Sword of Truth

At all points in our lives, we encounter moments that forever change the trajectory of our own stories. For a long time, I thought a moment like that would never find me—as if I were cursed to be stuck in a loop of mediocrity.

By the time my 46th birthday arrived, I was the captain of the king’s army—a position I had held for over ten years. Frustration built up after my fifth year, but by the eighth, I had given up. I had hit my ceiling.

“Jericho, will you be able to complete this mission?” the king called out to me.

It took me by surprise. It had been almost a year since I had been assigned a task at all.

“Yes, sire. It will be done in your honor,” I said, taking the scroll from our taskmaster.

The king returned my words with a smile and a nod. King Quinn had once held reservations about me, but over our ten years together, we had become more like friends. We had shared many conversations during his private dinners, discussing war, the kingdom, and my potential—though that was one boundary I kept between us. I would respond when he brought it up, but never vulnerably.

I opened the wilted scroll after the king finished his speech to the rest of the hall. Its yellow twinge and almost crusty feel, tempted my delicate opening to prevent any tears.

“The Sword of Truth.”

A legendary relic lost in the Holy War. It had been spotted in a cave north of the kingdom, though every attempt to retrieve it had failed. No details, no explanations—just a warning. S-Rank danger.

I departed the next morning by carriage, leaving my belongings at the closest inn. I had long made it a habit to travel light on risky missions—if I never returned, at least my family would have something to remember me by.

As I walked through the town, an unsettling feeling crept into my gut. Something was off. The people standing around looked… unnatural. Market merchants haggling, children causing mischief—everything was too perfect, too routine. It felt scripted, as if the entire town were a stage play, its actors unaware of their own lines.

If danger lurked, it wasn’t tugging hard enough so I pressed forward.

The cave wasn’t far, but with each step, fatigue dug its claws into my body. Not just my body—my spirit. It was as if something unseen was pressing down on me, growing heavier with every passing moment.

Crossing the threshold into the cave, the feeling suddenly lifted. My mind cleared.

From the outside, it seemed like any other cave—rugged, natural. But inside, the truth was obvious. The rock had been chiseled into a hallway, the stonework unnaturally smooth, crafted with an artistry that did not belong to this age.

Torches mounted on the walls flared to life as I approached. No one had lit them. Some kind of hidden mechanism? I had never seen anything like it. Clever. Advanced.

The hallway led into a vast, square chamber, its architecture perfectly symmetrical. The walls were lined with paintings, their details untouched by time. At the center of the room stood my objective:

The Sword of Truth, embedded in stone.

The golden hilt gleamed, almost blinding in the firelight. The blade itself was an obsidian black, its edges sharp enough to cut the air around it. My breath caught in my throat.

This was no relic of a bygone era—it was pristine, untouched by time. Almost as if it had been waiting for me.

“I’m no relic, you fool.”

The voice was sudden, booming, and all around me. I snapped my head in every direction, drawing my sword.

“So you can still use a blade after all this time,” the voice rumbled again.

“Who’s there?” I demanded.

“Questions, questions… That’s all you do, isn’t it, Jericho?” This time, the voice was calmer. Mocking.

“Question yourself. Question life. Question God.”

A coldness seeped into my chest, sinking deep. My heart clenched—no, something clenched it. As if an unseen hand had reached into my body and taken hold, tightening its grip until it controlled every beat.

And in that moment, I understood.

I was not the one testing this sword.

It was testing me.

“You’re a legendary sword but you test your wielder?” I spoke directly at the blade.

“Wielder?”

“This room is much more than a place to acquire a blade. No.” A pause crept.

“Sword of Truth was a name I created to attract visitors. I’m seeking out a human with the capabilities to surpass mere mortals.”

The words felt unfinished to me, it was like a puzzle missing pieces. I sheathed my sword and sat down not close nor far from the blade.

“What trial would you have for me to earn your partnership?”

The squeezing feeling around my heart gently released, relieving my body. 

“Ha-haha” a maniacal laugh surrounded me.

“Bring the head of King Quinn, execute him from behind, slicing his head clean off the shoulders.”

“Cowardly,” I hissed at the mere suggestion.

“I, Jericho have lost my ambition, I have lost my drive, I have lost my will. Long are the days that I will ever lose my honor.”

Silence stilled the room. The sword was frozen in its rocky jail. For a moment I thought it was done talking, that I failed miserably and would head back stuck.

That’s when the earth began to shake and stir. I rumbled around and worked my way up on one knee. It didn’t subside. My hand flashed my sword from its sheath and I stabbed in the stone floor regaining my footing. My vision blurred and I felt a uneasy sensation down my neck.

