Episode 67: Fyuzenshim Shuankyim

Yesdar moved with deliberate ease as he put his sword back in the scabbard. His footsteps echoed in the wide corridor that led away from the battleground. The adrenaline from the fight still buzzed faintly in his veins, but his demeanor remained calm. As he climbed the stone steps leading back toward the preparation area where Griswa, Malaes, and Virumi were waiting, he caught sight of something he hadn't noticed before. To his left, near the staircase, was a glass door—its subtle reflection distorted by the stadium's lighting. Behind it, there was a small, dimly-lit room. He paused briefly, looking over the door, then at the staircase.

170 million wafferions just for that fight? No way. He knew it wouldn't be that easy. There were likely more fights ahead—harder ones, with tougher opponents. The thought amused him; he relished the idea of testing his strength further, but it also meant he'd have to go up and down these stairs every time his name was called. That would get old fast and using the lifts would hurt his pride. He needed a more convenient solution.

So he walked and pushed the glass door open, stepping into the room. It was long, narrow—more of a corridor than a proper room—and stretched as far as his eyes could see. LED lights buzzed quietly above, casting a sterile white light over the scene. The room was filled with contestants who had already fought some matches with their opponents before Yesdar. Most of them were sitting or lying across old sofas, their faces reflecting different states of exhaustion and anticipation. Televisions were scattered throughout the room, broadcasting the ongoing battles in real time.

As Yesdar walked further inside, the room's atmosphere shifted. Eyes turned to him—some in awe, others in envy. Whispers spread quickly. He's the one who took down the giant… Jesdala. Some looked at him with admiration, recalling the recent battle they'd just witnessed on the screens. Others, more seasoned fighters, sized him up as a potential future opponent. But Yesdar wasn't interested in any of their thoughts. He could feel the weight of their gazes on him but chose to ignore them entirely.

I don't care what they think. Let them stew.

Yesdar scanned the room for a quiet spot, where he could sit and observe the other fighters without being disturbed. There was an empty sofa near the far corner, directly across from a television screen showing a current duel. He took a seat, placing his sword beside him, and leaned back into the cushions, crossing his arms over his chest. His sharp eyes flickered over the screen, noting the techniques and styles of the competitors. Let's see who's next in line.

Back in the preparation room, Virumi paced restlessly. Her eyes darted between the glass window and the clock on the wall. "Yesdar-sama hasn't returned yet noi," she muttered, the impatience clear in her voice. She was clearly concerned, though she had seen him re-enter the arena from the alcove.

Griswa, leaning against the wall with his arms behind his head and eyes closed, didn't bother to open them as he replied in his usual nonchalant tone. "Well, he's probably stopped somewhere. That's the only explanation." His voice was calm, unaffected by her worry. "He's not stupid. If his name is gonna be called out multiple times, he won't keep climbing up and down. He's smart enough to stay close to the action."

Virumi frowned, her dissatisfaction evident. "Why don't we go down there too? We could—"

Griswa cut her off, waving his hand lazily. "It's fine. You think he's crying down there being alone or something? If that was the case, he wouldn't have stopped down there." His tone was casual, almost dismissive, and Virumi pouted at his carefree attitude.

Come on, Griswa! she thought, her face clearly expressing her irritation. This isn't funny noi, there are lifts, aren't there?

But Griswa, eyes still closed, remained unmoved by her visible displeasure. His presence in the room was like a rock—solid, unshakeable, indifferent. His calm, unbothered demeanor only served to aggravate her more.

Virumi crossed her arms and huffed, turning her attention away from him and toward the TV. Her mind wandered as she watched the next match unfold. "Why didn't Yesdar-sama join the mass battle competition noi?" she asked, more out of curiosity than actual conversation.

Griswa finally opened one eye, glancing at her. "Because I wanted to join. In the mass battle, only one person remains standing." He grinned, a playful, mischievous glint in his eye. "If we both joined, we'd have to fight each other. And honestly, I'm bored of fighting him in trainings. I want to face someone else for a change, weak or strong, it doesn't matter." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "And remember, we're not here to kill anyone. I just want to have fun by touching them." (Okay that sounds wrong. But lol, lol, it's funny) 🤡🗿🤣

Virumi raised an eyebrow, a skeptical look on her face. "I see. So, for you, it's all just… fun? I guess being a God makes things easy and quite normal for you noi."

Griswa smirked. If only she knew. He thought of how complex his existence as a god truly was, the eternal strain of holding back his powers, the constant need to balance his nature with his companions. But instead of explaining, he gave her a lighthearted reply. "Yeah, it's fun. But hey, lower your voice. Don't call me a god here. Not exactly the right place for that."

