The Weeping Swordsman

Mary walked through the grand halls of the mansion as she carried her basket of groceries, leaving Little Bobby standing dutifully at the entrance. Her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of the Meat Shack and the guy named after a delicious meal.

The afternoon sky darkened, and the persistent rain showed no sign of stopping. The central hall was adorned with a luxurious velvet carpet featuring intricate golden embroideries running from the entrance to the main hall. Sparse but imposing empty suits of armour stood sentinel on either side of the hall. It was a place where she had shared memories of cleaning together with Hudson.

“Hey, are you daydreaming or something?” Gordon said. He wore his usual apron stained with the food he was cooking and had a spatula in hand.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “There was a fight at the market.”

“I heard. It’s about the weeping swordsman, right? That youngster thinks he’s a big shot just because he fell from the skies or whatnot. Back in my day, men were men who fought for their grand name, not like nowadays where a mere man is popular just because he survived a fall. I’ll tell you all about the days of real men, dear. Pay close attention”

Mary was half-heartedly listening to Gordon as her mind kept drifting back to the unsettling events at the shack. The fact that Pasta had stayed behind to protect her was unexpected, but also not necessary. She was certain that Mathew was only bluffing since he had no authority to harm a worker in Lord Tony’s domain. Pasta had been confined to the lower chambers, and though he had attempted to rescue her, that did not necessarily absolve him of the suspicion of being involved with the weeping swordsman or the assault on the gate guard.

“Are you even listening to me, missy?” Gordon asked, his hand waving frantically in front of her face.

“Yes, I’m listening,” she said.

“Okay, then tell me what I just said about the great men of old.”

She fell silent, avoiding his gaze as she swiftly made her way to the kitchen at an unimaginable speed.

Gordon sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I hope she is aware that Lord Tony is looking for her.”

*

The air reeked of faeces and vomit, each whiff making Pasta’s stomach growl. The poorly lit room grew even darker as the storm raged outside. Before him stood solid steel bars, while the floor was made of a stone covered in green fungus and weeds. His hands were handcuffed to chains, forcing them apart. He had been stripped of his clothes and his blade, Naga. Thankfully, he had two friends to talk to in this wretched place. His guards stood at the sides of his cell, paying no mind to the other prisoners. They were armoured and wielded spears, just like the guards he had seen at the town’s gate. Pasta couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of honour being the only prisoner with personal guards, although he didn’t feel comfortable with the reason behind it. He had been accused of attacking the guards at the gate and being an ally of the weeping swordsman, a character from his childhood fairy tales. He had been trying to convince them of his innocence, but his efforts were in vain.

“Can I at least have something to eat? I’m starving,” Pasta said, “And can you do something about this unbearable stench? Eating in this sort of environment might kill me.”

The guard turned to his coworker who’s a fatty and asked, “Wasn’t he found in the meat shack?”

“You’re asking me? Ask the guy who’s asking for food.”

“But we’re not allowed to speak to him,” he added with a sigh.

“Alright then. Stop talking and focus on the damm job,” the fat guard said, twirling his spear in frustration. He lit up a cigar, and took a puff.

“Can I at least have a smoke?”

The fat guard tossed the whole box of cigarettes. Pasta glared at the stick, watching as it got lit. He just thought of a brilliant idea.

*

The inn was filled with youthful cheers and excitement, as adventurers and mercenaries gathered, enjoying each other’s company and sharing cups of well-refined beer. In one of the rooms, Mr Swordsman found himself confronted with a blade at his neck. Hudson and Emilia remained silent. Hudson held a knife, unsure of the intentions and identity of the weeping swordsman, but being able to read the room, he knew having a weapon would be useful. Tori, though unable to find her words, gripped her weapon tightly, hoping it was nothing but a joke.

“There’s no need for that,” Mr. Swordsman said, attempting to lower the blade, only for it to be swiftly raised again. His body began warming up as he turned to Emilia.

“Ask her to lower her blade,” he said.

“Why should I?” Tori asked defiantly.

“Because I’ll kill you,” Mr Swordsman replied, causing the air to grow unnaturally tense. Suddenly, the window opened, letting in the cool air and rain. Tori could see Mr Swordsman's dark red and ominous aura flowing out like water, but flickering frantically at the sides like an angry flame.

She shivered, but held her ground, knowing that even if she was confused by his words, he had no reason to lie. If he truly was who he claimed to be, then he was responsible for all the harm done to her. With a scream, she twirled her weapon towards him but felt a gentle touch from behind. Emilia hugged her tightly, her tears falling onto Tory’s shoulders.

“Stop, we shouldn’t fight. Aren’t we friends?” Emilia asked, her voice breaking. “And he’s lying, right?” she added, glancing up at Mr. Swordsman.”

“It’s no lie,” he said, removing his hat. “I can’t explain, since this is also a shock to me. I was unaware of myself being the weeping swordsman. It was made known to me after the fight today.”