“Then die,” a whisper came into my ears.

Then 4 shadows rumbled in front of the sword. Twisting and moving violently. 4 figures arose from the dark shadows, forming into swordsman. I took my stance pivoting my left foot slightly over gaining better balance. My right foot stomped towards my targets, blade in hand. Lastly It had been a while but I used my left hand to grab the dagger from my hip for multiple opponents.

The shadows waited,stepping into stances of their own. It wasn’t until the taller one in the back finished that I noticed the familiarity of them.

“My brothers stances… you bastard.”

Of my kin I alone was stuck in the captain role, the other 4 were knighted and in the round.

The first stepped forward. Ito, he was a southpaw aggressive slasher. He’s prone to using his long arms to hack at opponents guards to force them back.

Like I thought he dashed towards me. It wasn’t even a full second before he was attacking at my guard. His power caught me off guard. I parried his sword off my long blade and countered with my dagger. It missed, he twisted his sword guarding his liver blocking my dagger. I staggered my stance, losing my footing. He capitalized driving his shoulder deep into my chest. I audibly wheezed, losing the air in my lungs.

On the ground I scrambled panicked. I was waiting for his assault when I noticed his staggered footing and hesitation. The warmth and sticky feeling in my left hand confirmed it. During his rush I pulled my dagger back in his spine, piercing him and propelling his shoulder into me. The shadowy figure was unrecognizable but I saw my peerless brother. Ito coughed up shadowy blood and I felt a sense of sadness.

“I’ve never actually faced my brother but I’m not sure this would’ve been the outcome.”

The figure melted into the ground.

Next, Jackel stepped in, his dual blades gleaming in the dim light. Longer than daggers but lighter, their thin edges were designed for precision, meant to pierce through flesh and bone with deadly accuracy. He was a cruel fighter, always calculating, using his mind as much as his blades. With deceptive feints, he lured his opponents into range, methodically wearing them down, targeting vital points. But Jackel wasn’t just any fighter—he was my identical twin brother.

The adrenaline from my last victory surged through me as I moved forward, eager for another clash. I’d been waiting for this—waiting to spar with my brother, to match wits and steel.

His feet slid forward, his stance widening. His right arm extended, holding the lead blade at the ready. The second sword hovered above his head in his left hand, a poised strike waiting for the moment to strike.

Time stretched. Neither of us made a move. I could feel the tension, the air thick between us. My dagger and sword seemed to hum with anticipation, thirsting for any sign of movement. Jackel stood motionless, his eyes unwavering. His body seemed locked in place, as though he were daring me to make the first move.

My patience thinned with every passing moment. How long could he stand there, watching, waiting? It felt like an eternity.

Finally, I lunged. My right arm shot forward, aiming straight for his right eye. Jackel’s response was instinctive. His feet pivoted, his body a blur, and in one fluid motion, his blade was already aimed at my lead foot. I tried to pull back, but the lunge had already committed me. His sword sliced through my right foot, cutting deep before embedding itself into the stone beneath us.

Pain exploded up my leg, but I didn’t hesitate. I swiped with my dagger, aiming for his hand. Jackel dropped the blade effortlessly, and I cut through air. Before I could recover, he yanked the sword from the stone, dragging my blood with it. Crimson spilled over the black blade as we reset our positions.

My breath came in ragged gasps, loud in the silence between us. Jackel attacked. His right arm moved like a streak of lightning, faster than my eyes could track. I ducked and wove, narrowly avoiding the thrust aimed at my left eye. I thrust my dagger into his thigh, twisting the blade deep into his quad. I felt the muscles contract, a retreat in his stance, but I wasn’t finished. I pulled my dagger free, spinning and bringing my long blade up toward his throat.

Jackel’s voice cut through the chaos, calm as ever. “Rushing an attack will only get you killed. Use the flow of battle, not the bloodlust, to secure your victory.”

With a swift motion, Jackel twisted his other sword, deflecting my blade just inches from his cheek. In the same heartbeat, his blade found its mark, stabbing deep into my left calf, right above my Achilles. I bellowed in pain, but it wasn’t just a cry of agony—it was the roar of my resolve.

I twisted my hips, gathering strength for one final strike. My long sword arced upward, a decisive, almost celestial stroke. Time seemed to slow as the blade sailed through the air, the edge singing with deadly intent.

Jackel’s head tumbled from his shoulders, his body swaying for a moment before collapsing to the ground. His shadowy blades melted back into the abyss, leaving me standing amidst the aftermath, my breathing ragged but victorious.

