The Weeping Swordsman

Blood-soaked and battered, she stood firm, gripping her sword with trembling hands. Her younger brother lay on the floor. His leg was bleeding. Above them, the moon hung in the sky, casting a dim light over the starless night.

Young Pasta watched, heart pounding, as she cut through the wolves, one after another. But more came, circling her like shadows. She was exhausted, sick, and angry. Desperate to help, Pasta scrambled to his feet, snatching up a stick.

“Pasta!” she yelled, turning to him. Her hair was just like Emilia’s and with eyes like their father’s. “Get out of here and inform the others. I’ll hold them off”

“But you should come too!” Pasta cried, his voice cracking with fear.

“Shut up and run!” she snapped, her breath ragged. “You’re hurt, aren’t you? If I have to carry you, we’re both dead! Now go, damn it!”

Pasta clenched his fists and ran; he couldn’t hold back his tears. Why am I so weak?

Branches tore at his skin as he leapt over roots, but even as he ran, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing back. The wolves were closing in, their eyes glowing in the dark.

“Kira...” he whimpered, breathing raggedly. “No, no, Kira...”

The despair gripped him, freezing him in place. He clutched his head, overwhelmed by fear and guilt. “No... no, no, no...”

“Run, damn it!”

Pasta swallowed his sobs, forcing his legs to move again. I have to get stronger. I must... he thought as he ran, For Kira... I’ll get stronger.

*

Pasta opened his eyes. It was nighttime, but the campfire illuminated the surrounding. He was covered up by blankets, properly, what Emilia had packed up. He stirred, glancing to his side. Shot lay nearby, heavily bandaged, his breathing faint but steady. A small relief. Pasta shifted his gaze to the sky—empty, starless.

It was all a dream, he thought.

Emilia.

She’s with those hunters now.

Pasta jumped to his feet, spotting Mr. Swordsman across the fire. In a heartbeat, he drew his sword, pressing the blade to Mr Swordsman’s neck.

His voice shook with fury, eyes blazing. “What was that back there?”

Mr Swordsman sat still, his body wrapped in bandages, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames.

“What was that back then?!” Pasta screamed.

Silence.

Pasta pushed the sword closer. “You looked away! You cared more about your fight than Emilia’s life!”

Mr Swordsman’s dark eyes finally met Pasta’s. “Shut up,” he whispered. “At least I fought. You? You were nothing but pathetic.”

Pasta gritted his teeth and returned his sword, stepping back. “I really looked up to you, Hades”

Mr. Swordsman didn’t flinch, his eyes remaining on the fire. “If you were stronger... maybe your sister would still be here. A shame that's not the case”

“Yes, I know I’m weak. You don’t need to remind me of that”

He bowed his head. “I heard what you said back at Kaden’s manor. About me, you’re right. But,” Pasta glared at Mr Swordsman. “Don’t you dare call Emilia pathetic”

Mr Swordsman met his gaze. “What do you think?” he stood up. “I never wanted this job. To protect a couple of weak siblings across a few realms. I have better things to do”

Undaunted, Pasta stepped closer, locking eyes with him. “You lost to Darius too. So don’t act like you’re untouchable. You’re just as weak.”

In a flash, Mr. Swordsman swung his blade at Pasta, but the younger swordsman blocked it, steel meeting steel. The crackling of the fire was the only sound between them.

“My family stands for strength, for power,” Pasta said, his voice steady. “Our training isn’t like the rest. For months, I’ve been fighting you in my mental state, losing battle after battle. But I grew from it. Back there, I was terrified because I thought you were unbeatable. That was my mistake.”

Mr. Swordsman lowered his sword. “So all that meditation... you’ve been fighting me,” he muttered, half-insulted. “Mental training. Your body follows what your mind masters. You need a calm spirit for that kind of technique. That’s unlike you”

Pasta sheathed his blade. “You don’t need to know the details. I’m not asking for your help to save Emilia.”

Mr. Swordsman turned away, saying nothing. There was nothing left to say.

Pasta moved to Shot’s unconscious form, about to lift him. “This is where we part ways, Hades.”

Mr Swordsman stood silent, clenching on his sword.

“You think you’re so powerful,” he said. “You believe you can face an army of hunters on your own. You’ll die before you even draw your blade.”

“SO WHAT!” Pasta yelled. “So what if I die, huh?” He grabbed Mr Swordsman’s collar. “I couldn’t do anything back then. I’d rather die trying to save her than live with this useless feeling”

“You’re too—” Mr Swordsman paused. “I’m leaving the Fourth Realm. This isn’t my fight.”

Pasta shoved him back. “Tori was right about you. You’re nothing but the Weeping Swordsman. A fraud, filled with deceit and darkness.”

Mr. Swordsman said nothing, watching as Pasta carried Shot into the cold night, the firelight fading behind them.

