Undeniable crappy quality aside, I must commend the self-confidence of Mana’s apprentice in setting at least four gemstones into the practice sword’s hilt. As if they knew Maya would keep it even post-shattering.
Maya was in control over him, not the other way around. Interesting. Her enemy this whole time was herself, and once she defeated that part of her, she acted just like Allison did.
She ally reached her breaking point, and she acted.
She had spent six years using this man, lulling him into complacency; he thought he was the one using HER, and when she was ready she acted swiftly.
I’ve been the “Maya” before; in my case, it was retaliation against someone who had abused me and taken advantage of me. After realizing her true nature and escaping, a couple months went by and I went back to her. I was at a low point, and desperate.
When we got back together, I told her upfront that I wasn’t going to be used again. I set boundaries. And so we stayed together, with her eventually being abusive and manipulative again. She overstepped my boundaries many times, but I felt like it was worth it at the time. As the relationship went on, I had been forging another “sword.” I learned from her abusive tactics and the ways she used me. I developed techniques to defend against it.
One of her favorite tactics to control me was to threaten to dump me, since she knew I was terrified of being alone. One day, I had enough—I was done accepting her abuse, and so I used the sword:
She threatened to dump me, and I cut the relationship off. My strike hit true, and wounded her. She was now the desperate one, the one trying to get back. But, I knew her tactics, and I knew how to parry them, deflect, defend.
To this very day, it’s still very easy for people to use my kindness to trap me, but I when I realize what’s happening, I can unsheathe that sword and cut them away.
[It has occurred to me that this comment section has heavily embraced serious debates and controversies the past few weeks. Which, regrettably, has led it to neglect one of its finest traditions: good old casual text roleplaying. This is a small initiative to bring it back.]
Welcome the Wheel’s Edge, the finest inn you can ever hope to accidentally enter in the 777,777 universes! Leave your worries and weapons at the door, grab a seat, and order your poison. We’ve got a VERY extensive ale selection, so don’t be afraid to be specific.
Payment? Nah, we don’t do that here. Not in the traditional sense at least. So keep your money, jewels, and other riches. What we do like is tales. Anything goes, from marketplace gossips to stories of your travels across the Wheel, including your personal take on latest events. Or react to other people’s stories if you can’t think of your own. I think we could all use the entertainement, what with the armies of the big red angry dude setting the worlds ablaze out there. So go nuts!… we’d appreciate if you avoided the more, er, explicit type of tales. Cleaning up the aftermath is a pain.
And remember, although you may think warping you randomly here is predatory business tactic, in the end we just want everyone to have a good time. If it ain’t your thing, feel free to leave. Although I’m not sure where the door will take you when you do…
Anyway, we’re looking forward to your patronage!
[So yeah, order your drinks and share your stories from the Wheel while staying in character, that’s pretty much all there is to it. Let’s have fun!]
“There are times, oh mighty Blarfg, when I fear that your fabled barbarian insouciance has been indulged to unfortunate excess.”
Blarfg did not reply to this taunt, perhaps because of the large leather gag stuffed into his mouth and held by thick, iron-buckled straps, but his eyes spake volumes, (perhaps, his tormentor mused, even libraries), of unquenchable rage. He stirred slightly in the massive chains of goblin-forged metal that suspended him above the spike-walled pit of molten lava which had been stocked with dozens of venomous lava-breathing thermocrabs.
Little did decadent Prince Slofio suspect that thermocrabs lived on a purely mineral diet, and were already eating the walls of the pit below the surface of the lava, or that the normally unbreakable goblin metal was weakened by heat, or that “insouciance” did not mean what he thought it did.
Hmm intriguing and pleasantly told. Incidentally it reminds me that we do have liquor made with marinated thermocrab extract somewhere. Way too earthy and spicy for my taste, but I’d be happy to pour you one for this mise-en-bouche of a tale.
This world sounds like a pitiful place indeed. But maybe we shan’t be surprised to observe such behaviour in a universe that remains ignorant of the Wheel’s immensity. Here, have a glass of this wundershroom beer we received last week from the subterranean swamps of Pokole. First sip is a bit bitter, but I find the aftertaste to make up for it.
Shut the ████ up you Serpent’s Hand [EXPUNGED] before I [ERASED BY ORDER OF UNDER-SECRETARY GENERAL] your entire bloodline and send your unborn child to ██████, ███████.
