First Commission Gone Wrong
Hades sat on the rooftop, idly tossing pebbles into the distance as the cool night breeze brushed against him. Tomorrow marked the beginning of official training. He had spent his time here sparring alone and was forced to play games by his friends. Everything would change.
Lily skipped up beside him, plopping down without a word. She picked up a pebble and mimicked him.
Hades turned, surprised to see the ever-ecstatic troublemaker sitting so still. He had given her the name Lily, not because it was cute or anything but because it reminded him of the lily of the valley. A flower so beautiful yet extremely poisonous.
"Cat got your tongue, Hady?" Lily finally spoke, flashing a smirk. "Or am I just so adorable you want me by your side for all eternity?"
She hugged herself dramatically and swayed from side to side. "Oh no, please be gentle, Hady! I'm just a fragile young girl!"
Hades' face remained stone-cold as he turned away. "Tomorrow, we begin training with Sensei."
Lily stopped swaying. Her smirk faded. "Are you ignoring me?"
"It's going to be dangerous," he said, gazing into the distance.
Her eyes narrowed. "You are ignoring me."
"There's no reason for you to participate," he said. "It's not like it's mandatory and you may get hurt."
Lily threw her head back and cackled. "Oh, you really are funny, Hady. Why do you think I'm here? You act all cool and mysterious, but sometimes you're so dumb and..."
She smiled at him. "And surprisingly caring"
Hades exhaled, his breath forming a mist in the cold air. "Fine. Do whatever you want. I don't care."
Lily sat up, crawling closer. "Aw, don't be like that. It was just weird seeing you worry, that's all."
"I wasn't worried"
She leaned in. "So, you're a liar now, huh?"
Hades didn't react, though the faint redness in his cheeks betrayed him.
Lily sat back, stretching her arms. "Well, it's not like I'm scared or anything. It's just… the others. They all want to become great swordsmen. But us? We're just here for some gold."
"Speak for yourself," Hades muttered.
"Okay, I'm doing it for gold," she said. "While you… hmm…"
She tapped her chin, pretending to ponder.
Hades eyed her warily. "What are you thinking about now?"
She snapped her fingers. "Love!"
"No," Hades deadpanned. "And why would that even cross your mind?"
"Food."
"No. You can begin making reasonable guesses now, moron."
She gasped, eyes lighting up. "Oh, I got it—political strength and overwhelming power!"
"Same thing, you imbecile. And no."
Lily clutched her chest, pretending to sob. "Then… the dream of becoming the best swordsman in the world?"
Hades sighed. "I'm not searching for anything, Lily. I just want to be a swordsman. That's it."
Lily's teasing faded, replaced by something more serious. "Fear," she said.
Hades frowned. "What do you mean?"
She leaned forward, grabbing both his hands. "Your eyes might be red, but they're as dull as ever. So dark. So cloudy."
"You're saying weird stuff again," he muttered, pulling away.
Lily let out a sarcastic laugh. "Me? Weird? I could list a billion times you said weird stuff." She hopped to her feet. "Come on, let's call it a night. Wouldn't want to be asleep on our first day of training, would we?"
Hades watched as she leapt off the roof, disappearing into the night.
He sighed and tossed another pebble. "Why am I a swordsman?" He asked himself. "I've forgotten"
#
The Fourth Realm, also known as the Realm of the Departed, had long been a land of dread and immense power compared to the other realms.
Its name came from the countless souls lost in its frozen wastelands.
Travellers often joked that stepping foot there without at least four—maybe even five—layers of thick leather jackets was like writing your will in advance.
Emilia adjusted her glasses as she flipped through the second edition of the Adventurer's Guild handbook. The day had just begun, but the grand hall they sat in was already alive with murmured conversations and clinking glasses. Pasta, however, was contributing nothing to the atmosphere aside from his obnoxiously loud snoring. Meanwhile, Mr Swordsman remained seated, arms crossed, exuding his usual silence.
Their money situation was miserable and the food Pasta bought? Didn't even last a day since he ate them all.
The clothes Emilia had paid for with both her savings and sanity were up in flames after the explosion, well some of them at least.
Now, they found themselves in the domain of Kaden, a wealthy and influential merchant who had hired them for a commission.
After what felt like an eternity, a well-dressed lady stepped into the hall and addressed them. "The master will see you now."
