Before gods learned to fear,
before demons learned to kneel,
before systems learned to measure power—
he had already finished killing.
There was no war cry when the heavens collapsed.
No blood when demon realms vanished.
No clash of blades when immortals ceased to exist.
They simply stopped being there.
Stars went dark without knowing why.
Laws rewrote themselves to avoid remembering his name.
Time itself learned to avert its gaze.
He did not swing a sword.
He did not move.
And yet, everything died.
In that age—an age before epochs were counted—he was called many things:
Blade God. Sword God. Heavenly Demon. Death itself.
Some whispered he was the first swordsman.
Others claimed he was the end of all swords.
None of them were correct.
Because what terrified the universe was not his weapons,
nor the endless blades sealed within the long black scabbard at his waist,
nor the silver-black bamboo that never left his side.
It was this:
He could kill without intent.
Without hatred.
Without desire.
His presence alone was enough.
So the universe did what it always does when faced with something it cannot defeat.
It forgot.
Names faded first.
Then memories.
Then fear itself.
Gods rewrote history.
Demons erased records.
Systems corrected errors by pretending they never existed.
And at the end of all that erasure,
only a single man remained—
walking through ruined worlds and modern cities alike,
wearing clean white robes lined with black,
a long empty scabbard and a bamboo blade at his waist.
They called him a fool.
A blind man.
A swordsman without a sword.
They laughed.
None of them knew that every sword that ever existed—
past, present, or future—
rested silently within the scabbard named Eternum.
None of them knew that the man had already killed infinity.
And none of them knew the most dangerous truth of all:
He was no longer searching for battle.
He was searching for meaning.
Far away, unseen yet always watching,
a woman with white hair and red eyes stood beneath invisible moons.
And for the first time since the universe began,
something was watching him not with fear—
but with love.
The story does not begin with a battle.
It begins with a man who has everything
and wants nothing—
except a reason to keep walking.