The battlefield lay in ruins, a nightmarish landscape painted in shades of violence and ruin. The sky was obscured due to the smoke and the air was thick with the acrid stench of blood and charred flesh. Bodies lay strewn across the battlefield, a silent testament to the ferocity of the clash that had unfolded in this very ground.
Amongst the remnants of the defeated army, stood a swordsman, his blade painted red with the blood of countless foes and his body bore the brutal marks of countless battles. He had already discarded his armor which was punctured with slash wounds, numerous arrows and whatnot. Despite being covered in countless wounds, he continued to press forward.
'Why am I still fighting?' The swordsman wondered, his mind hazy with exhaustion and pain. 'Why don't I fall down?'
With each swing of his sword, another enemy fell and yet they seemed endless. They simply kept on coming in more numbers. His muscles screamed in protest, his vision blurred, but he still kept on moving. He wasn't fighting for victory. The victory had already been snatched away from their hands when their nation surrendered in the middle of the war. Yet soldiers from both sides continued to clash, despite the deals between the nations simply because that is a soldier's duty, to lay down their lives for their nations. That's what they are taught.
The swordsman did not swing his sword for victory. The sword was swung because of a deep-seated instinct, honed by years of training and bloodshed.
'I have become nothing more than a weapon.' He thought bitterly, cutting down another soldier while barely registering the look of fear in his eyes. His mind had completely gone numb, and his body operated on a primal level. He could no longer remember why he had started fighting.
The only thought that raced in his mind was to put an end to the battle.
The end of this battle seemed near. Most of the enemy soldiers were cowering back in fear, not wanting to have their ends written by the bloodied blade of the approaching swordsman. Only a few of them dared to try and take him down, only to be taken down by his sword. The swordsman simply couldn't be stopped and the soldiers of the other side, failed to comprehend what was his driving force.
Each step he took was paved by blood and agony.
The swordsman was finally brought to his knees, when a lancer, who hid himself beneath the numerous corpses of his own allies, launched a cowardly thrust from the soldier's back, piercing through his torso in a single thrust. Swordsmen's back have always been their greatest weakness and thus, the swordsmen have always valued to not show their backs to their enemies, no matter how hard things get for them. Any wound on their back was considered the greatest shame to a swordsman.
"Die with the shame of having a wound on your back." The lancer seemed proud despite employing cowardly tactics. For him, only certain victory mattered, no matter the means.
"T-that does sound like a fitting end for s-someone like me, huh." The swordsman coughed up blood before mustering the last bit of his strength and throwing his sword, aimed at the lancer's neck.
The noise around the battlefield seemed to have quieted down around the swordsman as he stayed in the same position, not even bothering to pull out the lance and even try to stop any more blood from flowing out his injuries. He had accepted this as his end and made no effort to save his life anymore.
It is often said that, in one's final moments, their life flashes before their eyes. The swordsman had never believed in such tales—until now, as he faced his own death, alone on a forsaken battlefield, with no one left to mourn him. Such was the life he had lived: one steeped in blood and unending war, a life meant only to be used and cast aside.
'Karma is a bitch, ain't it?' The vision in his eyes were slowly fading and what flashed in his mind weren't the faces of his comrades with whom he fought together but the visages of those he had slain by his very own hands. It wasn't just limited to enemy soldiers or commanders, but innocent civilians caught in the merciless tide of war.
They all seemed to curse him, condemning him to rot in hell, declaring that his end should be as meaningless as his life had been.'
Is it wrong to yearn for a second chance?' The warrior knew he had done many deeds, unbefitting of a human being and deserved to meet a disgraceful death. Yet somewhere inside him, he wished to live a better life than the one he led up until today. He accepted his demise, letting his regrets die down with him.
Those were the last thoughts in his head before he closed his eyes for eternity, the horrors of the battlefield melting down, leaving only the silence of his passing.
_______________________________________'
What's this place? Doesn't seem like hell at all.'
