’s expression softened as she held up his hand. “To fight a god, you need another,” she whispered. “The Demon King opposes the Supreme Being. He could grant you the power you need.”
Jin forced a weak chuckle. “The Demon King?” he said, his voice dripping with cynicism. “Making deals with ancient evils isn’t exactly my style. Just let me die in peace.”
Shinari’s delicate hand gripped his palms tighter, as she lowered her gaze. “You’d abandon your friends to die for nothing?” she asked, her voice sharp but lined with pain. “Let countless more perish? Is that what you are, Jin? A coward?”
Jin’s eyes snapped open, rage briefly igniting within them. “Of course not!” he said, his voice breaking as he coughed. “They were everything to me! But look at me—I can’t even lift a blade.”
Cherry blossom petals began to swirl around them, each materialising out of nothing. Shinari eyes gleamed crimson as she smiled down at him. “You can still rise, Jin,” she whispered. “Let me help you.”
Shinari’s smile deepened. “My power is transparency,” she said. “It isn’t a gift. No one notices me unless I choose. But I notice everything. Together, we can avenge our friends… defeat the Supreme Being… and create a better world.”
As the petals lifted him from the ground. "A better world?" Jin chuckled before he frowned. "Alright then, I'll believe you"
A sharp pain pierced his chest, stealing his breath. His eyes widened in shock as he turned to see the blade impaling him—a weapon wielded by his doppelgänger. The cherry blossom petals dissipated, scattering into the storm as blood spilt freely down Jin’s torso.
“His gift is remarkable,” the double said, his voice eerily calm. “A treasure worth preserving indeed.”
Shinari’s laughter rang out, musical yet cold, as she covered her lips with her fan. “Oh, Jin,” she said mockingly, her tone dripping with mock affection. “You truly are naïve. ‘Let’s defeat the Supreme Being together,’ I said. How pitifully easy it was.”
She stepped closer, her fingers brushing over the double’s chest. “What a glorious body,” she said. “A masterpiece to call my own. How long have I sought the body of a man trained by Tankenu himself.”
The double’s hand snapped up, gripping her neck. His blade levitated towards her eyes, his glitching eyes fixing her with an unrelenting gaze. “What are you doing, Shinari?” he asked. “We have preparations to make. The Supreme Being won’t fall on his own.”
Shinari’s glare darkened before she sighed, her expression slipping into irritation. “Resisting the spell, are you?” she whispered. “How troublesome… but I won’t lose such a perfect vessel.”
"Vessel?"
She met his gaze with a sly smirk. “You resist, but it’s futile, Jin,” she said, her voice laced with mockery. “Now, tell me—what were the names of the friends you claimed to avenge?”
The double remained silent as his eyes briefly flickered. Finally, he released her neck, his expression eerily calm. “We bear no names,” he replied, his tone devoid of emotion. “Why ask something so meaningless?”
Shinari chuckled, her laughter dripping with condescension. “See?” she said, fanning herself with a flourish. “Nothing more than a vessel fueled by a hollow need for revenge. But worry not—I'll keep my promise. Together, we’ll bring down that false god. After all,” she said, her lips curling into a devious grin, “it’s bound to be entertaining.”
*
Years had passed, and the name of the Invincible Swordsman echoed like a storm across the Nine Realms. A lone figure who single-handedly seized control of the Fourth Realm—a land teetering on the edge of collapse. Its fragile defences and crumbling leadership had placed all hope in a yet-to-be-signed peace treaty.
Jinni was no ordinary swordsman. Despite his youth, he wielded his blade with a precision that defied logic and a vigour that seemed endless. His calm demeanour amidst the carnage struck fear into the hearts of his enemies, their resolve crumbling under the weight of his unwavering gaze. For those who followed him, however, he was nothing short of a beacon—a figure who inspired loyalty and awe.
His rise to legend was cemented the day he faced Zyrion, the Dragon Warrior, the former strongest swordsman. Their battle was said to have split the skies and carved mountains asunder, leaving an indelible scar on the realm. When the dust settled, it was Jinni who emerged victorious, his blade stained with the blood of a warrior once thought untouchable. From that moment, he was crowned the strongest swordsman, his title uncontested.
Yet, even this triumph failed to sate his unyielding thirst. The blood of men, beasts, and even dragons could not quell the hunger burning within him. Jinni’s ambition was far greater than the realms themselves. His blade sought not just power but justice—or perhaps vengeance. His ultimate target was a god.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
The Supreme Being, revered and feared, had to fall. No matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice, Jinni vowed to sever the divine threads that bound the realms. And with every swing of his sword, it became clear—his ambition wasn’t merely a goal; it was destiny.
