In the shadowed throne room, where the stench of death hung heavy in the air, a firm voice pierced the silence: "Finally, after all this time, your end has come, Aurelian... or should I say, the deposed ruler of the Kingdom of Alix?"

The tyrant responded with a mocking cackle, indifferent to their threats. The hero, Arthur Sigurd, stepped forward, unsheathing his blade with eyes burning with resolve: "I will never let your darkness swallow this world! My comrades and I have sworn by our blood to protect the realms from the likes of you!"

Aurelian rose coldly from his seat, drawing his black blade. "And who will stop me? You? Try, then."

The heroes charged like a raging storm, but their strength shattered against the rock of his overwhelming power. They retreated, panting and exhausted, as Aurelian laughed scornfully: "Is your strength spent so soon? I haven't even finished warming up!"

Arthur gathered his remaining strength, and the companions braced for a final assault. But amidst the chaos, one shadow remained still... and suddenly, a treacherous blade flashed through the air. In the blink of an eye, Arthur’s head rolled across the floor.

Eyes widened in horror, and shock stifled the companions' screams as they stared at the killer... It was their own comrade, Hideki.

With icy detachment, Hideki spoke to his shell-shocked friends: "What’s wrong, everyone? You know well that I always lean toward the winning side. Aurelian’s power is invincible, and he offered me my life and the lordship of a kingdom... an offer like that simply cannot be refused."

His friend Mark screamed, tears streaming down his face: "What are you raving about, Hideki?! You would betray all of humanity and lick the boots of this cursed devil for a hollow throne?!"

They rushed toward him in vengeance, but a hidden spell paralyzed them instantly, pinning them to the spot.

Hideki approached with slow, deliberate steps, whispering: "It is a trap I prepared in advance, just in case of your futile victory. I’ll start with you, Mark... Yes, I would sell the entire world for my own goals." With a single strike, he took Mark’s head.

He turned toward Kazumi, his eyes overflowing with deep-seated malice: "You called me a brother, Kazumi, but I never saw you as anything but an enemy. You excelled at everything; you had a family and warmth, while I slept on the frozen streets and fed on scraps. But... what fuels my rage most is that 'Mika' is the one who will mourn you... I have always loathed the feelings she harbors for you."

Before Kazumi could process the shock, Hideki’s sword swung, claiming Mika’s life. Kazumi let out a heart-wrenching scream, and Hideki smiled a diabolical smile: "Since you share the same feelings, why don't you meet in hell and marry there?" With a final blow, the curtain fell on the heroes' lives.

Hideki stood silent, blood dripping from his blade. Aurelian’s applause echoed through the hall: "Well done, Hideki! A truly spectacular, bloody show! But unfortunately, in my new world, there is no place for your kind. You shall die with them!"

Aurelian raised his sword, but surprise paralyzed him; a sharp blade sank into Hideki’s own neck. The strike wasn't from the tyrant—Hideki had turned his blade upon himself.

Aurelian recoiled in bewilderment: "You stab yourself? Is this what you call knightly pride?!"

Hideki coughed up blood, a mysterious smile playing on his lips: "No, you fool... this is the end of your dreams."

At that moment, the sky cracked open, revealing a giant portal. Aurelian thought for a second it was his army, but the portal overflowed with a suffocating darkness and an ominous aura.

Hideki added with a trembling voice: "Do you know what this is? It is the 'Gate of Doom.' To open it, I needed five sacrifices saturated with pure, absolute hatred. Do you think Arthur hated me for no reason? I slaughtered his parents before his very eyes before we arrived, and he couldn't kill me because of an artifact's curse until the mission was complete. And now, Aurelian... let's go to hell together."

Before he could finish, the portal exploded with catastrophic energy, erasing the palace, the army, and the tyrant. It left nothing behind but ash scattered by the wind.

In the midst of this void, Hideki’s spirit drifted, watching his handiwork. He smiled bitterly: "Finally... the era of terror is over, and humanity will know peace. But the price was steep... and my soul now heads toward the abyss."

Regret gnawed at him as he remembered his friends: "What a cruel irony... I was born in the gutters, and when I joined the knights, I found warmth. They called me brother; I lived among them in a comfort that felt like heaven's compensation. Yet, I had to reap their souls with my own hands. Was I destined for misery and ruin forever? If I were granted another chance... another life... I would fix all of this."

