Andrew_Nickene

This is the journey of another young swordsman that was raised in a commoner family until a young age Andrew discovered that the had excellent skills to wield a sword.
The story starts when Andrew joins the biggest competition on his continet of swordsmanship 
were he is given the opportunity to get an artifact rarity of a sword called Ashren that has the power to show the past lifes of whoever wields it. 
The sword gave Andrew the power of his past life to forge his own new journey.

Ashren: The Shadow Within

Chapter 49: The City the Gods Abandoned

The wind howled across the Rifted Plateau, a jagged stretch of land where nature itself seemed afraid to settle. The sun refused to shine here as brightly as it did elsewhere—its light faded at the edge of the cliff, like it too feared what lay ahead.

Andrew stood at the threshold of Norvangar, once the seat of the divine order—now reduced to cracked spires and crooked bones of temples.

Mihai, hood drawn low, muttered a prayer Andrew didn't recognize.

"This place was forbidden even in your past life," Mihai said.

"That's why we're here," Andrew replied.

Behind them, a small group of warriors—volunteers from the Starbound Order and a few Velmoran scouts—walked in uneasy silence. Their blades were sharp, but their nerves were thin.

The party passed broken statues of nameless gods, their faces carved off, their hands reaching out toward something long gone. Strange symbols burned faintly on the ground beneath Andrew's feet.

"Do you feel that?" one scout whispered."Like we're being watched?"

Shadows didn't crawl here—they listened. Every footstep stirred ancient power beneath the stones. Ashren vibrated on Andrew's back, as if the sword remembered something it wanted to forget.

Inside a ruined temple, a great obsidian door stood untouched by decay. Andrew raised his hand—and the moment his fingers grazed the surface, it opened.

Rows upon rows of soldiers—encased in black armor, unmoving, unbreathing—as if frozen in time. Some sat with hands on their swords, others kneeled in formation. At their head, a massive throne crumbled into dust, and above it, a mural:

A shadowed warrior standing over a slain god, lifting a blade that looked far too much like Ashren.

"No," Andrew corrected. "They were his. My other self."

The silence broke with the soft click of armor.

The first to stand stepped forward, helmet in hand. His face was cracked stone, and his eyes glowed with a dull violet hue.

"You have returned, my lord," he said, kneeling.

"I'm not the man you remember," Andrew replied.

"Perhaps. But the sword speaks your name. And we remember only loyalty."

As the legion awoke, Andrew turned to Mihai, his expression torn between awe and dread.

Mihai knelt beside a dusty wall, brushing off runes.

"If these numbers are true—ten thousand."

The ceiling above them trembled as if reacting to their presence. Ashren pulsed once, a whisper curling into Andrew's mind.

"Wake them all… and begin again."

"No. I won't conquer. I'll protect."