Once again, he was alone.

*

The sun was hidden, barely breaking through the thick canopy of trees. Hades had been walking for hours, searching for something—anything—to satisfy his hunger. His mind wandered briefly to Pasta, who had returned to the city to treat Shot’s wounds and rescue Emilia. Hades had no more reason to stay. After he found his meal, he’d leave the Fourth Realm. He owed them nothing. He had done enough.

Hades saw a deer standing ahead of him. The beast flickered his ears as if daring him to try. It could easily escape, considering the distance between them.

The creature turned its head slightly, locking eyes with Hades. A flicker of fear passed through the animal before it made a futile attempt to flee.

Moments later, the deer was reduced to a smoky meal. Hades took a bite of the charred flesh. No seasoning, no flavour—just burnt meat. It reminded him of simpler days, back when Emilia would insist on making meals taste better, and Pasta would holler for seconds.

With his hunger sated, Hades resumed his journey. Nothing tied him to this realm anymore. In the distance, he saw a village, its silhouette barely visible through the trees. The distant sounds of screaming carried through the wind.

As he neared, Hades spotted a group of masked hunters raiding the village. The air was thick with fear as the villagers, trembling, hurriedly stuffed their valuables into sacks under the hunters’ watchful eyes.

“Now, everyone,” one of the hunters said, “make it quick! All your valuables in the sack!”

The villagers complied, their hands shaking as they handed over their possessions. The hunters exchanged grins, imagining the riches they’d gain from selling the loot. It could sell for gold, maybe even sapphires.

They noticed the figure approaching from the woods—a cloaked man, wearing a sugegasa hat, a sword hanging at his side.

The villagers also saw him, their eyes widening as they saw the blood dripping from his chest, his body battered and bruised.

“You lost, buddy?” one of the hunters called, stepping toward Hades. “I’m talking to you! Answer now or face the consequences”

Hades kept walking, not bothering to glance at the man. The hunter sneered, ready to strike, but his words died in his throat—literally. His jaw, cleanly severed, hit the ground before he even realized what had happened.

Panic spread through the hunters like wildfire, and they charged at Hades. Even without parallel space, they were still too slow. Their blades missed him, while his sword sliced through the air, cutting them down one by one. Their groans of agony echoed, each of them wishing for death.

The villagers hesitated before rushing toward Hades, their eyes filled with gratitude.

“Thank you! You saved us!”

Hades remained silent, adjusting his hat and kept moving forward. He was stopped by a little girl who pulled on his cloak.

“Mister, your chest is bleeding,” she said, her tiny hands balled into fists. “Let us help you, please.”

Several other villagers approached.

“At least let us treat you,” one said, clearly worried for him.

The girl puffed out her chest. “Don’t worry, I’m great with wounds! And you were so cool, mister adventurer!”

Hades shook his head gently. He bowed and began to walk away.

“Wait!”

He stopped, turning back to face the villagers. An older man stepped forward.

“You’ll die if you don’t get that wound treated. Hunters are everywhere, and who knows when they’ll ambush you again.”

The man pointed toward the mountains. “If you don’t want treatment here, there’s a temple up ahead. You’ll find medicine there, and you can tend to your wounds yourself.”

Hades nodded and bowed once more before continuing on his path.

The pain didn’t bother him, but the silence did. It was unusual for everything to be so quiet.

Where would I go after this? His master was dead, and the purpose of his journey had long since faded. Years of training had led to nothing but solitude.

In the distance, he saw the temple perched atop the mountains. Now he has to climb as always reality was unforgiving.

*

Pasta sat outside the hospital, his hands clenched together. Shot was going to make it, but his recovery would take time.

He got up, dusting off the snow off his coat.

“How do I even begin to find Emilia?” he whispered to himself.

She had been taken—captured by hunters. They knew exactly where to find them. But how? How had they known the exact route?

Pasta frowned, raising his head. “Only a few people knew about our trip. Kabal, Shot, and Tori.”

One of them must’ve tipped off the hunters. It couldn’t be Shot—he had been with them the whole time and got hurt trying to protect them. Tori wasn’t the one either. They had spent all their time in Pyrovile together. That left one person.

“Kabal…” Pasta muttered, his gaze shifting to the overcast sky. “I hope this is all just a coincidence.”

Snowflakes drifted gently onto his head, he decided to later find some way to shield himself from it.

He made his way to the adventurers’ guild. As soon as he stepped inside, the chatter died down. All eyes were on him as he strode in and took a seat.

“Isn’t that him?”

“Yeah, I heard he’s part of the group that took on Darius.”

“What a fool.”

“I heard he fought a true dragon. You know, the one at the Demir of Grandeur.”

