A sword is not forged in fire alone... it is forged by the choices of the one who wields it. The Kingdom of Ashenfall was a land where warriors were respected above kings. Every child dreamed of becoming a swordsman. Every warrior dreamed of becoming a legend. But above all legends, there existed one name whispered with reverence... The Supernatural Sword. It was said that the blade possessed a will of its own. For over a thousand years, it had rejected every warrior who dared to seek it. Only one man in history had ever been acknowledged by the sword. Since then... No one had been worthy. Among the countless warriors chasing that impossible dream lived a man named Joro. People once believed he would become the next legend. He possessed extraordinary strength. His swordsmanship was terrifying. His instincts in battle were unmatched. But talent alone could never create greatness. Joro lacked discipline. He lacked patience. Worst of all... He could never control his anger. After every defeat, he drowned himself in alcohol instead of improving. Instead of sharpening his blade... He dulled his own spirit. One rainy evening... The door of a small wooden house slammed open. Joro stumbled inside, the smell of alcohol filling the room. His armor was stained with mud and blood. Roza looked up from the table. She didn't need to ask. She already knew. "You lost again." Joro threw his sword onto the floor. "It wasn't my fault." Roza sighed. "It is always someone else's fault, isn't it?" Joro's voice hardened. "You weren't there." "I don't need to be there." She stood up slowly. "I've seen this same man come home for years." Joro clenched his fists. "You think I'm weak?" "I think you're wasting the gift God gave you." Silence filled the room. Joro looked away. Roza walked toward the wall where an old sword hung untouched. Her sword. Once... She had been one of the kingdom's finest swordswomen. Until war took everything. She gently touched the empty sleeve hanging beside her body. Her right arm... Gone forever. Joro lowered his eyes. "...I'm sorry." Roza smiled sadly. "I never cried because I lost my arm." She looked directly into his eyes. "I cried because I watched you throw away both of yours." The room became silent. Only the sound of rain echoed outside. Roza poured the bottle of alcohol onto the ground. The liquid spread across the wooden floor. Joro exploded in anger. "What are you doing?!" Roza didn't flinch. "I'm trying to save my husband." "My life is none of your business!" She stepped closer. "It became my business the day I married you." Joro couldn't answer. For a brief moment... The warrior who terrified battlefields looked like nothing more than a broken man. Months later... War arrived once again. Thousands of soldiers gathered beneath dark skies. Joro tightened his grip around his sword. A fellow warrior approached him. "Joro." "What?" "If this battle is your last..." "What?" "...fight like the man everyone believed you could become." Joro remained silent. For the first time in years... He smiled. "I'll try." The battlefield turned into chaos. Steel clashed. Arrows rained from the heavens. The earth itself trembled beneath marching armies. Joro fought like a man possessed. One enemy. Ten. Twenty. He cut through them all. For a moment... It looked as though destiny had finally chosen him. Then... One careless decision. One reckless charge. One fatal mistake. A spear pierced his chest. Joro fell to his knees. The sword slipped from his hand. As the sky grew darker, he whispered his final words. "...Roza..." "...I'm sorry." The greatest enemy he had ever faced... Was never the army before him. It was himself. Days later... Rain fell over a lonely grave. Roza stood in silence. Beside her stood a small boy, no older than six. His name was Rama. He looked up at his mother. "Mother..." "Was Father a bad man?" Roza closed her eyes. "No." "Then... why is everyone calling him a failure?" Tears gathered in her eyes. "Because people only remember victories." She knelt before her son. "But I remember the man who kept standing after every defeat." She placed Joro's old sword into Rama's tiny hands. The blade was far too heavy. He almost dropped it. Roza steadied it with her remaining hand. "Listen carefully, Rama." "This sword belonged to your father." "He couldn't fulfill his dream." "But dreams do not die..." "They are inherited." Rama looked at the sword. "...Can I really become strong?" Roza smiled. "No." Rama looked confused. She gently placed her forehead against his. "You won't become strong." "You will become the greatest swordsman this world has ever known." Her voice became unwavering. "You will claim the Supernatural Sword..." "...the blade that no one has touched for a thousand years." The wind howled across the cemetery. The boy tightened his grip on the broken sword. He didn't fully understand his mother's words. But he would never forget them. Far beyond the clouds... It almost felt as if destiny itself had begun to watch him. End of Chapter 1 ⚔️

Chapter 1The fallen swordsman