“So, who is the other swordsman?” Tory asked.

Mr. Swordsman sighed and replied, “He’s a puppet created by some unknown entity. I’m not entirely sure about the details yet. Most of the rumours about me were false, and I believe the puppet was responsible for causing them.”

They stared at him, silently. Hudson sighed and returned the knife back to the table.

“He’s telling the truth,” Emilia said, with her arms still across Tori’s shoulders.

“I also believe him. Mr. Swordsman is nothing like what they say he is, or not entirely,” Hudson added.

Tory reluctantly transformed her scythe back into a baton. She didn’t want to believe it, but she trusted Emilia, who never lied. Earlier, she had been informed about Mr Swordsman’s situation, which already proved his innocence to some extent. In the recent attack on her people in the sixth realm, he had been in the seventh realm for some time.

“So, how about the other rumours about you?” Emilia asked.

“Oh those”

Emilia glanced at Mr. Swordsman. “You know, the stories about you falling from the heavens and, uh, causing some trouble for those travelers.”

“Yeah, you don’t exactly look like a divine being to me,” Hudson said.

“If you are a god, you must be the god of poor etiquette with the way you eat and dress,” Tori chimed in.

The three were still eyeing him, awaiting his answer. Mr. Swordsman closed the windows and sighed.

“Let’s not dwell on this for now.”

Mr. Swordsman sat on the bed, methodically unstrapping his swords from his waist and removing his cloak, revealing his smooth, unblemished skin adorned with faint marks. As he untied the rubber band that held his hair, his lustrous locks cascaded down in response to the gentle room breeze. His glistening, well-defined muscles exuded a captivating aura,

“Mr. Swordsman?” Hudson asked, his voice low and trembling.

“Wear back your clothes, you pervert,” Emilia screamed out, holding Tori more tightly.

“I c-can’t breathe,” Tori said, tapping frantically on Emilia’s elbows.

“Would you relax? I wish to take my bath before we discuss the plan to save Pasta. I haven’t taken one in ages,” Mr. Swordsman said.

Emilia kept her eyes closed, preventing herself from seeing something that was way too much for a maiden her age. But her curiosity was overwhelming. The room suddenly fell silent; the constant tapping of Tori ceased, and Hudson’s comments were no longer heard. She opened one of her eyes to feed her curiosity and was met with a massive, huge thing. Her mother had warned her about countless times during her young teenage years, and it was right before her.

“You pervert!” they all screamed.

Mr. Swordsman stabbed his little finger into his ear, scratching it as he silently made his way to the bathroom. It didn’t take long before he left there, almost as if he went there just to pour some water over his body and call it a day. He wore the towel in the bathroom around his waist, fully aware of how the children would react if he did the same thing before. The last thing he wanted was for a group of adults to start portraying him as some kind of strange man.

Tori managed to remove Emilia’s arms from her neck, but her waist wasn’t free from her grasp.

Hudson provided a detailed description of the layout of Tony’s imposing mansion. The grand structure consisted of four floors, each boasting more than 10 rooms, except the top floor, which was exclusively occupied by Tony himself. Pasta was held on the fourth floor, accessible only through the cellar located in the garden outside. Hudson admitted that he hadn’t ventured there often and therefore lacked precise knowledge of the prison’s layout. Speculating about the location of the rock, he suggested it might be in the possession of the mercenaries, who were known to occupy the second floor. Initially encountering five of them, Hudson suspected that their numbers may have increased. Caution was advised even with the guards, as they were all loyal to Lord Tony. Picturing the scene, Hudson sat on the bed, deep in contemplation, arms crossed.

“But I don’t want to hurt the guards at the manor,” he said. “The guards are unaware of the situation and are just following orders as they normally would, so we should not hurt them.”

“Yeah, but we can’t just leave them, right?” Emilia asked, turning to Mr. Swordsman as she continued to enjoy the feel of Tori’s waist.

“As you wish, we won’t kill the guards,” he said.

Hudson smiled, trying to hold back his tears. He remembered when he had given up on life and accepted the hands of death. He knew he was weak and unable to save the town and his friends, so he met them - a group of novice adventurers willing to help him. It all felt like a dream.

“Thank you,” he said, wiping off his tears.

They all smiled at him. Tomorrow is the big day when they save his town. But there were more issues to attend to at the moment.

“The bed is too small to contain all of us, but we can manage,” Mr Swordsman said, sitting on the bed with a towel wrapped around his waist. He laid down on the bed and pulled in a blanket to cover up.

“Get out!” both girls yelled, kicking him out of the bed. Tori was finally free from Emilia’s grasp; now feeling like a newborn gifted to the world.

“You boys will sleep on the floor, while Tori and I will share the bed,” Emilia said.

