The city of Everos was never meant to exist.Hidden from the eyes of the outside world, cut off from the laws of men, it stood as a cruel monument to one unshakable truth: only the strongest ruled.
No one entered Everos.No one left it.For centuries, this law had been absolute.
And in this city, weapons of metal and powder meant nothing. There were no guns, no bows, no explosives. The only thing that mattered—the only thing that could shape destiny—was a sword. Every man, woman, and child who wished to stand tall needed one. For within each sword lay power, magic, and a will of its own. The rarer the blade, the greater the respect. The higher its rank, the stronger the dominion it granted.
That was Everos, under the blood-red moon.
The War Nineteen Years Ago
The night burned with fire and screams.
In the Seventh Division, swords clashed like thunder, sparks scattering into the smoky air. Mercenaries cut down soldiers, and soldiers butchered mercenaries in return. The streets, once lined with merchant stalls, ran red with blood.
Two figures fought at the center of the chaos—a man and a woman, blades in hand, eyes fierce with desperate resolve. Crimson's parents.
The woman's long hair clung to her face, damp with sweat and blood, as she swung her slender sword against the mercenary line. Beside her, Crimson's father roared as his broadsword split an enemy in two. They were outnumbered, pressed against the ruined wall of their burning home, but they refused to yield.
And within that crumbling home, hidden beneath a broken table, a baby boy cried. His small fists clenched, tears streaking his cheeks, though no one could hear him over the madness of steel.
"Just a little longer," his mother whispered, blocking a strike aimed at the doorway. "Just a little longer, and he'll be safe."
But fate had no mercy.
From the smoke emerged a man with eyes like a serpent and a blade darker than night. The mercenary's sword reeked of malice, its aura dripping like poison. He moved with the ease of one who had killed far too many times.
One strike. Crimson's father fell, his body collapsing like a felled tree.Another strike. His mother's blade shattered, and she crumpled beside her husband.
The mercenary wiped his blade clean, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the baby trembling in the shadows. The boy's sobbing stopped as their gazes met. His tiny pupils gleamed, glowing faintly like embers.
"…Red eyes," the mercenary muttered, lips twisting into a cruel smile. "So the child carries it. A curse from the outside world."
He raised his blade—
But before it fell, the clash of another sword rang out.
The Man Who Saved Him
An elderly man, hair already silver, stood in the doorway. His sword was not rare, not legendary, but steady. His arms shook, yet his stance did not falter.
"That boy," the old man growled, "will not die here."
The mercenary sneered. "Then raise him well, old fool. This city will spit him out sooner or later." With that, he vanished into the smoke, leaving the corpses cooling on the ground.
The old man lowered his blade, breathing heavily. He stepped over the blood-soaked floor, kneeling beside the crying baby. With rough but gentle hands, he lifted the boy from the wreckage.
The child's red eyes stared up at him, shining with grief no infant should have known.
"…Poor child," the man whispered. "From this day, you'll live as mine. I'll be your grandfather, whether the city accepts it or not."
Years Later
The dream always ended the same way—his mother's hand reaching for him, then vanishing in fire.
Crimson awoke with a sharp breath, sitting upright in the narrow wooden bed. Sweat clung to his forehead. The room was dark save for the faint glow of moonlight seeping through the cracks in the shutters. Outside, Everos slept uneasily, its streets always restless even at midnight.
He ran a hand over his face, feeling the same old grief pressing down on him. Nineteen years, and the nightmare had never left.
From the adjoining room came a cheerful voice. "Crimson? Another bad dream?"
The door creaked open, and Grandpa Arlen entered, carrying a chipped lantern. His hair was whiter now, his back more bent, but his eyes still carried warmth. He placed the lantern down and gave a lopsided smile.
"You're frowning again. If you keep this up, you'll wrinkle before I do."
Crimson managed a faint smirk, though it vanished almost instantly. His crimson-red eyes caught the light of the lantern, making them gleam unnaturally in the gloom. Most people in Everos whispered about those eyes, calling them cursed, unnatural. To Arlen, they were simply his grandson's.
"I saw them again," Crimson said quietly.
Arlen's smile faded. He didn't ask who—he knew. He simply patted Crimson's shoulder. "Then you must become stronger, lad. Strong enough that their deaths were not in vain."
Crimson nodded, though the weight in his chest never lessened.
The Streets of Everos
Morning came.
Crimson stepped out into the streets with Arlen, carrying a small basket of bread. The narrow alleys of Everos were alive with noise—vendors shouting, swords clashing in the distance, arguments breaking out every few steps. Yet the moment people saw him, whispers followed.
"There he is. The swordless one.""Look at those eyes… outsider blood.""He'll never amount to anything."
Crimson ignored them all. His face, perpetually grief-stricken, betrayed nothing.
A group of boys his age passed by, each wearing swords at their hips, puffing their chests out. One sneered, "Still no sword, Crimson? Guess even the weakest blade doesn't want you."
He didn't answer. He had long since stopped.
But deep inside, the vow still burned: I will find the man who killed them. Even if it takes my life.
The Announcement
That night, a great bell tolled across Everos. Its deep, echoing sound silenced even the rowdiest brawls. From every division, people looked toward the massive black tower in the city's center.
A voice rang out, magically amplified.
"Citizens of Everos! The time has come once again. Every twenty years, the gates open… and they shall open now. The Swords Paradise awaits!"
The crowd erupted in roars, excitement and fear swirling together. For the swordless, this was the only chance. For the strong, it was a spectacle of destiny.
Crimson stood in the alley, the red moon casting its glow across his sharp features. His crimson eyes glimmered faintly, reflecting both grief and determination.
"For nineteen years," he whispered, "I have carried only sorrow. Perhaps, in the Paradise of Swords… I will finally carry power."
The night wind howled. The city of Everos stirred restlessly, as if sensing that its balance of power was about to change.
End of Chapter 1