The God of Swordsmanship

This world was imperfect until I came.

On my first day, I Ruled monsters were to be banished from my world. Every gigantic beast that roamed this land was banished, and those olden city walls became relics of a bygone era. No longer would humanity fear barbaric beasts—the intelligent should not fear the feral.

On my second day, I Ruled that all of those within my reach would not be allowed to use guns. Barbaric weapons from my barbaric world had no place. No longer would humanity have to fear others inventing gunpowder—battles should be fought with steel.

On my third day, I Ruled that Swordsmanship was to be a gift from the Gods. It was how it should always have been. No longer would the beautiful dance of blades have an uncertain outcome—the strong should always prevail against the weak.

On my fourth day, I Ruled that other Skills were created, so that the weak in steel could find another purpose. It was painful to witness those who did not know what their calling was. No longer would a student struggle finding what path suited them—they would follow the path I created from their birth.

On my fifth day, I Ruled that there should be Eyes and a Referee. Eyes were created to observe the duel, and the Referee appeared as though visiting this plane of existence. His existence hardly concerned me, but its mystery occupied my mind in days of boredom. No longer would there be unfairness, and only the strong would be allowed to become stronger—it is unsightly for the weak to crawl in the mud on a path they should not be allowed to embarrass themselves on, let alone tread.

On my sixth day, I Ruled that the continent should be divided according to my whims. From my memory, similar kingdoms to Portugal and England were created, so as to please myself and my dear old friend. Architecture, culture—it was imported from memory, with the inferior current culture damned to be forgotten, despite its attempts to cling on.

On my seventh day, I Ruled that I could not die—but this was hardly necessary, as the Heart they gave me when making me into the Architect made me immortal already. Occasionally, that unnatural, magical second heartbeat still unnerved me to this day.

Murder was not allowed, and humans could not be denied from their home. Everything else was mine to command.

It was important for people to know that their savior existed, but not so important that they would pester me with their issues. My tower was built in the castle of the Lusobritanio Emperor—back then, merely the Lusotanian Emperor—and people were allowed to speak to me through the door, to pray and request a miracle. Occasionally I granted those to them. Often, I could not be bothered.

With my Rules there was hardly a need to leave my Tower. Anything my heart desired, I could create in that very room and dispel it moments later. Yet sometimes I dared to venture into the outside world, under a disguise, and observe with a smile the world I had created. One that made sense.

The strong ruled over the weak, as they did back on Earth, but the weak knew better than to waste their time challenging the natural order of things. Thus, they lived much better lives than those on Earth did. It was beautiful to watch Swordsmanship duels and witness the stronger fencer always winning, as they should. There is such beautiful poetry there. It made me cry, sometimes.

The world changed much since our arrival, of course—and occasionally tragedy struck, but only the type that didn’t bother me was allowed to stay. Only once was my beautiful world ever truly threatened, when the Devil brought that forsaken man into the world.

Duartes.

That disgusting man exploited a flaw in my Rule and became World Champion despite his meager stats. His title and existence were an affront to my pride. Were it not for the fact the man hardly held on to his title for long, my patience would have been tested and I would have needed to dispose of him somehow. But he hid himself away and there was no need for hunting down a rabid dog that isolated himself. We did have a small conversation when he became champion, and though the man infuriated me, he bowed respectfully and vowed to disappear from the title scene quickly, which appeased me.

Still, occasionally I thought of him and felt my fist tighten. That coward. That monster. He dared to make a mockery out of my system. For years, I waited for someone to take inspiration from Duartes and try to use his style of Earth-Swordsmanship to battle against my fair System. This did not happen, and I allowed myself a measure of relief.

Until the other bastards appeared one after the other. Max of Relampago trained on Earth and returned a bastard mix of my System and Earthly abilities. Johan, likely the next Emperor, had those skills as well but he had the good sense to rely on my godly System instead—and for this, I liked the man. His ambitions and habits were disgusting, but people were born and died every day. A few sacrifices there were nothing compared to sacrificing the System. Gilder the Forger learned much blasphemy under Johan, however, and this was a concern. Yet it was none of those men that my dear devilish friend brought over that truly concerned me.

It was Carr the Ashen One.

The embers of magic in his heart were burned to a crisp; he came to my world with no magic. He was invited by neither me nor my devilish friend. An uninvited pest, he kicked down the doors to my home and refused to leave his footwear at the door. At first his arrival seemed like a mere anomaly that would correct itself, a foreign animal most unsuited for the environment it finds itself in that dies within moments of its arrival. But that was wrong.

He was a dangerous invasive species that contaminated everything it touched.

Valle of Cresna, Fedal the Hero (my own summon!), Isabella the Duellist, and many others—his infectious ideas were spreading like wildfire and he refused to die as he should. There was no fire in him, but the ashes of his heart spread in the wind, and I could not put down those flames so easily. It was a matter to concern myself with at some point, surely.