Now now, we kindly require patrons to share background information about any feud they may have with each other before engaging in threats or physical violence within the bar. We would hate to miss out on a good revenge story.
“Good keeper of bars, I can only stay a moment, but I require the most potent of drinks, water, if you have it. I would give you a tale of my most recent companion on the road, a charming fellow, heroic, bold beyond his means. He had no name of his own, nor many possessions, but carried a staff of white oak, well used and well cared for, which he anointed with ambergris and carried with reverence. The fellow took me for a robber when I first approached and clutched the staff tightly, calling for me to stay far away at first. I gained his trust over the next few days, we had a pace of travel that was matched, and fell into step often. I shared my food with him and he shared his water with me, and it was pleasant conversation. He told me the staff was a sacred relic of his god, and that among it’s powers was the granting of immortality. Naturally, being a thief in training, I had at first thought to steal the staff, but on hearing that, I abandoned the thought. I shudder to think of what would have happened had I taken it. Immortality is for fools and gods, and I am neither. Fare well, friend, and the Traveler’s blessing be on ye.
A finely told and wise tale like this one is worth the best water we have. Here, let me pour your some of this. It comes from the peaks of Edelbärn, home of the Frost Simurgh, and the traveler who sold it to me guaranteed it is always as fresh as one’s throat desires. Use it to quench your thirst and fill your jug before leaving. Fare well, young thief, and if you ever run into your immortal friend again, direct him to us. He must have many gold stories to tell.
Many tales there are, more lies than truth – or perhaps truth found within the lies, if you know who spoke them and why.
I will not speak a tale of my own, for they are all short and simple and things of my trade.
Instead, consider: there is, or was, or will be a place, among the worlds of the Wheel, where men and women trade in blood rather than coin – and not in the manner of mercenaries and soldiers and common brigands, but more like vampires of a sort. Great halls hold the stocks of the lords, and a thousand thousand generations have toiled at the rites of purification and preservation, to ensure their wealth remains untouched by age or taint.
Where does one begin to undo such a system, was the question put to me by another of my trade, as he told me this tale.
How does one kill a coin of blood?
As it turned out, his solution was to infect the people, with such subtle rages and ecstasies that none knew what was coming until the blood itself rose, animated by their cries, and drowned the wealthy lords.
Of course, this fellow was a great fool.
Far simpler to smash the cocks of their kegs, and drown the world entire.
I may know of the world you mention. This would explain why I haven’t been able to get a hold of their specialty wine anymore. Not much of a loss, in my opinion – I always though it tasted a bit pretentious. This Château-Vestalys, on the other hand, I find excellent. Grown and produced on the now barren world of Epismere, at the location of a castle that, by all account, has been raided and razed 297 years ago. Best not to question why this bottle is 139 year old – I just know it is perfect to punctuate the pensive silence that tends to follow a gunslinger’s tale.
I am overjoyed to have, at long last, come across this website. Really thought-provoking articles and activities; many thanks for taking the time to put these together. Please continue to share additional content in the form of a blog. This website is now bookmarked in my browser so that I can continue to keep in touch with you.
It is often thought, implicitly, that the Iron Age was a strict upgrade from the Bronze Age. For those living in the Iron Age, though, nothing could be further from the truth. The Iron Age saw the end of the expansive trade networks that, among other things, made bronze-making possible. (Copper and Tin are both required, and in the Mediterranean they were never found anywhere near each other by happenstance).
Iron, to these people living in a post apocalypse, was an uglier, harder to make metal, whose blades were far more brittle. It was the ideal of hardness that the adherents of masculinity of the toxic variety hold on a pedestal. And it was, in the transitionary period between ages, a strict downgrade. It’s only utility is that, for how much more labor needed to go into it, and how much hotter the forges, it could be found during those tough times when flexible bronze could not.
It’s only far later, when the making of hard metal had advanced to its zenith, did Iron achieve its perfected form in Steel. A metal that had the one quality Bronze was noted for and that Iron lacked: flexibility. It could bend and not break. And for the bargain, Steel is much prettier than Iron. In some forms, even resistant to rust, Iron’s eternal bane.
With just a dash of Carbon, Steel became what Iron wished it could be. By accepting a reduction in purity and hardness, one becomes a fitter and more beautiful form. To accept softness is to weather hardship when rigidity causes one to snap like a twig.
