Gino calmly went about doing what he had to do, spending his days carrying out his work in order to mold his body into a form that would allow him to defeat the Sword God. He pushed himself to the very edge of his limits. His efforts would have made an ordinary man give up or physically break, but Gino could handle it. If he had any talent, that was it. He had his motivation, his plan he’d thought up over many hours, his flawless work, and that unbelievable perseverance that allowed him to tie them all together. These four elements joined to sharpen and hone his sword.
The fateful day arrived. That morning, Gino got up, then went to the house of his childhood friend who lived next door to propose once more.
They faced each other down, wooden swords raised. After totally demolishing Nina, he asked her to be his. She accepted, then he went to meet the Sword God.
It was afternoon, and right then, a mock duel was underway at the main training hall. It was a simulation of a real battle, the sort that was regularly held at the Sword Sanctum. These were not only a chance to show off how one’s technique had improved, but also a place where it was permitted for groups of two to challenge a higher-ranked opponent. Gino slipped casually back into the hall. As a Sword King, Gino had either gone up against two Sword Saints or Nina, who was the same rank as him, or he had teamed up with Nina to challenge a Sword Emperor. Nina wasn’t here, in which case he would usually have automatically ended up fighting two Sword Saints.
However, no sooner had Gino stepped out into the center of the training hall than he pointed his wooden sword at the Sword God. For a moment, the hall fell silent.
“Gino! What do you mean by this?!”
Gino’s father, Sword Emperor Timothy Britz, was on his feet before anyone else. He seized the wooden sword at his side and struck at Gino—or he tried. As he rose on one knee in preparation to stand, it shattered. At the same time, his sword arm was broken, sending the wooden sword clattering to the ground. His eyes bulged in astonishment. He was used to pain, so no other trace of it showed on his face, but he still broke out in a sweat. He saw Gino reach the end of his sword swing. Gino glanced at his father, then turned back to the Sword God.
“Great Sword God. I have come to claim Nina’s hand,” he said, pointing his sword at the Sword God as he had before. Sword God Gall Falion took one look at the sword, then roared with laughter.
“Fine by me. Come at—”
Gino was already moving before Gall could finish. But Gall moved too, and faster. He had already been ready in his stance. When the Sword Emperor had been knocked down, Gall had picked up a wooden sword from the floor, risen to a crouch, and shifted into a low stance with his hand posed over his sword. It was a weaker position, but that was no disadvantage to Gall. No matter what stance he was in, his sword was faster than his opponent’s—that was what made a Sword God.
Somehow, he couldn’t swing faster than Gino, as the young man matched him with almost the same speed. When the two swords moving at almost equivalent speeds clashed, they met in the air slightly closer to Gino. There. The Sword God had the edge. He struck again, even more swiftly.
But something was wrong.
The way their swords had met had been, from the Sword God’s perspective, close to perfect. The motto of Sword God Style was “one-hit kill,” so if your strike was blocked, that meant you’d misplayed. But they also had another philosophy, which was to throw the enemy off balance with the first blow in order to be sure of finishing them off with the next. No one could hit back at Gall Falion after he seized the advantage with his first strike. That was how it always went. But Gino’s sword struck with a weight that Gall had never felt before, and he maintained his balance.
That wasn’t to say that Gall lost his. They were evenly matched. It had been a long time since anyone had matched Gall blow-for-blow.
Gall had leaned in further with his strike, so the next strike went differently. Gall’s sword was fully extended, and it took him time to bring it back. Not Gino’s. He was positioned so that he could parry Gall’s blade, then immediately swing his sword back. Neither Gall nor Gino was off balance, and there was only a fraction of a second’s difference between them. Gino, with the precision of one threading a needle, had created that difference.
Gall Falion did not strike a second blow.
That day, Gino attained everything he’d ever wanted.
Sword God Gino Britz attained his dreams when he won Nina Falion. She was the sum total of all his desires. Taking the title of Sword God, marking him as the greatest swordsman alive, was no more than a bonus.
So long as he lived, he never left the Sword Sanctum, and thus his name was the most obscure of all the Sword Gods. It was even rumored he was the weakest. Even the Sword Saints who trained under the former Sword God treated him with disdain. Gino didn’t begrudge that. Rumors meant nothing, for when opponents came to challenge him, he defeated them. They were just faceless opponents—sword fighters who came hoping to be the next Sword God, or those who had come to challenge the man they’d heard was the weakest Sword God to ever live. Gino crushed them all.
From the moment he became Sword God, he was undefeated. If he had left the Sword Sanctum, he might have even defeated such mighty foes as Water God Reida and Death God Randolph, but he didn’t. The Sword Sanctum was his world, and he wanted nothing from outside of it.
That being said, there was no denying that, after he became Sword God, the horizons of his world expanded. Many people, not just opponents, came to strengthen their bonds of friendship with Sword God Gino Britz. They didn’t want to fight, and they instead asked him to instruct them in sword fighting or do business with them.
One such visitor was Rudeus Greyrat. He came one day without warning—with the all too familiar face of Berserker Sword King Eris at his side. Not only that, but he brought North God Kalman III and Dragon God Orsted as well.