It was then that I heard about Johan’s fantastic plan.

“God,” Johan had said, before my door, “the sinner Duartes has been taken care of. We have transformed him into a version of the sinner Carr who does not engage in the denial of your system. Those two are set to duel soon—would you care to watch it?”

Many hundreds of years had passed since my ascension to Godhood, yet this was the first time that a man spoke before my door not to ask me for favor, but to instead give me something. Carr and Duartes were one of my few concerns, and to watch it all be crushed by my System—well! It was a hard offer to turn down.

And I witnessed more blasphemy.

Carr the Ashen One overcame Katherine in battle, and Valle of Cresna followed his treasonous techniques. Fedal the Hero won and lost as he should, but his techniques pained me. How could the man I choose to be summoned to this world fall for such treasonous techniques? It should not be! And of course, Isabella, the granddaughter of Duartes, engaged in an abuse of the rules to score her points.

It was the worst thing my eyes had ever witnessed.

When Carr bested Duartes, it was too much. For too long I had allowed this blasphemy to go on. No longer.

THIS.

SHALL.

NOT.

STAND.

I RULE THE HEAVENS—THEY WILL SPLIT OPEN!

A dark line was drawn in the sky above, less the presence of an object and more the absence of matter itself. It was a link to the Void, a cut where reality should have been. Were any wings mighty enough to carry one high enough, they would have gone to the realm of Nothingness where darkness, emptiness, and beasts were all that remained. Both sides of the sky, evenly divided by the perfectly symmetrical Void, turned green.

I RULE THE HEAVENS—LIGHTNING WILL STRIKE!

Black lightning struck on either side of the group of sinners. It did not hurt them, for it was not meant to. Fear me. Respect me. Lightning flashed again and the group huddled together as the bolts grew ever closer. OBEY ME.

I RULE THE HEAVENS—THEY WILL BE MY STEPS!

Stepping down from the stands, my feet did not touch the seats beneath mine—they rested on thin air and it was the beginning of my walk toward the sinners. It was more than flying and better than floating, my feet acted as if there was solid ground beneath me, walking many meters above water in a gentle slope toward them. They looked at me in fear then. Every single one of them knew then, that they had come face to face with their God.

I RULE THE WORLD—KNEEL!

Those who were gifted my powers were bound by this rule. Every one of them fell to their knees. Anyone blessed by my power had to kneel before me, be they king or beggar. Declare a rebellion if you must, Valle of Cresna. Lords, Kings and Emperors all bend their knee to their God.

This Festival of Sin would end.

I RULE THE WORLD—WITNESS ME!

Heavenly clouds, usually only found high above in the air, were summoned to the ground and flanked my presence from either side. A chorus echoed though no musicians were present, just loud enough to make itself known through the lightning. They were not allowed to look away—my Rule commanded them to watch as a gargantuan metal gate was summoned between us, briefly keeping my presence from their eyes.

Wait for it.

You are forced to gaze upon that gate, knowing what awaits you.

Behold and despair, ye sinners.

The Gate opened and heavenly clouds came through it, surrounding the kneeling sinners, infecting them with a suffocating feeling. Breathing was difficult for them now. Existing was painful. All they could do was watch me step onto the piste and look at them disdainfully. Those creatures dared to object to my existence, and they shall know pain as a result. Flashes of lightning struck.

“Behold your God and witness your punishment! For this Festival of Sin, you forfeit your souls—to eternal damnation, you shall know a pain that surpasses pain. A death that surpasses death. I RULE THE HEAVENS—I COMMAND—“

My face moved slightly to the side. It was a curious feeling that I could not initially place. Why did my face turn? Why did my words stop? Such a strange sensation. Living a life as long as mine, you grow used to nearly every sensation the human body can offer, yet this one eluded me. What was it that had caused my neck to turn to the side, my words to stop so suddenly?

There is a faint ache on the right side of my face, I noticed, absently. This was a most fascinating mystery. What had caused this? My Rules could not have injured me, surely. Then what?

Looking over at my kneeling subjects provided me with a clue. It was an expression of utter shock and desperation on their face. Even the mighty Valle of Cresna gaped open-mouthed at his God, an expression of utter chaos and fear on his face. He looked shocked, but less scared until I opened the gate. Why? Is my presence that shocking for this mortal? Fedal the Hero also looked at me with the same shocked expression. Valder the Executioner, Max of Relampago, Katherine the Copy, and her useless sister all looked at me with the same eyes.

Suddenly the oddity behind their stares made sense.

Their gaze was slightly off-center. Aimed at me, to be certain, but also slightly to my left. That, I thought, triumphantly. Must be the cause of this strange sensation. Indeed, after turning my neck back to its starting position, the answer to my puzzling situation came.

A glove had struck me.

Carr the Ashen One stood before me, covered in his own blood and breathing heavily. “Fuck you, fence me.”