"If a Sword Saint is a sword that serves, then Augustus Kael'dorn is a sword that refuses to be controlled."
The Legend of Two Masters of the Sword - Light and Shadow
Across the vast continents of Velmoria and Draventh, the story of two legendary swordsmen has long been told and retold. Their names travel across taverns, monasteries, military camps, and quiet villages alike. Students of sword orders whisper about them during late-night training sessions. Royal knights debate their techniques while polishing armor. Wandering adventurers tell exaggerated versions of their duels beside campfires under the open sky.
Their names are always spoken together, almost instinctively, as if the world itself decided that their fates were forever tied.
Where one name appears, the other follows.
Not as allies.
Not as enemies.
But as reflections of two different paths carved by the same blade.
The first is Erenwald Glor.
Sword Saint of the Order Argentum.
A holy swordsman whose mastery of the blade is widely regarded as perfection itself. His movements are said to be so precise that every strike appears inevitable, as if the sword itself already knows where it must fall before it even moves.
Stories claim that the energy released from one of his full-power slashes could split a mountain. Few people have ever witnessed such power directly, yet the rumors persist with unwavering certainty.
Erenwald carries a radiant silver sword known as Lunesthal.
The blade gleams like moonlight even in darkness. According to the priests of the Order Argentum, Lunesthal was blessed through sacred rites that bind divine protection to its edge. To many believers, it is not merely a weapon but a holy instrument meant to protect the balance of the world.
For the Order Argentum, Erenwald Glor is more than a warrior.
He is a symbol.
A living embodiment of discipline, devotion, and divine order.
The second name is Augustus Kael'dorn.
A wandering swordmaster.
Unlike Erenwald, Augustus belongs to no order, no kingdom, and no doctrine. His reputation spread not through institutions but through stories. Stories carried by travelers who witnessed something unbelievable and barely survived to tell it.
He is the only man known to have matched the Sword Saint in combat.
The Order Argentum invited him many times to join their ranks. They offered him rank, honor, and authority greater than many noble knights possessed. Some even believed Augustus could one day become a Sword Saint himself.
Yet every time the invitation came, Augustus refused.
He does not kneel before any order.
He does not swear loyalty to any crown.
He simply walks the world beside his sword.
Valdryss.
To ordinary eyes, Valdryss appears unremarkable. Its blade lacks ornamentation. Its guard is plain, its grip worn from age. It looks like a weapon that might hang unnoticed in an old armory.
But for historians of ancient weapons, the name Valdryss carries enormous weight.
The sword is older than many of the kingdoms that now rule the world.
Its origins trace back to the distant Era of Concordia, an age when dragons still flew openly across the skies and the world had not yet fractured into its current empires.
Legends claim the blade was forged from the vein of a dying dragon, cooled in the first waters drawn from the newborn rivers of the world, and bound by a queen's dying oath.
Whether those stories are true or not, one thing remains undeniable.
Valdryss has witnessed centuries.
And it still cuts like the first day it was forged.
Three Legendary Duels
The two swordsmen crossed blades three times in their lives.
Each duel became a legend in its own right.
The first duel happened when neither of them had yet reached twenty years of age.
At the time, Erenwald was already known as a prodigy within the Order Argentum. His talent drew admiration from senior knights and envy from rival students. Many believed his path toward becoming the next Sword Saint was inevitable.
One day, a stranger arrived at the gates of the order.
Augustus Kael'dorn.
Without ceremony or politeness, he issued a challenge.
The duel took place in the main training courtyard of the Argentum Order.
Hundreds of students gathered along the edges of the arena. Senior knights stood with crossed arms, observing silently, curious to see how the arrogant wanderer would fare against their prodigy.
The clash lasted less than ten minutes.
Yet those ten minutes changed the reputation of both men forever.
Their swords moved faster than the eyes of most observers could follow. Sparks erupted with every collision. Waves of force rolled across the courtyard like invisible storms.
When the duel finally ended, neither man had fallen.
But the entire roof of the training hall had collapsed.
The shockwaves of their battle shattered the structure above them.
The duel was declared a draw.
The second duel happened when both men were twenty-five.
By that time Erenwald Glor had already become a hero.
The holy city of Elya—heart of the Great Church of Veydia on the continent of Velmoria—had been attacked by a massive orc invasion from the northern wastelands.
The battle lasted for days.
Thousands of defenders stood on the city walls while waves of orcs surged forward like a living tide of iron and blood.
In the end, it was Erenwald who turned the tide.
His sword cut through the enemy ranks like a beam of moonlight tearing through darkness.
When the last of the orc forces retreated into the north, the city erupted in celebration.