Massive crows circled ominously over the hunters’ encampment, their cries echoing across the snowy plains. At the heart of the settlement stood a grand castle, erected to accommodate the needs of their leader. On the highest level of the towering structure, Jinni lounged, a long sword resting within arm’s reach. The shadows of the room danced as the flickering light from the fireplace illuminated his figure.
Jinni, now bearing the name bestowed upon him by Shinari, resided in the castle while Shinari herself remained hidden from the public eye. Across from him stood Ryder and Zephyr, figures personally chosen by Shinari to assist in his ambitious conquest of the Nine Realms.
Ryder, a lanky young man of twenty with dark, brooding eyes, had once been a celebrated drummer. However, he now lived as a fugitive wanted across the realms. Beside him sat Zephyr, her presence commanding in a way that belied her youthful appearance. Her attire, minimal despite the frigid air, highlighted her defiant spirit. Long dark hair cascaded down her back, and chained blades were strapped behind her.
Jinni leaned back, his gaze drifting toward the balcony overlooking the snowy expanse. “They’ll be working alongside you from now on, Darius,” he said with a measured tone.
Darius stood near the edge of the room, bare-chested despite the chill, his arms crossed. Thorne loomed beside him, a quiet yet menacing presence. Both stared out at the endless expanse of white, their silence heavier than the storm clouds above.
“All I need is to retrieve the girl and make my presence known,” Darius replied. “So long as our terms are honoured, I’ll grant you my assistance.”
Jinni rose to his feet with fluid grace, his piercing gaze meeting Darius’. “This body remembers the blade you seek. Its location and my aid in acquiring it will be your reward.”
For a moment, the room was still, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire. Darius finally turned, his expression inscrutable. “Understood. Once I’ve dealt with your former master, I’ll seek information about someone else.”
Thorne stepped forward, his voice a low rumble. “That is the reason we came here. Your task is nothing more than a diversion that piqued our interest.”
Jinni’s face remained stoic. “I know of the man you seek, though my memories of him are fragmented. He trained alongside me under Tankenu—the one we are to kill.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “This swordsman has carved a small name for himself. But tell me, why does the world’s strongest warrior seek him out?”
“Have you heard of the Fallen Angels?” Darius asked, his tone quiet but charged. “Beings whose power defies all comprehension. Rumours say there’s something akin to them here—a swordsman who calls forth a demon in the skies.”
Jinni’s eyes narrowed. “You’re suggesting this swordsman stands on par with the Three Great Kings and the divine entities?” He scoffed. “This body defeated him once in battle. If you think he's somewhat of a standing figure, you are mistaken. I’ve achieved in mere years what most men fail to in a lifetime—wealth, power, and fear. I can cleave mountains in two, and I possess a gift capable of toppling nations. A mad swordsman like himself is nothing but a pest in my presence”
Darius stepped forward, his imposing presence casting a long shadow over Jinni. “You think you’ve achieved much?” he asked, his voice steady. “A mere soldier with a blunt blade could bring you to your knees.”
Jinni's brow furrowed. “How so?”
“Where do you believe strength is born?” Darius asked, his tone sharper than the blade at Jinni's side. “From years of gruelling training? From endless battles where death lingers at your shoulder? No. True strength is forged in the crucible of purpose—an unrelenting fire fueled by raw emotion. The fuel that drives a man to destroy his body to build a stronger one. The reason a single mother would defy a pack of hunters to shield her children, the warrior who pushes beyond shattered bones and torn sinews for the chance to strike one last blow. Strength is not in the body but in the wound—the wound that drives a beast to defy all limits and devour what stands before it."
He stopped, his gaze piercing through Jinni. "You, however, lack such a wound. You are untouchable, immortal in your perfection—and therein lies your greatest weakness. Without pain, without the wound that awakens the soul, you are hollow.”
Jinni’s glare darkened, his hand tightening around his blade. “Then I won’t wound the beast,” he hissed. “I’ll sever its head in a single strike.”
Darius frowned, not in annoyance but with the weight of a man who had seen the truth. “And what will that accomplish? A head severed from its body knows no peace—it only leaves behind chaos, as a man of strength you should know this. But no, You are nothing but a vessel, a puppet to that devil and driven by hatred that isn’t even yours.” He stepped closer, unflinching as Jinni’s blade hissed from its sheath and stopped at his throat.
“That hatred,” Darius continued, his voice low and unyielding, “is a curse you carry not to destroy but to escape. You wield your blade not out of conviction, but desperation—a feeble hope to rid yourself of a burden you never asked for. But even now, the will of this body you inhabit rebels against you. It yearns for purpose, for peace. And you? You’ve become its jailer.”
The blade trembled ever so slightly at Darius’ neck, yet he stood unshaken, staring straight into Jinni’s crimson eyes.