How do you think meteoritic iron alloys (I’m presuming the iron in meteorites to not be pure) would compare. I think the Inuit were using iron knives etc before any Europeans arrived, and it turned out they’d been hitting bits of meteorite with lumps of granite to fashion what they wanted. Which would certainly harden it, but I guess the impurities would be the unknown factor.
Previous page comments: “Ohmyyisun, poor frail desperate woman used as a sex toy by an ogre ten times her weight, the horrors!”
Maya here: “Lord Mana… was a passing lover”
Truly, steel has nothing to offer again the sheer might of this woman. Soul is not the only sword she bears.
Actually though. I suspected Maya wasn’t weak enough to be trapped in Mana’s house by anything but her own will. He was taking advantage of her mental state, but he never had any actual power over her, and in the end he’s just a footnote in her path to Royalty.
Meh, this I think is first and last work I read of this author seeing this Maya backstory “revelations” and how the whole final chapter treatment of some characters in it favouring some like Zaid, making all good guys survive aside Cio just because and other get this fate. Just gonna read to the end, then delete bookmark and forget all about it seeing the mindset behind all of this.
This turned out to not be my cup of tea seeing only this last chapter which twindled my whole likeness for this story which I adored so far and how it destroyed it in my opinion by cheap old gimmicks, maybe other readers like such developments just thrown in but I don’t.
I doubt Abbadon has forgotten. But you have forgotten one thing:
Her mask was destroyed. While Allison retains a piece of it, if she makes a new mask for Cio will not contain the Cio she knew, just as Praman Nand could not remake Yabalchoath.
She can resummon the blackness that can fill ‘Cio’s Mask”, but it will bear a new, if familiar shape… and it will likely not be the exact same persona.
But who knows, perhaps bearing the Key of Kings will allow Allison to do what ohers simply cannot. To break the very rules of creation.
Just as White Chain has aligned her body to her soul and transformed it in a yet unexplained manifestation of the White Art, I suspect Cio’s Black Flame bears the potential to restore itself from nothing.
The human brain cannot actively forget information. If humans focus on specific info, humans then take longer to forget the info.
Our brains don’t have delete functions like computer software.
We near the end of the story of the only person I’ve really cared about learning… but the story is good enough, I’ll probably kept reading past that point.
Hovertext reminds me of a realization I had about One Piece a while back. The strongest men in the world are those who cry the most. They will look pitiful as water gushes down they face, crying at the misfortune of both friends and strangers. Do not call them weak, their heart is larger and stronger than yours.
Undeniable crappy quality aside, I must commend the self-confidence of Mana’s apprentice in setting at least four gemstones into the practice sword’s hilt. As if they knew Maya would keep it even post-shattering.
They are plastic.
“All according to Keikaku.”
-Sosuke Mana, having been split in half.
Truly, and genius apprentice.
Why?
Maya was in control over him, not the other way around. Interesting. Her enemy this whole time was herself, and once she defeated that part of her, she acted just like Allison did.
She ally reached her breaking point, and she acted.
She had spent six years using this man, lulling him into complacency; he thought he was the one using HER, and when she was ready she acted swiftly.
Freaking. Awesome.
I beg to difer.
She was using him alright, but not for six years. She realized that she could use him hawlfway through. She’ll never be royalty.
I don’t think Maya was in control of him at all. I think it is very literal when Maya says it was unbeknownst to *anyone*, and that including herself.
I think her, hatred and intent to kill had finally reached the point where it became sharp enough to cut. And cut it will.
Sometimes, the greatest things happen not because of what you have, but because of what you’re left with.
And here… what does she have left?
Only what she has right.
Oh, no, a grandpa joke.
love her and her peasant soul so much… also those EYES
Her smile is so cute I love her
Cursed Snacks ia observant.
I’ve been the “Maya” before; in my case, it was retaliation against someone who had abused me and taken advantage of me. After realizing her true nature and escaping, a couple months went by and I went back to her. I was at a low point, and desperate.
When we got back together, I told her upfront that I wasn’t going to be used again. I set boundaries. And so we stayed together, with her eventually being abusive and manipulative again. She overstepped my boundaries many times, but I felt like it was worth it at the time. As the relationship went on, I had been forging another “sword.” I learned from her abusive tactics and the ways she used me. I developed techniques to defend against it.
One of her favorite tactics to control me was to threaten to dump me, since she knew I was terrified of being alone. One day, I had enough—I was done accepting her abuse, and so I used the sword:
She threatened to dump me, and I cut the relationship off. My strike hit true, and wounded her. She was now the desperate one, the one trying to get back. But, I knew her tactics, and I knew how to parry them, deflect, defend.