Mr. Swordsman rose to his feet, casting a glance at Emilia.
She shut her book, returned her glasses to her handbag and with a loud thwack hit Pasta in the face.
"GUH—?!"
Pasta jolted upright, rubbing his nose. "What's happening? Hey, Sis? Swordsman? Morning."
Mr. Swordsman remained unmoved. "We're being called to discuss the job."
Pasta blinked blearily. "What job?"
Emilia rolled her eyes, already giving up. "The one we signed up for."
"When?"
The two stared at him, unamused. Then, without a word, they turned and walked away.
Pasta yawned and strolled after them, still half-asleep.
Inside the office, an older man sat behind a desk, his focus locked onto the mountain of paperwork before him. Kaden, the renowned merchant, wore his customary flowing robe with a white rose pinned to his chest. His quill flicked across documents, signing some, pushing others aside.
"I'll make this quick," he said, not bothering to look up. "I need you here as bodyguards for my daughter's wedding. There's a rather troublesome individual who may cause a ruckus on her special day."
"What kind of trouble?" Mr. Swordsman asked, matching the man's speed.
"He's been pestering my daughter for quite some time, causing issues for both her and myself."
Kaden finally glanced up, scrutinizing them. His eyes lingered on their attire—ragged cloaks, swords at their sides, and in Pasta's case, suspiciously rumpled clothing.
"…Do none of you own normal clothes?" he asked, exasperated. "I'd rather not have the troublemaker scared of coming himself."
Emilia quirked a brow. "You sound like you want this guy to show up."
"He's a criminal. A slippery one. He's been stealing from the Merchant's Guild for years. We've tried to capture him countless times, but now we have the upper hand. He'll definitely come to the wedding."
"So our job is to catch him?" Mr. Swordsman asked.
"No."
Kaden waved dismissively. "My guards will handle that. You will focus on keeping the wedding secure. I can't have my men splitting their attention."
Mr. Swordsman nodded. Is this even about his daughter's marriage? Or is he just using it as bait?
"How much is the pay?" he asked.
Emilia nearly choked. Pay?! She gawked at him. Isn't it a little early to be asking that?
Pasta, however, had fully woken up at the mention of money. He stretched and leaned forward. "And there'll be food, right? You can't have a wedding without food."
Kaden continued writing. "If the wedding goes smoothly, your party will receive five hundred gold coins. And yes, there will be food."
Pasta folded his arms and nodded with a sage-like air. "Good, good. You've got yourself a deal, old man."
Emilia remained quiet, contemplating the offer. It wasn't terrible. That was, until—
"Two thousand gold coins."
The room fell silent.
Pasta and Emilia's heads snapped toward Mr. Swordsman, eyes wide in horror.
Pasta scrambled to his side, whispering urgently, "What are you doing, man?! There's food! Lots of it! Don't ruin the deal?!"
Kaden leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. "And why should I pay such a hefty sum for mere security?"
Mr. Swordsman met his gaze, unmoved. "Providing security for a large wedding is one thing. But hiring an S-rank adventurer for a standard guard job? A man of your status would be praised for bringing someone of my calibre. But if you think I'm staying for mere pocket change, you're mistaken."
Emilia and Pasta blinked. Since the day they've met Mr Swordsman, he hasn't said that much. Usually, he stays quiet and nods.
Kaden rubbed his temples. "S-rank? My daughter must have overdone it again…" He sighed. "I don't need an S-rank for security. The guests can think whatever they like."
Mr. Swordsman remained composed. Typical people of the White Rose. He's more focused on catching the man than protecting his daughter.
Emilia waved her hands frantically. "N-No! The pay is fine! And we don't care about ranks, right, Mr. Swordsman?"
He didn't respond. Instead, after a long pause, he muttered, "I need some air," and left the room.
Pasta yawned, scratching his head. "What's his problem?"
Kaden didn't even glance up. "You may leave now. Payment will be given once the wedding concludes."
Emilia exhaled. "Well, that could've gone worse…"
Pasta stretched his arms with a grin. "Doesn't matter! Free food, here we come!"
Emilia sighed, already regretting everything.
#
The mansion buzzed with frantic energy. Maids and butlers scurried around, decorators bickered over the precise angle of flower arrangements, and somewhere in the distance, a chef was yelling at a poor assistant for nearly setting a cake on fire. Everyone was scrambling to ensure the wedding would be nothing short of perfection.