“So he’s a criminal then. I heard the dragon was sick or something”

“He must be a hunter”

Pasta remained silent. He didn’t care what they thought of him. Hunters—adventurers who broke the law and evaded punishment by the jurisdiction. A label like that didn’t matter. What mattered now was waiting for Kabal to arrive for his morning check-in. Pasta had questions.

An adventurer stomped over, slamming his mug onto the table in front of Pasta. “What’s a criminal like you doing here?”

Pasta tapped his finger on the table, eyes forward, ignoring the man.

“I’m talking to you, damn it,” the adventurer growled, pouring his drink over Pasta’s coat.

He still didn’t move. Engaging in a fight would only get him kicked out, and he couldn’t afford that—not before confronting Kabal. He needed to remain calm.

The adventurer sneered, raising his mug high, ready to strike Pasta. “We don’t need scum like you around here!”

Before the mug could land, Kabal’s hand caught it mid-swing. He squeezed the adventurer’s hand. “What do you think you’re doing to my comrade?”

The adventurer paled and retreated, mumbling apologies under his breath. Kabal growled, taking a seat across from Pasta. The rest of the guild murmured, whispering about why someone like Kabal would defend a criminal and even sit with him.

Kabal leaned closer. “I heard what happened. The hunters are spreading it like wildfire, claiming their superiors could easily crush an S-rank adventurer.”

Pasta stayed silent, staring into the distance.

“Where’s Emilia?” Kabal asked. “Is she okay?”

“She was taken by the hunters,” Pasta replied.

Kabal’s eyes widened. “What? Why? How did this happen?”

Pasta rose from his seat. “Let’s cut to the chase, Kabal. The hunters knew we were heading to the next town for ice fishing. Only a few people knew about this”

Kabal lowered his head. “I understand. You see me as a suspect,” he said. “I can assure you, I have no business in that”

“How can I take your word on it?”

“Shot is my only friend. Since I came to the Fourth Realm, people have feared me for my size and my demeanour. But Shot… he always stood by me. He’s like a brother.”

“That’s not enough to earn my trust. Even brothers betray each other.”

Kabal remained composed, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I understand, but I think I know where they’ve taken your sister.”

Pasta’s eyes narrowed. “You know? Where?”

“It’s too dangerous. We can gather more adventurers and save her. Just be patient”

Pasta glared at him. “Tell me where she is, Kabal”

Kabal hesitated before speaking. “Skull Kingdom. It’s where the hunters’ base is... and where their leader, Jinni, resides.”

Skull Kingdom. What could they possibly want with Emilia? Why her?

“Tell me how to get there,” Pasta asked.

Kabal shifted uncomfortably before answering. “It’s north from here, a few kilometres away.”

Pasta turned to leave, stopping at the door. “I’ll say this once, Kabal,” he said. “If I find out you betrayed us… I will kill you.”

Kabal sighed and went for his check-in. He wasn’t there during the fight, but he could help. The Skull Kingdom wasn’t far. The best he could do now is to support Pasta any way he can. Still, the person who revealed their plans remained a mystery.

*

Zephyr sat atop the roof of Jinni’s castle. Ryder by her side.

“Thorne got hurt,” she whispered, her breath visible in the cold air. “He never gets hurt.”

“The Weeping Swordsman has been dealt with,” Ryder replied. “He’ll be forced to leave the Fourth Realm in shame.”

“Good,” Zephyr said, leaning forward. “Heaven knows why those two were so obsessed with him to begin with. They even went as far as attacking his teachers to draw him out.”

Ryder lowered his face mask. “Probably the same reason they kept me around.”

“What do you mean?”

“To the best of my knowledge, Darius is the strongest in the world, but he doesn’t believe it yet. He goes out of his way to acquire knowledge about strength.”

“Knowledge about strength?”

“I overheard him once, speaking with Thorne about the ‘five beings’ who will change the world. Five gifted.”

Zephyr’s eyes narrowed. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. You think you’re one of them?”

Ryder shook his head. “I don’t know. But they think I am… and so does the swordsman. Darius, unlike Thorne, doesn’t possess a gift. He’s mastered two of the three ancient powers, and his life force is… controlled, like a gardener’s hand, yet he can be as vicious as a wounded warrior in battle. There are two kinds of life force, calm and violent. He’s the first I’ve seen possess both to an unparalleled degree. I think he’s seeking out the strong—testing his limits. Just a theory.”

Zephyr crossed her arms, stepping closer. “You’re more perceptive than I thought. I knew there was something special about you the day Darius brought you in.”

Ryder’s face darkened. “Times have changed. There’s no future for someone chasing the title of ‘strongest.’ It’s a fool’s dream. True strength lies with beings like the Supreme One, the Demon Lord, or the Emperor of Dragons. Darius… stands no chance against them.”