To this very day, it’s still very easy for people to use my kindness to trap me, but I when I realize what’s happening, I can unsheathe that sword and cut them away.
Based and Sword-pilled. You achieved relationship Royalty, never again let kindness and weakness kiss. I’ve been there too, and you are strong.
I call him pussy.
I think you’ll find that this place isn’t for you. Enjoy the Othering Blade now it is turned against you.
K6BD users got the fanciest prose for stirring up drama.
maybe the real sword was the kills we made along the way
[It has occurred to me that this comment section has heavily embraced serious debates and controversies the past few weeks. Which, regrettably, has led it to neglect one of its finest traditions: good old casual text roleplaying. This is a small initiative to bring it back.]
Welcome the Wheel’s Edge, the finest inn you can ever hope to accidentally enter in the 777,777 universes! Leave your worries and weapons at the door, grab a seat, and order your poison. We’ve got a VERY extensive ale selection, so don’t be afraid to be specific.
Payment? Nah, we don’t do that here. Not in the traditional sense at least. So keep your money, jewels, and other riches. What we do like is tales. Anything goes, from marketplace gossips to stories of your travels across the Wheel, including your personal take on latest events. Or react to other people’s stories if you can’t think of your own. I think we could all use the entertainement, what with the armies of the big red angry dude setting the worlds ablaze out there. So go nuts!… we’d appreciate if you avoided the more, er, explicit type of tales. Cleaning up the aftermath is a pain.
And remember, although you may think warping you randomly here is predatory business tactic, in the end we just want everyone to have a good time. If it ain’t your thing, feel free to leave. Although I’m not sure where the door will take you when you do…
Anyway, we’re looking forward to your patronage!
[So yeah, order your drinks and share your stories from the Wheel while staying in character, that’s pretty much all there is to it. Let’s have fun!]
“There are times, oh mighty Blarfg, when I fear that your fabled barbarian insouciance has been indulged to unfortunate excess.”
Blarfg did not reply to this taunt, perhaps because of the large leather gag stuffed into his mouth and held by thick, iron-buckled straps, but his eyes spake volumes, (perhaps, his tormentor mused, even libraries), of unquenchable rage. He stirred slightly in the massive chains of goblin-forged metal that suspended him above the spike-walled pit of molten lava which had been stocked with dozens of venomous lava-breathing thermocrabs.
Little did decadent Prince Slofio suspect that thermocrabs lived on a purely mineral diet, and were already eating the walls of the pit below the surface of the lava, or that the normally unbreakable goblin metal was weakened by heat, or that “insouciance” did not mean what he thought it did.
Hmm intriguing and pleasantly told. Incidentally it reminds me that we do have liquor made with marinated thermocrab extract somewhere. Way too earthy and spicy for my taste, but I’d be happy to pour you one for this mise-en-bouche of a tale.
777,777?
É o Brazino, jogo da galera!
Where did I put that dictionary
there are a group of little man in a blue and green planet in a universe that whose gate has not been opened.
they put into boxes people, items and beasts who dont fit their reality, claming it’s to secure them, contain and protect them.
i have been watching them for a long time, observing them from the safety of book shelves, waiting to liberate the poor things they have caged.
and also i would like some ale, thanks.
This world sounds like a pitiful place indeed. But maybe we shan’t be surprised to observe such behaviour in a universe that remains ignorant of the Wheel’s immensity. Here, have a glass of this wundershroom beer we received last week from the subterranean swamps of Pokole. First sip is a bit bitter, but I find the aftertaste to make up for it.
Shut the ████ up you Serpent’s Hand [EXPUNGED] before I [ERASED BY ORDER OF UNDER-SECRETARY GENERAL] your entire bloodline and send your unborn child to ██████, ███████.
Now now, we kindly require patrons to share background information about any feud they may have with each other before engaging in threats or physical violence within the bar. We would hate to miss out on a good revenge story.