Mr. Swordsman sighed and grabbed Hudson by the hair, pulling him to the floor. Hudson’s cheeks were flushed; sleeping next to a naked man wasn’t ideal for him. He didn’t even know him well enough for them to be in a relationship, and he wasn’t interested in guys. Mr. Swordsman saw the redness of Hudson’s cheeks and smirked.

“Before we leave tomorrow for the mansion, I would like to get my gear from Grand Pappy,” Tori said.

“Come to think of it, where is Grand Pappy?” Emilia asked.

The crew fell silent as they wondered where they had kept Grand Pappy during all that ruckus.

*

“They say beefy junniro stew tastes better with mint and properly fried fish,” Cumbleton said, rubbing his naked tummy.

“Fish with meat? That’s an abomination,” Andy replied, also rubbing his naked tummy. They were at the hot springs near the mountains, surrounded by jovial old men enjoying each other jokes or stealing glances at the young ladies across the wall.

“Don’t judge before you try it,” Cumbleton retorted.

“I don’t need to. Both may be good individually but don’t prove they will be delicious when together on a plate,” Andy said. “It’s like sinning against the gods. Two rights do make a wrong after all”

Cumbleton furrowed his brows. “Okay… I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, but what if a blade was placed on your neck demanding you eat it?”

“I would rather sacrifice my head to the earth and go to a world where meat and fish are eaten separately, not in the same dish,” Andy said, still rubbing his stomach.

Cumbleton laughed heartily, slapping his stomach. “If you don’t want to indulge in fish and meat,” he said, leaning in toward Andy’s ear, “how about we join the others and watch something exciting?”

Andy eyed Cumbleton, giving him a disgusted look as his lips slowly formed into a bright smile. They both laughed and wrapped their arms around each other’s shoulders as they walked towards the wall.

*

The smell isn’t that bad, Pasta thought. The poisonous gas and liquids he had to experience as a child were way more of a torture than this. He was still being ignored by the guards. The rain had settled a bit, and the day was about to come to an end. He hated today, a lot happened, but what made his blood boil more was the realization that he wasn’t able to enjoy his morning meal. Though his face remained stoic, he felt the pain in every fiber of his being, of him missing out on more of that delicacy.

“Damn, I’m pathetic,” he said, “Always doing the same thing over and over”

“Don’t look so down, kid,” the fat guard said, smoking his cigarette.

“Yeah, you may be a weakling, but I’ve never heard of the weeping swordsman having a companion. So tell your guard here how it’s like traveling with him”

“Hey, don’t talk to him,” the fat guard said.

“Why not”

“You were the one who told me not to”

“Well, I changed my mind. The other guys would love it. If I bring up some great stories about the weeping swordsman,” he said. “Now boy, tell me everything you know and maybe I’ll give you a special meal tonight”

“Not in the mood for such, but,” he eyed the fat guard. “But..I won’t mind a cigarette”

“Oh, is that all? Done then. Give him a cigarette”

The fat guard eyed the other. “You’re giving me orders now, eh?”

“So? Got a problem with that, fatty?”

The portly guard sighed. “I don’t have time for childish behaviour. I’ll light it up for him since I also want to hear some travel stories.”

He brought out a cigarette from the box and lit it up for Pasta.

“Now tell me about the weeping swordsman,” the guard jumped in joy.

“First things first. His name isn’t the weeping swordsman,” Pasta said, his voice low.

“What did you say? Did you hear what he said?” the fat guard asked the other.

“Damm, this is going to hurt,” Pasta murmured. The little spark from the cigarette enveloped into a wild flame burning the cell and the guards, including Pasta. The guards screamed, but the heat was overwhelming. Pasta ignored the shackles holding him down as he went towards the bars and used his foot to kick out the keys from the guard’s waistband, launching them into the air. Pasta’s aura dissipated the surrounding flames, remembering Mr. Swordsman’s words at the stream.

“Aura coating is just the beginning. We living beings hold precedence over all elements. Though we cannot control them, our inner energy can strengthen them. The stronger one gets, the more effective the element will be. Some are even rumoured to affect the weather. Now let’s begin Pasta.”

Pasta stood silently in the prison, recalling the rigorous training he had to go through just to create a small explosion like that. He tightened his fist.

“Get them yes!!!”

“Nice Job boy!”

“Come get me free, we need to hurry”

Screams and jubilations from the other prisoners echoed in the prison. Pasta breathed heavily. His coating wasn’t much help, but it did prevent him from getting some burns.

He used his foot to get the key close to him and his mouth to pick it up and unshackle his locks and the cell. He eyed the fat guard, who was able to also use coating but at the last moment. His skin was black as night and he resembled no human.

“You piece of shit. You and the weeping swordsman will meet your end here,” he said.

Pasta bent down to the man, his charred head.

“What did I tell you? His name isn’t that but Mr Swordsman, get it right”