The great hall of the palace lay still—frozen in a silence so complete that even the flames of the torches flickered with hesitation. The Red Katana shimmered in Dran's trembling hands, its glow both beautiful and fearsome. He stared at it, still dazed by the impossible moment, his breath shallow as he whispered, almost to himself, "Why me? Why now?"
Then came a sound that broke the tension like shattered glass—Dextin's laugh. Low and cold at first, it grew louder, more mocking with each passing second. He stepped forward, a twisted grin stretching across his face, his boots thudding ominously against the marble.
"You see that, adviser? The Red Katana chooses one of mine. Fate's got a hell of a sense of humor."
His voice was filled with mockery, yet beneath it, a current of possessiveness crept through. The adviser shifted nervously, but Dextin didn't notice. His gaze stayed locked on Dran.
"Give it here, soldier," he said, extending his hand. "I'll take it from here."
Dran flinched. Still gripping the sword, his eyes darted between Dextin's outstretched hand and the bloodstained floor. He stepped forward... then froze.
Across the room, Aingo stood silently, barely shaking his head—a small but deliberate act of warning. Dran's gaze lingered on his friend just long enough. And in that moment, everything became clear.
Dextin lunged.
Dran reacted.
With a burst of adrenaline, he swung the Red Katana. The blade screamed through the air, meeting Dextin's face with a sickening crunch. Blood spattered the polished stone as Dextin stumbled backward, crashing into a table before slamming to the ground.
Gasps broke the silence. The adviser rushed to his master, only to be swatted aside by Dextin's wild thrash of pain and rage.
The tyrant roared, louder than any had ever heard. "I spared your life, Dran! This is how you repay me?!"
Dran stood tall, blood on his knuckles and sorrow in his eyes.
"You murdered my wife," he spat. "You turned our people into prisoners. Used us. Lied to us. That ends now."
His words hit like a drumbeat. Several of the soldiers exchanged uncertain glances.
"With this blade," Dran continued, voice rising, "I'm no longer your pawn."
Dextin glared at his elite squad, fury flaring in his bloodied face. "Well?! Seize him! He's a traitor!"
Silence.
Then Aingo stepped forward. "No more. He's right. We've all suffered under you. The fear ends now."
Dextin barked, "You want your families to die? Obey me, and I'll spare them!"
One soldier trembled. Then another. Finally, Soldier One stepped forward, tears in his eyes.
"If Dran leads, I follow. If you kill me for it, I'll never forgive him. But I'd rather die than keep living like this."
He turned and walked out. One by one, others followed. Dextin screamed, "Get back here!"
No one did.
Aingo stepped close to Dran. "Let me help."
Dran, eyes still fixed on Dextin, replied, "You have to go. Free the prisoners. This ends now."
Aingo nodded, and without another word, vanished through the hall's shadowed exit.
Dran turned back to the wounded tyrant.
From his scabbard, he drew his old sword with his left hand. The Red Katana gleamed in his right.
Dextin rose shakily and unsheathed the Green Katana. Power began to pulse around him—green, malevolent, alive.
"Give me the blade, Dran," Dextin growled. "This is your last chance."
Dran didn't budge. "You had your chance."
"So be it."
The ground trembled as Dextin lunged. Dran met him halfway. The clash sent shockwaves through the room. Their blades danced, collided, split air and shattered stone. Dran was skilled, but Dextin was still stronger.
Blow after blow pushed Dran back. With a crushing strike, Dextin shattered Dran's left-hand sword. Dran staggered, bleeding, barely holding on.
"Just hand it over," Dextin said coldly. "I'll make it quick."
Dran crawled, panting, blood in his mouth. Then—a memory: his wife's smile, his son's soft cry, Soldier One's trembling faith.
He rose.
The Red Katana blazed to life. Fire danced along its edge. With a scream that shook the heavens, Dran swung. The arc of flame split Dextin's chest. The tyrant flew backward, crashing into a pillar.
Dextin gasped. "Twice now... you've wounded me."
In desperation, he spoke to the Green Katana: "Explain. Is he the Sword Master?"
A pause. Then:
"No. He is not the Sword Master. But his heart burns with a fire strong enough to awaken the Red Katana. He fights for all, not for self. That is why it listens."
Dextin laughed bitterly. "So close..."
He stood, roaring. Green power surged. He charged.
The Red Katana whispered:
"Fight with your heart. Not just your sword."
Dran steadied himself. He breathed. He believed.
Their blades met one final time.
And the war for freedom truly began.