Two remained

Arthur and Eldrin. Two titans, knighted at sixteen, masters of their craft. Peerless, in every right. I’d never seen them fight each other—or without the other.

They stepped forward in perfect unison.

My body trembled. Of all my brothers, I knew I had no chance against them. The air thickened with tension as I gripped my long blade, its dark edge stained with shadows.

Arthur unsheathed his longsword with practiced ease. Eldrin’s twin daggers glinted in the dim light, their curved blades like scythes, deadly and precise.

From experience, I knew Arthur would lead the charge, his strength overwhelming. Eldrin, on the other hand, was a shadow, seeking the smallest crack in my defense, always hunting for an opening to end the fight in an instant.

Arthur advanced, each step deliberate, closing the distance with a calm, unwavering focus. His guard was unbreakable, a wall of steel and intent. The shadow veils his movements, but I can feel his gaze on me, unyielding.

I surged forward, the rush of adrenaline dulling the pain in my leg just enough for a decent lunge. My sword clashed against his guard, a resounding stalemate. Arthur didn’t flinch. He stood firm, a monolith.

Behind him, Eldrin was already circling—silent, ghost-like, searching for a gap in my defense.

I couldn’t focus on him. Not yet.

Arthur’s blade moved, a swift twist that slashed low, aiming for my liver. I blocked just in time, the force sending a shock up my arm.

Without hesitation, Arthur shifted the angle, his blade rising toward my neck. I parried again, narrowly avoiding the strike.

A third swing came, lower this time, aimed at my leg. I countered, stepping into the blow, using my dagger to deflect and create an opening. My blade plunged toward his chest.

Arthur twisted away, his reflexes like lightning, and his sword scraped the stone beneath him. Eldrin was already moving, closing the distance with a predator’s grace.

He leapt, weightless, and in that single moment of perfect suspension, I saw everything—the brutal elegance of Eldrin’s attack, the feline precision of Arthur’s counter, and the gleam of my own dagger embedded in the stone.

Time slowed to a crawl. My perception sharpened. I’d always pushed my limits, always danced around fear, but now it was clear: this was my challenge, my test. And yet, I hated myself for fearing it.

As Eldrin descended, I knew it was over. His blade came for my neck, swift and silent.

There was no pain, no struggle. Only the calmness of a final breath as darkness overtook me.

“Jericho.”

“Jericho, did you hear me?” A voice echoed to me in darkness.

“What?” I replied eerily not sure how I could still speak.

My eyes began to open slowly and light shun so bright into them it was almost a minute for I could actually calibrate my sight.

“I said, congratulations on your mission. Please let me see the Sword of Truth for myself.”

My eyes finally realized that I was back in the throne room. Dozens of guards posted on the outskirts of the hall. Golden accents of seating and walls. A small stairwell in front of me. King Quinn seated in his enlarged throne.

I looked down at my hip- 

“Bloody gods it’s there.” I cursed

The obsidian blade was there in place of my long sword. It’s sheen luster and sharp edges resounded an aura of power through me.

“Jericho.”

I looked up at my king, confusion twisted his face.

“Sorry sir, I’ll bring it right away.”

Words I thought I was saying.

I pulled the blade with the sheath and sat it on my hands, walking towards him.

Actions I thought I was performing.

“King Quinn, your reign ends today.” A familiar voice shouted.

Whose was it.

Suddenly I felt an immense bloodlust and rewinded back into my body before I started to walk. I grabbed the golden hilt, it’s etched precision felt like my hand was glued to it. I walked forward drawing the blade from its tomb. I’ve realized that voice was mine and I’ve betrayed my kingdom. Guards stormed at me with angry and fury pasted on there faces. I could visually see the curses seething from there grinding teeth.

“Futile.”

One by one I slaughtered each adversary. Some with a clean swipe tearing heads from shoulders. Other with a gut twisting impale of my new sword. 

All fell to my feet. 

“Jeric- Jericho, my friend what has gotten into you” fear quivered on the kings lips.

I stood tall in front of the small man on his throne.

“I never knew how small and feeble you looked on the same level. Now I know I’ve been a fool. Serving a man unfit to rule.”

My blade roared across the sky sweeping diagonally through the king and his throne from this earth. Crimson was plastered all across the floors and walls. The kings body lifeless on the throne decapitated. Guards decimated across the stairs and carpet.

I alone honored victorious.

Sounds of rumbling and screaming came from outside the throne doors. Then finally a crash from behind smashed the doors open.

I turned slowly facing the incompetent intruders.

Four knights stood at the door.

Arthur,Jackel,Ito and Eldrin.