Church bells rang.
Markets overflowed with food and drink.
People filled the streets in endless festivals of gratitude.
But during the height of that celebration, a lone figure walked through the city gates.
Augustus Kael'dorn.
He did not come to celebrate.
He did not come to congratulate.
He came for one reason only.
To challenge Erenwald again.
The duel took place in the middle of the city streets.
Crowds scattered in panic as their swords clashed.
The battle ended without a winner.
But dozens of homes were destroyed by the force of their power.
The third duel happened when they were thirty years old.
Yet no swords were drawn that day.
Only fists.
Erenwald refused to raise his blade.
He said their rivalry had already lost its meaning.
Augustus refused to accept that answer.
Their argument escalated until the two men began fighting like ordinary brawlers.
Punches.
Grappling.
Dust and blood.
But the fight never reached a conclusion.
Because after that day, Augustus Kael'dorn vanished from the world.
Two Different Swords
Two men.
Two philosophies.
If Erenwald Glor represents the purest form of disciplined warriorhood…
Then Augustus Kael'dorn represents the untamed spirit of the wandering blade.
A sword without allegiance.
A sword without vows.
A sword that follows instinct alone.
And now...
after eight years of silence.
Augustus Kael'dorn has begun moving again.
The Journey Toward Oryn
Rain fell through the night in steady sheets.
Mist drifted down from the mountains, covering the stone road in a pale shroud.
Augustus walked alone.
His cloak hung heavy with moisture, the hood casting shadows across most of his face. Only his eyes remained visible.
Sharp.
Focused.
Like a predator quietly stalking through the wilderness.
Valdryss rested across his back.
The sword was enormous.
So heavy that most men would collapse simply attempting to lift it.
Yet Augustus walked as if the blade weighed nothing at all.
He carried no provisions.
No horse.
No companions.
Just the road beneath his feet and the faint pull of curiosity guiding him forward.
"Irinthal Forest…"
he murmured.
"Sil'turah."
His gaze drifted toward the distant mountains hidden behind fog.
"And someone who destroyed it with bare hands."
A faint smile formed on his lips.
"Strange."
But his eyes gleamed with interest.
"But… interesting."
Back to Oryn Village – The Small Church
Meanwhile, life in the village of Oryn continued peacefully.
Inside the small stone church where Kael and the bald-headed Millo lived, the two boys were sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor.
Between them lay a sheet of old parchment.
Millo held a charcoal stick and was drawing enthusiastically.
"Look at this!" he exclaimed proudly.
On the parchment was a drawing of a gigantic man with absurdly exaggerated muscles.
"His arms are bigger than a normal person!"
Millo added even more lines to the arms.
"And his stare probably splits people in half!"
Kael leaned closer with shining eyes.
"He must have been a knight once."
He tapped the parchment.
"Or maybe a war general."
A passing nun paused in the hallway and looked down at them curiously.
"You two are still talking about that man from the forest?"
Millo nodded rapidly.
"The Cursed Guardian of the Forest."
"The Destroyer of Sil'turah."
"The God cast down from heaven."
Kael recited the titles with complete seriousness.
The nun laughed softly.
"You know," she said gently, "stories like that can mislead the world."
Millo looked up immediately.
"Or save it," he replied.
The Village Gate
Evening arrived slowly.
Cold wind rolled down from the mountains.
The wooden gate of Oryn creaked softly.
Mist gathered along the road leading toward the village.
Then a silhouette appeared.
A tall man.
Dark cloak.
Silent steps.
A massive sword resting across his back.
The village guards stiffened instantly.
One stepped forward.
"Who are you?"
The man stopped.
"A traveler."
"To our village?"
The man shook his head slightly.
"No."
His eyes moved toward the distant forest.
"I am heading to your forest."
The guard frowned.
"The cursed forest?"
"Yes."
The man smiled faintly.
"The one that has apparently become the birthplace of a legend."
The guard swallowed.
"Your name?"
The man answered calmly.
"Augustus."
The guard stared longer.
Then his eyes widened.
"Augustus… Kael'dorn?"
The man did not deny it.
"…Yes."
The name struck the guards like thunder.
A name that had vanished eight years ago.
A name whispered in stories of impossible swordsmanship.
And now...
he stood before the gates of the small village of Oryn.
As if the road he walked had always been meant to lead here.
When night finally fell and the sounds of the world faded into silence, Augustus did not pray.
He stood alone at the edge of the village.
His gaze rested upon the distant mist covering Irinthal Forest.
Then he smiled.
As if he already knew that his long-awaited destiny...
had finally begun to move once more.