Meanwhile, Emilia stood guard outside the bride's door, stiff as a soldier, while in the yard, Mr. Swordsman was in the middle of his latest lesson with Pasta by which she meant repeatedly knocking her brother flat on his face.
Later that afternoon, the bride's younger sister would assign them their roles for the ceremony, but for now, Emilia was locked in a battle of endurance.
Her opponent?
Standing.
Her legs ached, her feet throbbed, and she was fairly certain her bones were about to turn to noddles. Who knew standing for so long was so tiring?
She sighed and slumped onto the floor, no longer willing to suffer in silence. Pulling out her journal.
The cover was made with thick leather and had some diagrams on it.
She flipped to a blank page. The book was filled with sketches and notes about structures, relics, and entities she had studied, but today's entry would be something new.
"The first official commission of Emilia, future legendary adventurer," she wrote.
Then, just as she was about to add a dramatic opening line, a loud thud echoed from the yard.
She glanced up. "Pasta must be getting beat up again," she said before smirking to herself. "Good for him."
#
Pasta roared and swung his blade at Mr. Swordsman.
"Today's lesson will be different," Mr. Swordsman said, effortlessly tilting his head to avoid the strike.
Pasta pressed forward, and each attack met with nothing but empty air as his opponent sidestepped with ease.
They were in an open field just outside the mansion. On the far end, preparations for the wedding were underway.
"The three great powers," Mr. Swordsman said. "You've already grasped one. Now, let's move on to the next."
"Got it," Pasta grunted, still swinging.
"You've learned the art of commanding— enhancing elemental forces, bending them to your will. A fundamental skill, yet indispensable," Mr. Swordsman said before kicking Pasta square in the chest. The boy hurtled backwards, crashing into a stone wall.
Pasta coughed, spitting blood as he struggled to his feet, his breath ragged.
"The next power is Parallel Space—the mastery of one's presence,"
Mr. Swordsman raised his sword. "A swordsman who commands Parallel Space can sever themselves from this timeline, moving to a higher plane where everything slows to a crawl in their eyes."
Pasta grits his teeth and slams his foot into the ground, launching himself forward. Before he knew it, his blade had sliced clean through Mr. Swordsman's wrist.
He froze. It was too easy. Far too easy.
Then, the severed hand and the body it belonged to vanished like smoke. The real Mr Swordsman stood behind him, the cold steel of his blade resting against the back of Pasta's neck.
"It can also be used to create afterimages," he whispered. "Unlike burst and commandments, this technique drains a lot of lifeforce. It must be used sparingly. As an old man once told me, strength belongs to a king, but speed? Speed is the art of a cunning thief. Unseen, untouched, he takes what he wants without question, without morals."
His voice lowered. "So, tell me, Pasta—how would you defeat such an opponent?"
Pasta wiped the blood from his lips and smirked. "Easy. I'll just beat 'em to a pulp."
He swung, deflecting Mr. Swordsman's blade, and in the same instant, his coating erupted—green light shimmering wildly around him.
Mr. Swordsman narrowed his eyes, unsheathing his sword fully and gave some distance between them.
How unfortunate. And here I thought you've changed.
"You'll never master this if you don't calm your mind," he said. "Step back. Try again."
Pasta wiped the sweat from his forehead, exhaling sharply. "Parallel Space… that must be why I couldn't see him, that bird man." His fingers curled into fists. "I just need to get faster, right? That's all!"
He dashed forward, a trail of dust rising in his wake.
As he neared Mr. Swordsman, he stomped hard, kicking up a whirlwind of dirt and debris.
Then with a burst, he formed a little cloud of smoke.
Mr. Swordsman's eyes sharpened. "Who's there?"
As the dust settled, a figure emerged. His fiery red hair swayed in the breeze as he held Pasta's sword in his hand.
"I happen to be a swordsman myself," the man said. "Just here to drop off a gift for the bride—a friend of mine. But…" His gaze fell upon Pasta's trembling form. "That was before I saw my pupil acting recklessly again."
"Pupil?" Mr. Swordsman turned to Pasta.
The boy stood frozen. Even now, he could hear the clinking of chains, and feel the countless needles piercing his skin.