Zephyr shot him a sharp look. “So, you agree then—it has to end.”

“Yes. Jinni’s already secured her. The one the lords call a celestial. The lords have no choice but to submit now. Jinni will establish the Tenth Realm and claim dominion over them all.”

Zephyr smiled. “You sound almost excited.”

Ryder looked away. “Must be your imagination.”

Zephyr turned, standing at the edge of the roof. “Darius has enemies everywhere—Dain the Monster Slayer, the leader of the Disciples, even the Divine Swordsmiths despise him. It’s only a matter of time before he gets killed.”

Ryder’s eyes followed her. “Where are you off to?”

“Darius tasked me with retrieving a little swordswoman. Could be my last mission for him. I’d hate to ruin it.” Zephyr leapt off the roof, disappearing beyond the borders of Skull Kingdom.

Ryder remained on the roof for a moment longer before descending into the castle. As he made his way to the dungeons, the hunters in passing nodded in acknowledgement. The dim torchlight flickered against the damp stone walls, casting long, twisted shadows.

He stopped before a cell, his voice low. “Wake up, Emilia. It’s time to meet your new master.”

*

Hades approached the ancient temple, and a sense of unease washed over him. The stone walls and looming vases at the corners seemed to guide him towards the central building.

He had struggled to climb up the mountain, only to discover a hidden stairway that had been there all along. Hades couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret for not noticing it earlier, he was better off not knowing about it.

As he stepped inside, the atmosphere became colder. An old masked woman sat atop a massive dead bear. Her long white hair, braided and laced with shells and charms, swayed as she muttered a prayer to the candle in front of her. Despite the gusts of wind that whispered through the open hall, the candle flame remained unwavering.

Hades’ hand hovered near his sword, eyeing the woman cautiously. Her mask resembled that of a hunter, but what was someone like her doing in a place like this?

“Child of wrath,” she whispered.

Hades steadied himself. “Who are you and how do you know that name?”

The old lady stood. “Come with me”

With a simple snap of her fingers, the candle extinguished, and the large doors behind Hades slammed shut. The woman grabbed a weathered walking stick and motioned for him to follow. His gaze flickered toward a table with various vials of medicine, but he hesitated. Something about this felt off.

“You’ve got deeper wounds to heal, my child,” she said, her voice almost too soft to hear. “Come.”

They ventured deeper into the temple. As they passed through dimly lit corridors, Hades noticed statues—each one wearing the same kind of hat he wore, though theirs had small bells hanging from them.

“You must have many questions,” the woman said as she gazed toward the ceiling. “Oh, how destiny brings us together. Me, an old woman near the end of her days, and you arriving at this temple… It is a blessed parting gift.”

They approached a door that swung open of its own accord, revealing a staircase spiralling downward.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I am the priestess of this temple. I’ve watched over it for more than a century. Since the rise of the new lord. I rarely get visitors, even the disciples hardly visit. Isn’t it sad?”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Hades said, his patience thinning.

The old priestess stopped and turned, her dark eyes gleaming behind the mask. “Tell me, child—what do you desire most?”

Hades sighed. “I need nothing. I’ve gained everything I wanted.”

A knowing smile crept across her face. “Is that what you think… or what it thinks?”

Hades blinked. “What?”

They arrived at yet another door, which opened.

“We’re here”

Inside, a large pool of water shimmered in the centre of the room. A strange spiral symbol, adorned with five distinct arcs, glowed faintly beneath the surface. The walls were lined with drawings—some familiar to Hades, resembling those he’d seen at the Demir of Grandeur. But one particular image sent a chill through him. A horned beast sat upon a throne, its eyes filled with malice.

“The false king,” the old woman whispered, her gaze locking onto Hades. “A man who almost ruled the world… but was betrayed by his Disciples. He lost everything when he was so close to the end of it all.”

“What kind of temple is this?” Hades asked.

“You came here to have your wounds healed. I am here for that,” she said, holding his hands and leading him down to the pool of water. “Gifts are precious, child. Mysterious blessings that fell from celestial realms, from the gods,” she said. “Yours is more than special. Destroyer of worlds.”

Hades stiffened. “Celestia? Destroyer? What nonsense are you talking about?”

The woman released him and gestured to the water. “Remove your clothes. We are about to begin.”

Hades hesitated. None of this made sense. But something about her presence, her words… compelled him. He stripped off his garments and waded into the pool.

The woman snapped her fingers, and the temple shook, the spiral glowing blue, lighting up the pool. “Son of wrath, find what’s within,” she appeared behind him, whispering. “Don’t try to forget anymore. Be with it, live with it.”

How did she become so fast? Hades wondered, feeling sleepy. It was as if he was being carried away. When did it all begin? How did he come to this? All those memories he wished to forget, all those people. His friends and master. He’ll see them again.