The morning came wrapped in silver mist.All across Everos, bells were tolling—deep, echoing sounds that rolled like thunder through the city's twenty-eight divisions.
Every citizen, every swordsman, every family knew what it meant.
The Swords Paradise was opening.
Once every twenty years, the realm that existed between life and myth tore its gates open. Within it lay the swords of destiny—the living blades that chose their masters. Only the swordless could enter, and only those chosen by a sword could return alive.
The city was trembling with excitement, greed, and fear.
And somewhere, on the edge of the Seventh Division, a boy with crimson eyes stood before the glowing gate.
The Gate
The air shimmered with strange light. The gate itself wasn't made of metal or stone—it was a rift, floating midair, rippling like water. Countless symbols of ancient language glowed across it, spinning slowly like constellations.
Crimson stood still, his heart pounding. All around him, other swordless men and women waited nervously, whispering prayers or clutching good-luck charms. He had no charm, no companion—just Arlen's words echoing in his head.
"Find your path, Crimson. Don't let this city decide it for you."
He stepped forward. The mist parted around him, drawn toward the red glint in his eyes. The moment his foot crossed the threshold—
Everything went silent.
The air grew cold, color drained from the world, and a strange presence pressed against him.
Then he saw it—
A man, standing in the mist.
His form was covered completely in darkness, his face unseen. The air around him shimmered with an ancient power.
Crimson froze. The man did not move, did not speak. Yet something about him felt familiar—the faint echo of grief, the pulse of rage, and the whisper of a sword.
And then, as quickly as he appeared, the figure dissolved into smoke.
The world spun. Crimson staggered forward—and the gate swallowed him whole.
The Realm of Swords
When his vision cleared, he stood beneath a sky of shimmering light.
Mountains floated in the distance, suspended above endless waterfalls. Forests of blades sprouted from the ground like trees—swords of every kind and color, their auras shimmering faintly. The very air hummed with power.
This was Swords Paradise—a realm made entirely of blades.
Crimson exhaled slowly, awed and uncertain. The ground beneath him was smooth and silver, reflecting his image like a mirror. Every few steps, he could feel the energy of swords whispering around him, almost like… greeting him.
One sword flickered near his feet, its handle glowing faintly red. Another rose slightly from the ground as if bowing.
"What… is this?" he murmured. "Why are they… reacting?"
He didn't know that every sword in this realm was calling to him—resonating quietly, as if recognizing something ancient within his blood.
The Retaliation
The peace shattered with the sound of steel.
Behind him, the air split—and five figures in black armor stepped through the gate. The insignia on their shoulders burned gold: the crest of the Dalthen family.
One of them drew his sword, pointing it toward Crimson. "That's him. The boy who struck young master Lior. The Dalthens' honor demands his head."
Crimson's eyes widened. "They followed me here…?"
Swords Paradise was supposed to reject anyone who already had a sword—but the Dalthens were powerful enough to twist even that rule.
The leader smirked. "The realm allows many exceptions… if your house has enough power."
They advanced.
Crimson's hands clenched, but he had no weapon. All around him were swords embedded in the ground—each one gleaming—but none he could claim.
"Come on, boy," the leader hissed. "Let's see if those eyes bleed as red as they look."
He charged.
The Unexpected Ally
Steel flashed. Crimson barely dodged, rolling to the side. He stumbled, his breath sharp. Another blade came down—then stopped, parried mid-swing.
A slender figure had stepped between them.
The weak boy from the market.
He was panting, gripping his sword with trembling hands. His eyes were still gentle, but filled now with courage.
"I—I'm not letting you hurt him!" he shouted, voice shaking. "Not again!"
Crimson's eyes widened. "You…"
The Dalthen enforcer laughed. "Another fool from a noble family playing hero. You think your family name will protect you here?"
The boy's arms quivered under the pressure of their strike. His sword cracked, sparks flying. He tried to hold on—but the enemy's power was far beyond him.
Crimson caught him before he fell. "You shouldn't have come."
The boy smiled weakly. "Maybe not. But you saved me. I couldn't… just stay silent."
Crimson felt something tighten in his chest.
Before he could reply, the Dalthen warriors surrounded them.
The Entrance
A sudden wind swept across the realm.
The air shimmered with red petals—roses, falling from nowhere. The light around them dimmed, replaced by a crimson glow that pulsed like a heartbeat.
The Dalthen warriors stopped, turning toward the glow.
Then, from the center of the light, she appeared.
A girl stepped forward—no, descended, as if the air itself had shaped her. Her long hair cascaded in waves of silver and crimson, flowing like silk under the glow of the blood-red sky. Her eyes were deep violet, sharp yet soft, like twilight between day and night.
She wore armor that seemed woven from moonlight and petals—delicate but unyielding, a blend of beauty and strength. Her presence silenced the entire realm. Even the swords trembled faintly in her aura.
Each of her steps left faint ripples of crimson light on the ground. Her gaze fell upon Crimson—and for a brief moment, the world around him disappeared.
Every sound faded. Every thought stilled.
It was as if she wasn't just looking at him… but through him, straight into the fire within his soul.
Crimson couldn't move. Couldn't speak.
The wind curled around her, carrying her soft voice—calm, ethereal, almost divine.
"At last… I have found you."
Her eyes glowed faintly. Behind her, a massive shadow formed—a sword taller than any man, its blade shimmering with ancient runes. The very ground cracked beneath its pressure.
The Dalthen soldiers stumbled back, fear replacing arrogance.
Crimson's heart pounded. His crimson eyes reflected her perfectly—the embodiment of power, beauty, and mystery.
And then, the sword behind her released a burst of red light so blinding that it swallowed everything.
When the light faded, only silence remained.
The Dalthen warriors were gone.The weak boy lay unconscious beside him.And standing in front of Crimson, amidst the falling rose petals, was the girl—her gaze steady, her voice soft but commanding.
"My name… is Lunaria."
She smiled faintly, though her eyes carried an ancient sorrow.
"And from this moment, Crimson… your fate and mine are bound."
The swords around them resonated like a thousand bells.
And the gate of destiny had finally opened.
End of Chapter 6