This was the swordsman's first thought as he reopened his eyes, finding himself lying at the base of an unfamiliar mountain range. From there, he could make out a city in the distance, dominated by a colossal tower at its center. Though the details of the tower were obscured, its imposing silhouette was visible even from miles away.
Another curious detail that the swordsman noticed was his new attire. Instead of the armor he was wearing during the battle, he was now dressed in an unbleached, rough, blue cotton tunic with irregular texture. It had sewn threads on the cuffs and a V-shaped cut on the chest, tied with a light brown cord and a pair of black trousers, added with a pair of rough leather boots.
'What happened to my injuries?!' The thing that surprised him the most was the fact that the injury caused by the lance and other weapons during the war were all healed up, like they never happened in the first place. For all he knew, there had to be some kind of sorcery involved because medical science hadn't advanced to this level to heal a wound and make it seem like it never happened.
"Connection established!"
The warrior instinctively recoiled, his hand flying to his waist where his sword would have been sheathed—only to grasp nothing but air. He glanced around, trying to locate the source of the childlike voice that resonated in his mind.
"Relax, I am not going to bite." The owner of the voice replied with a sigh.
"I highly doubt that." The warrior took a defensive stance. Even if he didn't have his sword and was in an unfamiliar place, he was still confident about defending himself. "How about revealing yourself and at the same time tell me what did you do to me? I know I died on the battlefield."
"I am very well aware that you died in that battle or would have died if it weren't for me." The voice replied, a hint of pride evident in his tone. "I was the one that patched you up and brought you here. Piece of cake for me though."
"Brought me here? What's that supposed to mean?" From the mere exchange of words, the male had figured out that he wasn't conversing with some average being but someone who held powers beyond his comprehension. If they are able to talk in his head, then healing his injuries wouldn't take much of their effort. "What are you supposed to be?"
"I am Tet, the God of Fun and Games and the one responsible for bringing you here." The voice proclaimed.
'A God? If it is a God's doing, then it may be possible.' The male went silent, deeply engrossed in his thoughts. A God-like being would indeed possess the power to heal someone to the point of bringing them back to life from the jaws of death itself. They are the type of entities who could reverse reality and bend the very laws of nature to make the impossible possible.
The warrior had never believed in Gods or Goddesses, or deities in the first place. Sure, there were those around him, who would often offer prayers to the Gods, asking for their blessing, pray to them to save their lives or help them with whatever dilemma or problem they were in. He doubted whether those sitting above would actually bother to listen to the prayer of the masses and answer their calls.
He would listen to the tales of how mighty and powerful the Gods are and the sort of miracles they could pull with just a snap of their fingers. Legends spoke of the gods' might and miraculous feats, but to him, they were only tales. If gods were truly so powerful and influential, would wars even exist?
"Why me?" Was the only question the swordsman had for whoever this God was, responsible for bringing him to whatever place this is supposed to be. "Why didn't you let me die on that battlefield?"
"Wasn't it you who wanted a second chance? A chance to live a better life than the one you led before." Tet replied in a composed tone. A small sphere of sparkling white light appeared in front of his eyes, now floating around him. "I simply fulfilled that wish of yours."
"Maybe I did wish for it, but I think you choose the wrong person to save." The warrior answered, sliding his hands in his pockets, an indifferent look plastered on his face. "I deserved to die on that battlefield."
"Maybe you did, maybe you didn't." The God of Games replied, leisurely floating in the form of a little light orb. "How about letting the people around you decide that this time?"
"Let others decide my fate huh." The male muttered, gazing up at the clear, unblemished sky. 'So, where have you brought me?"
"Right, I need to bring you up to speed." Having said that, the orb of light touched the male's forehead and soon enough the latter began experiencing a severe headache as information started to flow in his head. The pain was bearable to him, given he had endured much worse than this. He sat down on the ground, piecing together the torrent information that just flowed into his head.