In response to his final plea, a brilliant light pierced the darkness, blinding him. When the light faded and his eyes opened again, he wasn't in hell. He found himself breathing, pulsing with life, and the clock had turned back...

He stood once more, a boy of fifteen

Hideki opened his eyes slowly, greeted by the prickly texture of the hay he had used as a makeshift bed. He blinked several times, trying to process the scene. There was no battlefield, and the stench of blood and death no longer choked his lungs. Instead, the warm, savory aroma of vegetable stew wafted toward him from the window of the neighboring wooden shack.

He raised his hands before his face to examine them. His eyes widened in disbelief; they were small, frail hands, completely free of the battle scars and the sword-calluses that had defined his previous life.

Before he could organize his scattered thoughts, a thick, calloused hand lunged through the open window, grabbing him by the collar and hoisting him into the air with brute force.

A gruff, familiar voice roared, "You little brat! Are you sleeping on my cart again? How many times have I told you to stay away from it?!"

Dangling in mid-air, Hideki tried to focus on the angry man’s face. The voice didn’t seem familiar at first, until their eyes met. Hideki’s eyes stretched wide as he whispered to himself, "Ah... I remember now. It’s Uncle David... the one with the ugly face."

Apparently, his whisper wasn't faint enough. David’s expression twisted with even more rage. "Did you just say 'ugly face'?!"

Hideki stared intently at the man’s face, ignoring the choking grip on his collar. He spoke with a tone of mock gravity, "Actually, Uncle David, you’re much uglier than I remember. Tell me, after you died, did you take a wrong turn and cross into Hell instead of Heaven? Or did they throw you back here just because of your face?"

Fed up with the boy's insolence, David tightened his grip, growling, "So, you’re claiming I’m dead, and that I’m in Hell because of my face?! You little brat, I’m not dead yet... but I know exactly who’s going to die today!"

David yanked the boy through the window into the shack and reached for his wooden cane to teach him a lesson he wouldn't forget.

Minutes later, Hideki staggered out of the shack, brushing dust off his tattered clothes, his body aching from the bruises. He rubbed his head, muttering to himself, "What in the world? David’s pain is still real and stinging! If I’m in Hell or a dream, why am I seeing my village—the one that was crushed by monsters and turned to ash years ago?"

He stopped in front of the glass display of an old shop. He approached with hesitant steps and looked at his reflection. He touched his small face, devoid of the features of cruelty and despair that the days had carved into him in his past life.

"I’ve really returned to being a child..." he whispered, unconvinced. "Is this some cosmic joke? What kind of absurd dream is this?"

He desperately needed definitive proof—something to show him that this pain wasn't an illusion.

He spotted a group of children playing in the alleys from a distance. Among them was a boy about his own age, a boy who used to bully him relentlessly in the past.

With confident strides that didn't match his size, Hideki headed toward them. As soon as the bully saw him, he stopped playing and stepped forward with a malicious grin. "What brings you here, you filthy vagabond?"

Instead of retreating as he used to do in his childhood, Hideki spread his arms wide and smiled coldly. "Punch me."

The boy stopped, stunned. "Have you gone mad? Or do you enjoy being my punching bag?"

Hideki provoked him with even deeper coldness, "No, I just want to make sure your punch still feels like a little girl's."

Blinded by rage, the boy lunged at Hideki and landed a heavy blow to his face. Hideki took a step back from the force of the strike, but he didn't fall. He tasted the blood in his mouth, and instead of crying... he smiled. The pain was real. Reality was real.

The boy shouted arrogantly, "See that? My fist isn't a girl's strike!"

Hideki wiped the blood from his lip slowly, raising his eyes, which carried the gaze of a veteran killer who had fought a thousand battles. "Yes, you showed me. And now... it’s my turn to show you."

The boy let out a mocking cackle. "What are you going to do? You're just a brat I knock down every day and toss into the trash where you belong—"

He didn't finish his sentence. In the blink of an eye, Hideki’s small body moved with a terrifying fluidness, retained from his future muscle memory. His fist wound up and delivered a single, precise, devastating blow that sent the boy airborne before he hit the ground unconscious.

The rest of the children froze in their places, their faces pale with terror.

Hideki calmly shook out his hand and said in a glacial voice, "You used to hit me in the past, yes. But from now on, you better stay out of my way, or I won’t stop at just knocking you down."