“And when the Nine Realms fall, what then?” Darius asked, his voice steady, his words deliberate. “Will you ignite yet another war in the name of peace—a peace you cannot even define? Hypocrisy is all that binds your kind. You destroy to create, but you’ve long forgotten what it is you wish to build.”
Darius turned his gaze to Zephyr, his tone now laced with command. “You, find the leader of the disciples. And the other—come with me. There's no time to waste.”
Thorne scratched his head and let out a lazy yawn. “We’ll keep some of the sanctuary teachers alive,” he muttered, eyeing Jinni with a sharp glare. “We’ll need answers about this figure. That won’t be a problem, will it?”
Jinni’s lips pressed into a thin line, his silence betraying no outward emotion.
Without waiting for a response, the group departed, leaving Jinni alone in the dimly lit room
Jinni stood rooted, the weight of Darius’ words pressing down like an unseen force. His grip tightened on the blade, but his resolve wavered, the storm within him roaring louder than ever.
A puppet? Me? The thought echoed in his mind.
Everything had unfolded too perfectly—from acquiring the realm to securing the cooperation of several lords. Why did he truly want the Supreme Being dead? What was the source of his hatred for his master? If he was merely a puppet, then what was his real purpose?
Darius’s words gnawed at him, stripping away layers of confidence and exposing a raw truth he’d long suppressed. It was all hypocrisy—a battle between two fallen angels over vast territories, all under the guise of peace. Yet, despite this, he clung to the belief that he had to be the one to do this. Only he could.
His mission to unify the Nine Realms with minimal bloodshed had been progressing, but the cracks in his resolve were beginning to show. Adventurers and hunters from overseas were flooding into the Nine Realms, just as Shinari had predicted. One among them wielded an aura so intense it drove monsters to madness, disrupting the balance of entire ecosystems and driving chaos across the lands.
All he had to do was secure the enforcer and consolidate the lords under his banner. Once the Supreme Being’s influence was severed, the false god’s power would crumble. Only then could Jinni, alongside the demon king, rise to challenge him.
“Now I remember,” Jinni whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “My friends... they all died. For that, I’ll take his head,” he said, eyeing a petal that drifted in the air. “No matter what it takes.”
*
A day before the hunters' invasion, a carriage glided across the snowy plains, its wheels creaking softly against the frozen terrain. Atop the carriage sat three figures draped in dark cloaks, their heads bowed, faces obscured. One of them idly twirled an umbrella, humming a lullaby that danced eerily in the cold air.
The rider slowed the carriage abruptly, eyes narrowing at the sight of a gang of hunters in the distance. They marched forward, their laughter loud and reckless, their weapons gleaming with anticipation.
“How insolent,” whispered the girl with the umbrella, her voice carrying a sharp edge. She continued twirling her umbrella, unbothered. “Do they even realize whose carriage this is?”
The other two figures remained silent, their attention drawn to the door of the carriage as it creaked open. Their eyes widened in surprise, even as the rider turned nervously in his seat. “No, sir,” the rider stammered. “The adventurers will handle it. You shouldn’t trouble yourself.”
A low chuckle drifted out as Bloodborne stepped down from the carriage, his expression calm yet commanding. “I just need to stretch my arms,” he said quietly, his voice laced with amusement. “Let the young ones save their strength for more worthy battles.”
One of the cloaked figures began to rise, but Bloodborne held up a hand, halting them. “You S-ranks should conserve your energy,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “This isn’t like the last time, with the beast and the blue-masked hunter. These are just... roadblocks.”
The hunters, overhearing his dismissive words, bristled with fury. Their laughter turned into roars as they charged toward the carriage, weapons raised, ready to strike.
Bloodborne stepped forward, his movements deliberate and calm. From seemingly nowhere, he summoned a bow and a single arrow, its surface shimmering unnaturally. “An adventurer must be proficient in their duties,” he said, nocking the arrow with practised ease. “If not...” His eyes narrowed as he released the string. “How can we protect our people?”
The arrow streaked through the air, a brilliant flash in the snowy gloom. Mid-flight, it began to glitch, fracturing into hundreds of identical projectiles. The swarm of arrows rained down, piercing the hunters with unerring precision. In an instant, the attackers dissolved into dust, their forms vanishing as though they had never existed.
Bloodborne returned to the carriage, stepping inside with a composed grace. He leaned against the armrest, his gaze falling to a decree tucked in the corner of the carriage. His fingers traced the edges of the parchment which said:
'Capture the Weeping Swordsman. Dead or alive.'
“I hope you children are all safe,” Bloodborne whispered, his eyes distant, voice heavy with an emotion he did not show. The carriage resumed its journey, the sound of its wheels fading into the snowy expanse.