The Gods and Goddesses of this world were apparently bored by their perfect life in heaven and decided to descend to the realm of mortals to live and work alongside them. To make this descent possible, they had to leave most of their godly powers in heaven, leaving them to be no different from average mortals. If the Gods or Goddesses were to die in this realm, they would simply go back to heaven.
The deities here form familia, a gathering of their devotees who wish to serve the said god or goddess. In exchange for joining the Familia, the deities give their children their blessing also known as God's Grace.
God's Grace acts as a sort of enhancement for those that receive God's blessing and join their familia. It gifts the blessed ones with abilities and skills that would make it possible for them to hunt monsters and grow stronger at the same time. It seemed to be a sort of blessing which would awaken a person's dormant or latent potential using the blessing of the god.
The city of Orario, also popularly known as the Labyrinth City Orario was the only city in the world which had a dungeon and people from different races from across the world gathered to explore the dungeon.
The dungeon was a complex labyrinth, having numerous floors, each floor becoming more progressive the deeper it gets. It's home to numerous types of monsters. It was said that the gods and goddesses were barred from entering the dungeon. Which is why they give blessings to their devotees who are able to explore the dungeons and fight against the monsters with the powers they gained from the blessing.
"It isn't mandatory for me to join a familia just to get a blessing, is it?" The warrior asked, strolling down on the path that led to the entrance of Orario. "From the information that you gave me, one can even explore the dungeon without a blessing, can't they?"
From the information he received, he also deduced another thing which may not hold much importance but could answer some questions he had related to how he was brought to this world. Tet, despite being a God himself, existed in a much higher dimension compared to the gods of this world. His powers were beyond what they had, which was the sole reason why he was able to perform the miracle of transporting him to this world.
The other thing that he noticed was that only he is able to see and converse with Tet. Others aren't even able to see the light orb floating around him. Tet also added on a point that in order to converse with him, the male did not need to speak verbally, he can simply talk with him through his thoughts whenever he wants to.
"From what I know, yes you can." Tet answered. "All you need to do beforehand is get yourself registered as an official explorer in the guild and don't forget to get some weapons from there. The guild is known to keep some second-hand ones."
"That will work for the time being."
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Rose sat quietly at her assigned counter, observing the steady stream of explorers coming and going. These were the guild's busiest hours, with officials and staff preoccupied registering new adventurers, exchanging monster cores and magic stones for currency, and updating the records of registered members. The guild was also responsible for publishing news and articles on the accomplishments of famed adventurers.
She watched as the adventurers queued up at other counters, handling their business. Many explorers, whether seasoned or newcomers, tended to avoid her station, partly due to her strict demeanor and no-nonsense attitude. This hardened exterior was forged through years of witnessing the deaths of adventurers she had managed.
"Excuse me."
Rose looked up to see a young human male, around nineteen, standing before her counter. He had disheveled black hair and deep, navy-blue eyes that held an intensity beyond his years.
She recognized that look—eyes that had seen too much, eyes that bore the weight of having done the unthinkable to survive.
"New here?" She asked, turning her focus to her duties.
"Yes, I wish to register as an adventurer." He replied.
"Figures. And whom would you like as your manager?" Rose asked, pulling out a form from a nearby drawer and sliding it toward him. "I can give you a list of names—"
"Wouldn't that be you?" he interjected, taking the form. "Isn't that obvious?"
"I take it you're unaware of my reputation. I'm the one manager most adventurers avoid." She replied, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair.
"I'm fine with that." He answered, already filling out the registration form. "There wasn't much of a line here, which made things easier. Besides, you have the same eyes I do."
One glance had been enough for him to understand the sort of trials she'd endured. Like him, she too had lost those close to her.
"What's your name, newbie?" Rose asked, momentarily taken aback by his insight. It was the first time anyone had so openly acknowledged her suffering, the first time someone had understood her pain with a single look.
"Ken."
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