The children fled, tails between their legs, leaving Hideki standing alone, staring at the village alleys. He looked at the simple shacks and listened to the distant laughter of the villagers. His heart tightened as he remembered how this laughter had turned into horrific screams and endless wailing in the future.

"I won't let that happen again..." he vowed silently. "It’s a new beginning, a chance to fix the past and the future."

His epic thoughts were interrupted by a loud growl echoing from his empty stomach.

He sighed helplessly. "Fine. Before saving the world, I have to feed this stomach. I wonder, did David leave me some of that stew?"

He retraced his steps to David’s shack and knocked on the door. The man opened it with a scowling face, and as soon as he saw Hideki, he bellowed, "Back again, you brat! Did your stomach start growling? We don't feed beggars here, so get lost!"

Hideki ignored the threats, lightly pushed past him, and entered the shack. "Yes, yes, play the tough guy as usual. Kick me out, then leave a bowl of food outside later and pretend some kind passerby left it for me and not you."

David froze, his ears turning red with embarrassment. "How... how did you know?!"

Hideki smiled sincerely this time. "Thank you for worrying about me, Uncle David. I’m truly grateful."

David cleared his throat, trying to regain his dignity, and scratched his nose nervously. "Listen to me, boy. I just don't want you getting attached to this place. This village is so poor we survive on scraps. The people here can barely feed their own children; they won't give you anything."

Hideki sat at the wooden table and picked up a spoon, winking. "I know that well. That’s why I always come to my ugly, single friend to feed me!"

WHACK!

David’s fist came down on Hideki’s head again.

"Are you going to keep calling me ugly?! Looks aren't everything, you brat!"

Hideki rubbed his head in pain. "Fine. If looks aren't the problem, why don't you find a woman and go on a date?"

David sighed bitterly. "Because I barely have enough for my daily bread. I won't waste my meager coins on desperate attempts with girls."

Hideki held up the spoon like a philosopher delivering wisdom. "Excellent! Stay a miserable bachelor for the sake of saving the price of a meal. What a brilliant life plan!"

David’s patience finally snapped. He grabbed Hideki by the collar, lifted him high, and hung him by his clothes on a coat hook bolted to the wall.

"I’ve had enough of your sharp tongue! You’re staying up there until morning. And since you’re talking about saving, I’ve decided to save the cost of your meal today for my romantic future! Goodbye, I’m going to sleep."

Dangling in the air, Hideki realized he had pushed too far. He tried to fix the situation with a desperate voice, "Brother David! My dearest friend! I was only joking! You’re not ugly, you just need... better lighting! A suitable partner! And listen to me, saving doesn't come from depriving poor people like me, but from feeding them so your wealth increases and is blessed!"

David stopped at the wooden door, seemingly considering it. He smirked mischievously as he picked up the bowl of hot stew. "You know? You're right. Feeding the hungry increases blessings."

He opened the door and poured the stew outside, calling out, "Come here, village dogs! You're hungry too! Thanks for the golden advice, Hideki. Goodnight!"

He slammed the door, leaving Hideki dangling from the hook in silence, his mind racing with a mix of fury, starving hunger, and deep regret for his talkative tongue that never knew when to shut up.

The air was thick with the phantom scent of ash. In my mind’s eye, I could already hear them: the bone-chilling screams, the thunder of collapsing homes, and the rhythmic splatter of blood upon the cobblestones. Panic would soon be the only language spoken here. Those who tripped would be trampled—either by the encroaching monsters or by the frantic boots of their own neighbors.

This was the inevitable fate of the village. As I walked through the dusty paths, every corner I turned triggered a fresh flash of this impending massacre. What stung more than the fear was the indifference of those who called themselves "heroes." They turned a blind eye to our plight, for a village this impoverished offered no gold, only a hollow "thank you." And in a world of steel and greed, gratitude buys no protection.

I realized then: the salvation of this place rested on my shoulders alone. I needed my weapon. It waited for me in the deepest, most suffocating reaches of the forest. But to reach it, I needed a blade to survive the journey. With empty pockets and a heart full of dread, I turned toward the only man who could help: David.

A Broken Table and a Fool’s Pride

I reached David’s door and pounded on the wood. He swung it open, his face a mask of irritation.

"What now? Have you come to get yourself into more trouble?" he barked.

"No," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. "I’ve come for something else. I need your sword."