He said the last part with a whisper, looking around subtly. Virumi nodded quickly, "Whoa, okay noi, okay. I understand." She gave a sheepish grin, her curiosity bubbling under the surface.

Across the room, Malaes had left her spot near the window and headed toward a nearby table to grab a drink. She was clearly taking a break from Virumi's endless questions, which had been bombarding her since the start of the tournament. Virumi, noticing Malaes' absence, shifted her attention back to Griswa.

"So, even though you're 'that' entity," Virumi began again, emphasizing the word 'that' in a hushed tone, "Does that mean you don't need to train or something noi?"

Griswa, not entirely prepared for the direction her question was heading, blinked before answering. "Of course I train. You think I just sit around all day?"

"But you're just sitting so casually doing nothing. You have to enter a mass fight, right noi?" she persisted.

Griswa chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Actually, I am training… even while sitting casually." He gave her a grin, though sweatdrops were forming on his forehead and cheeks. She just doesn't let up.

"Oh!" Virumi replied, her eyes wide with innocent admiration. "That's amazing, Noi!"

There was a pause. The air grew thick with awkwardness as Griswa rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to escape the conversation. He took a deep breath and tried to muster up his patience.

"Umm, Virumi," he said carefully, his voice tinged with just a hint of annoyance. "You know, I'm actually training right now, so could you maybe… stop with the questions?"

There was a brief moment of silence. Virumi stared at him for a second, Noi? Then nodded enthusiastically. "I see, Noi! Alright, alright! I'll watch some of the other matches on the TV instead!" She pointed at the screen on the opposite wall, her voice filled with newfound excitement. "You can continue training noi!"

As Yesdar watched the fights on the TV in front of him, the room was buzzing with quiet anticipation. Contestants sitting, scattered across the narrow corridor-like room, some leaning forward with excitement, others brooding silently, focused on their next moves. Among them, a girl with blonde hair tied in a single ponytail and striking violet eyes stood out. She wore a brown armor set that had seen better days but still gleamed in places under the sterile LED lights. Sitting next to her, a tall, slim man with a crooked nose and a dense beard, clad in an armored jacket, seemed equally intrigued by the figure sitting quietly on the sofa in front of them.

The duo exchanged glances before walking toward Yesdar, each seating themselves to his left and right, placing him squarely in the middle. Yesdar noticed their presence but kept his focus on the TV, uninterested at first in their approach.

The girl leaned slightly toward him, her voice tentative but curious. "Umm, you're Mr. Jesdala, right? We saw you fight that giant," she began, breaking the silence.

Yesdar shifted his gaze briefly to her, realizing that continuing to watch the current match was pointless; it wasn't particularly interesting anyway. "Yeah, I'm Jesdala. Who're you guys?" he replied, his tone neutral, but with a slight edge of curiosity himself.

"Oh! I'm Saka," the girl introduced herself, her smile genuine. "And this is Waji." She gestured toward the tall, bearded man, who nodded in greeting and pointed on his digital badge. Yesdar glanced on the digital badge displaying 'Crock-Cutter'. Sweatdrops formed on his back head.

"Hello there," Waji added with a handshake.

"Jesdala." He shook Waji's hand casually, still scanning their intentions behind their approach.

"You know, the crowd is already calling you 'One-Blow Jesdala,'" Saka said, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "You were on the ground for such a short time, but it was so badass! No one expected it to end like that."

"Yes, well... Thank you," Yesdar replied, his voice still cool, brushing off the praise, though inwardly amused by the nickname.

Saka leaned in more, curiosity getting the better of her. "The thing is, no one really understood what you did back there. I mean, you threw your sword, sure, but how in the world did that giant just… fly like that?" Her eyes drifted down to the black-handled katana lying beside him. "Oh, is this the sword?"

Before Yesdar could react, she began reaching out toward it. His reflexes were faster than her intentions. His hand shot out and gripped her wrist tightly, his eyes darkening. "Don't touch it," he said, his voice low and quiet but charged with a dangerous intensity.

Saka froze, her eyes wide with surprise. The sudden shift in his demeanor was palpable, and even Waji tensed slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to overstep. We've just met, I should've been more respectful... I shouldn't have assumed," she stammered, pulling her hand back.

Yesdar's grip loosened, and he leaned back, his expression returning to its usual calm. "It's not about respect," he said in a measured tone. "But don't touch it."

Saka looked confused, but Yesdar didn't elaborate further. The truth was, it wasn't about formality—he wasn't protecting the sword. He was protecting her from the sword.

Yesdar's mind flashed back to the memory of when he first came into possession of the katana.