His breath came heavy. His fingers twitched before he sheathed his blade and took a step back. He knows the bride, why here? Why now?
Mr. Swordsman studied him for a moment before shifting his gaze to the red-haired man. "Can I interest you in a duel?"
Zyrion turned slightly, his sharp crimson eyes glinting. "That's sudden. But I didn't come here to fight."
"You see, I'm currently your former pupil's teacher. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to witness both his master cross blades. He might even learn something from it. We both want what's best for him, don't we?"
Pasta's fists clenched. I don't need your help, nameless swordsman.
Mr. Swordsman met his glare. "I'm only showing you what it means to be a true warrior—something you're still far from becoming."
"I agree," Zyrion said, crossing his arms. "He's always been reckless. This will be good for him."
Though the real reason I'm here… is you, Hades. His eyes flickered. Just how strong have you become? Has that cursed gift of yours awakened? If it has… I must know. And I must report it to the Lord.
Zyrion drew his sword, and in an instant, the surrounding dragons at the hilt vanished.
Mr. Swordsman was already upon him, blade whistling toward his throat.
Zyrion remained motionless, his gaze flicking to the weapon. A dark blade, huh?
With a mere flick of his wrist, he deflected the strike and sidestepped the next one that completely destroyed the wall.
Before Pasta could even comprehend what was happening, the two swordsmen erupted into a storm of clashing steel. Their life force crackled around them, distorting the air itself.
The ground trembled beneath their feet, splintering with every impact.
Each stroke carried enough force to carve through the trees lining the field.
Mr Swordsman leapt into the air, harnessing the wind to twist over Zyrion's blade. Midair, he inhaled deeply before delivering a crushing downward slash.
Zyrion raised his sword in defence, blocking the attack, but the sheer force sent a shockwave rippling outward, slicing a thin line across Pasta's cheek.
The wedding preparations came to a standstill. The workers stood frozen, their eyes wide in disbelief.
Pasta clenched his fists. So this is Mr. Swordsman's true power? He's been holding back against me all this time…
I can't be strong. Not like that. How can I ever be like him? He moves as if this is nothing. How?
A chilling breeze washed over him.
Silence.
Both swordsmen had vanished.
Yet, if one listened closely, the faint clashing of steel could still be heard.
Pasta could feel it. Parallel Space.
The battlefield stretched across an unseen plane, their duel transcending ordinary speed. They were locked in a relentless exchange, a war waged in the blink of an eye, surrounding him from every direction.
The world greyed as the battle tore through the mansion, then back to the fields.
Zyrion kicked Mr Swordsman right in the face, sending him hurtling through the wedding decorations.
His hair flared, his pupils swirling with fire. "Time to end this."
In a blur, he sliced through Mr. Swordsman.
Silence.
Zyrion exhaled as he sheathed his blade with a soft click.
Then, from seemingly nowhere, hundreds of dragons materialized, their forms coiling and twisting as they carved through Mr Swordsman's body before returning to the sheath, circling around once more.
"You're strong," Zyrion whispered. "But not enough."
A voice rang out, raw with defiance.
"No. No. No. No!!"
The sky bled red.
Mr Swordsman's life force flared like living darkness as he screamed and dashed forward.
Zyrion's hand shot to his neck, his fingers coming away slick with blood.
Mr. Swordsman stood before him, his breaths ragged, his clothes in tatters, fresh wounds seeping crimson. His blade was pressed firmly against Zyrion's throat.
One hand held his sword. The other kept him from going for the kill.
"It's over," Mr Swordsman whispered.
Zyrion held his gaze. "Yes, it is."
Colour returned to the world.
Zyrion stepped away, not sparing Pasta a glance who collapsed to the floor.
Emilia rushed past him, her eyes locking onto his for a brief second before she knelt by her brother's side.
"That was Zyrion. Are you alright? You're bleeding! Did he do this to you?"
Pasta wiped his cheek. "No."
When he looked up, Mr. Swordsman was gone.
Zyrion approached the workers, tossing them a pouch of gold. "For the damages, also tell the bride congratulations on my behalf. I'm in a hurry"
He made his way back to his carriage. "To the Second Realm"
On his way, he stared out the window lost in thought for a while.
"He still hasn't awakened, good," he muttered. "But, a swordsman with no will shall always fight with a shattered edge."