David froze. He narrowed his eyes, retreated into the shadows of his home, and returned gripping his blade. "You want my sword? And what, pray tell, does a boy want with such a burden?"

"I'm going into the forest," I lied, the words tasting like copper. "To gather rare herbs. I'll sell them, make some gold, and finally stop being a nuisance to you."

A cynical smirk pulled at his lips. "A fifteen-year-old herbalist? How charming. And I suppose you’ve mastered the art of the blade overnight as well?"

Without warning, David raised the sword and brought it down with a deafening crack. His heavy wooden table was split clean in two. I recoiled, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Don't toy with me, Hideki!" he roared. "Tell me the truth. Did you break something you can't pay for? Or are you chasing ghosts in those woods?"

I exhaled a long, shaky breath. "Was it really necessary to destroy a table worth half your miserable salary, you oaf? I haven’t caused any trouble. I’m just tired of begging. I want to earn enough to buy a sword of my own."

David sighed, his anger simmering down into skepticism. "Then the real question remains: do you even know how to hold a sword?"

I masked my fear with a layer of unearned arrogance. "The sword and my hand are one. I am a genius of the blade."

He looked at me as if I were a stray dog claiming to be a wolf. "Fine. If you’re such a master, duel me. If you win, the sword is yours. If I win... I'll take your head."

"I accept," I said, "except for the part about my head."

The Duel of Will

He handed me the sword. The moment my fingers closed around the hilt, reality set in. It was monstrously heavy—my small hands felt pathetic against its cold, weighted steel. My movements were sluggish, like treading through mud. Yet, I stood my ground. I lunged at him, swinging with desperate, frantic arcs.

David moved like a shadow, dodging my strikes with effortless grace. "Is this how you plan to slay monsters? You move like a dying ox! You'll be dead before you clear the tree line."

Stung by his words, a surge of adrenaline forced my limbs to move faster. I pushed beyond my limits, my strikes becoming a blur of steel.

David’s eyes widened slightly. He's getting faster, he must have thought, but his frame is still too frail. "Enough of this," David muttered, swinging his wooden practice staff to end the charade. But my instincts screamed. My body moved before my mind could process it—a counter-strike, sharp and instinctive.

The wooden staff snapped. The sound echoed in the small room. My blade stopped, trembling, mere inches from David’s stomach.

"I won!" I shouted, breathless and triumphant.

David’s face turned a deep shade of red. "You won because my staff was old and your luck was high!"

I grinned at him, the thrill of victory overcoming my exhaustion. "Are you truly upset because a child bested you?"

He grabbed the broken pieces of wood and hurled them at me. "Get out of here, you brat! Just go!"

The Phantom of the Fourth Chosen

I vanished into the forest as night fell. The woods were unnervingly silent. I pushed deeper into the darkness until I found it—a sword with a hilt of sapphire and a blade of shimmering gold. Four circles were etched into the metal: the mark of the Fourth Chosen of the Legendary Weapons.

As I reached for it, a ghostly figure materialized from the mist—the spirit of the previous wielder. "You who seek the blade... stay your hand. This steel belongs only to the Chosen."

"I am the Chosen," I countered, my voice echoing in the clearing. "This sword chose me long ago."

The knight’s phantom brow furrowed. "Long ago? I do not recall your face among the aspirants."

"That is because I come from a future yet to be written. I was the master of this blade, and I inherited it from you."

The knight stared into my soul, his gaze heavy with sorrow. "Your eyes speak a truth, traveler... but the threads of time have tangled. The choice has changed. You are not the one the heavens have named this time. It belongs to another."

Rage boiled in my chest. "Another? To hell with that! I don't have time for your riddles or your destiny! My village is on the brink of slaughter. If I don't carry this sword, the nightmare will become real, and I will not let that happen!"

"To defy fate is to invite a storm you cannot weather, boy," the knight warned.

"Then let the lightning strike me!" I screamed, and with a final, agonizing heave, I ripped the sword from its pedestal.

The knight began to fade, his form dissolving into sparks of light. "You have taken it by force, without the blessing of the Order. The blade will remain hollow—a mere piece of metal without power—until it reaches its true master. If you wish to save your world... find the true Chosen."

The forest returned to its oppressive silence. I stood alone, holding a legendary weapon that felt as cold and dead as a tombstone. I knelt, gathered a few handfuls of herbs to maintain my cover for David, and began the long trek back to the village—carrying a powerless sword and the weight of a dying future.