Flashback: The Weapons Library

The room was vast—massive in its scope, yet it felt haunting, enclosed by towering rows of weapons and armor that reached up to an unseen ceiling. The dull glow of suspended lanterns cast an amber light across the hall, illuminating statues of long-dead Ehayors—guardians? Perhaps, unrecognized warriors of the past. Each statue held weapons, some so ancient their edges had rusted, while others gleamed with the sharpness of Gods' creations. This was the Weapons Library, a place beneath the Hall of the Gate of Ehayor, buried deep below the heart of the sanctuary.

Fheniz and Yesdar stood in the central corridor, flanked by endless rows of swords, spears, and artifacts, their shadows long and imposing under the dim light. The air was thick with an aura of bygone battles, and the weight of ancient power was palpable in every corner. Deeper still, the corridor narrowed, its stone walls etched with intricate carvings, depicting gods and beings from times that even Fheniz didn't know about them.

Beyond this path lay the Paramount Swords of the Gods, hidden within the darker recesses of the library, far from ordinary weapons, these were swords of awesomeness!!

As they reached the chamber where these Paramount Swords rested, Fheniz gestured toward one particular katana, its black handle gleaming faintly in the ambient light. "Like Mexileum, the sword given to Griswa by Master Ehayor, the Ehayor Gods possessed some of the other Paramount Swords as well. This one," he said, pointing toward the katana, "is the Fyuzenshim Shuankyim."

Yesdar raised an eyebrow, eyeing the blade warily. "Do these sword names always have to be so complicated?" he muttered, half to himself, half to Fheniz.

Fheniz chuckled lightly, the sound echoing softly off the stone walls. "Nothing worth wielding comes easy. And no, I didn't name it. The history of these swords is as complex as the names they bear." He turned to Yesdar, his expression serious now. "But you're wondering why I'm offering this to you, aren't you?"

Yesdar's gaze shifted from the sword to Fheniz, his curiosity piqued. "Yeah? Why me?"

Fheniz stepped closer, his voice lowering as if speaking the words aloud was to impart a dangerous secret. "I believe, judging by your skills, that you're capable to wield it. Many years ago, Master Ehayor gave me with this very sword, but I couldn't wield it back then. I wasn't strong enough. Now, I am capable, but..." He trailed off for a moment, glancing at the blade with a glint of something like reverence. "I'm not much of a swordsman. You, however, are."

Yesdar's eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Fheniz's words. "Capable now? What do you mean?"

Without answering, Fheniz lifted the sword with deliberate care, holding it out toward Yesdar, who reached out and took it without hesitation, "Let me show you than tell you." Fheniz said as soon as the sword left his hands.

The moment Yesdar's fingers wrapped around the hilt, a crushing pressure surged through him. It was as though gravity itself had multiplied, dragging him down to the cold stone floor. His breath hitched in his throat, his heart clenched, and his muscles screamed under the invisible weight pressing down on him. He felt as though an unseen hand had tightened its grip around his heart, squeezing the life from him.

He fell to his knees, coughing violently, blood splattering on the stone beneath him. His vision blurred, and he felt the unmistakable burn of his body being pushed to its limit. His nose bled, his eyes welled with tears from the strain, and his hands trembled as he struggled to keep hold of the sword.

Fheniz knelt beside him, unfazed. "Yes," he said softly. "This is what happened to me, too."

Yesdar's eyes, bloodshot and filled with pain, turned to Fheniz as he continued speaking. "These swords aren't for us, for obvious reasons you know. In case of Griswa, he's a god, end of story. So, yes, you are thinking right, you must persuade the sword and command it. Let me call it Sword Commanding."

Yesdar's breathing slowed as he processed the words. Fheniz waited for him to recover before continuing. "This sword also has its own definition and property. This is a power enhancer unlike Mexileum's property of suppressing power. It will not help you contain your abilities. Instead, it will push you to greater heights."

Yesdar's gaze hardened, the pain slowly subsiding as his resolve strengthened. He wiped the blood from his mouth, standing slowly. "So, if I master this sword… it'll enhance my commanding techniques?"

"Exactly," Fheniz replied, his tone measured. "Your other techniques—whatever commanding you'll master—can be taken to next levels. But only if you learn to command this sword."

Yesdar stared at the katana, its unassuming black handle concealing the immense power it held within. His mind raced, weighing the risks and rewards. This sword's force was only second to the pressure he felt when Griswa's subconscious had knocked them. Yet, there was no hesitation, no doubt in his next words.

"Do you take any interest in this, or shall we move on to something else, Yesdar?" Fheniz asked, his voice calm and patient.

"I'll do it!" Yesdar replied, his tone determined.

Pronunciations:

Fyuzenshim Shuankyim: [FYOOZEN]+[SHIM]+[SHOO]+[AAN]+[KYIM]