“Good keeper of bars, I can only stay a moment, but I require the most potent of drinks, water, if you have it. I would give you a tale of my most recent companion on the road, a charming fellow, heroic, bold beyond his means. He had no name of his own, nor many possessions, but carried a staff of white oak, well used and well cared for, which he anointed with ambergris and carried with reverence. The fellow took me for a robber when I first approached and clutched the staff tightly, calling for me to stay far away at first. I gained his trust over the next few days, we had a pace of travel that was matched, and fell into step often. I shared my food with him and he shared his water with me, and it was pleasant conversation. He told me the staff was a sacred relic of his god, and that among it’s powers was the granting of immortality. Naturally, being a thief in training, I had at first thought to steal the staff, but on hearing that, I abandoned the thought. I shudder to think of what would have happened had I taken it. Immortality is for fools and gods, and I am neither. Fare well, friend, and the Traveler’s blessing be on ye.
A finely told and wise tale like this one is worth the best water we have. Here, let me pour your some of this. It comes from the peaks of Edelbärn, home of the Frost Simurgh, and the traveler who sold it to me guaranteed it is always as fresh as one’s throat desires. Use it to quench your thirst and fill your jug before leaving. Fare well, young thief, and if you ever run into your immortal friend again, direct him to us. He must have many gold stories to tell.
Many tales there are, more lies than truth – or perhaps truth found within the lies, if you know who spoke them and why.
I will not speak a tale of my own, for they are all short and simple and things of my trade.
Instead, consider: there is, or was, or will be a place, among the worlds of the Wheel, where men and women trade in blood rather than coin – and not in the manner of mercenaries and soldiers and common brigands, but more like vampires of a sort. Great halls hold the stocks of the lords, and a thousand thousand generations have toiled at the rites of purification and preservation, to ensure their wealth remains untouched by age or taint.
Where does one begin to undo such a system, was the question put to me by another of my trade, as he told me this tale.
How does one kill a coin of blood?
As it turned out, his solution was to infect the people, with such subtle rages and ecstasies that none knew what was coming until the blood itself rose, animated by their cries, and drowned the wealthy lords.
Of course, this fellow was a great fool.
Far simpler to smash the cocks of their kegs, and drown the world entire.
I may know of the world you mention. This would explain why I haven’t been able to get a hold of their specialty wine anymore. Not much of a loss, in my opinion – I always though it tasted a bit pretentious. This Château-Vestalys, on the other hand, I find excellent. Grown and produced on the now barren world of Epismere, at the location of a castle that, by all account, has been raided and razed 297 years ago. Best not to question why this bottle is 139 year old – I just know it is perfect to punctuate the pensive silence that tends to follow a gunslinger’s tale.
the maybe sword is actually the second, secret sword i have stashed in my pocket for Special MotherFucker Occasions
The panels showing the past have pointedly not shown her face and eyes until now
She had none to show, for she was hiding — even, or perhaps especially, from herself.
I do believe we are soon to witness Royalty
I am overjoyed to have, at long last, come across this website. Really thought-provoking articles and activities; many thanks for taking the time to put these together. Please continue to share additional content in the form of a blog. This website is now bookmarked in my browser so that I can continue to keep in touch with you.
Lovely spam!
Beautiful spam!
I do not share my mother´s twisted obsessions but I find myself forcefully compelled to pop that zit on his forehead.
Half a galon of pus.
It is often thought, implicitly, that the Iron Age was a strict upgrade from the Bronze Age. For those living in the Iron Age, though, nothing could be further from the truth. The Iron Age saw the end of the expansive trade networks that, among other things, made bronze-making possible. (Copper and Tin are both required, and in the Mediterranean they were never found anywhere near each other by happenstance).
Iron, to these people living in a post apocalypse, was an uglier, harder to make metal, whose blades were far more brittle. It was the ideal of hardness that the adherents of masculinity of the toxic variety hold on a pedestal. And it was, in the transitionary period between ages, a strict downgrade. It’s only utility is that, for how much more labor needed to go into it, and how much hotter the forges, it could be found during those tough times when flexible bronze could not.
It’s only far later, when the making of hard metal had advanced to its zenith, did Iron achieve its perfected form in Steel. A metal that had the one quality Bronze was noted for and that Iron lacked: flexibility. It could bend and not break. And for the bargain, Steel is much prettier than Iron. In some forms, even resistant to rust, Iron’s eternal bane.
With just a dash of Carbon, Steel became what Iron wished it could be. By accepting a reduction in purity and hardness, one becomes a fitter and more beautiful form. To accept softness is to weather hardship when rigidity causes one to snap like a twig.
How do you think meteoritic iron alloys (I’m presuming the iron in meteorites to not be pure) would compare. I think the Inuit were using iron knives etc before any Europeans arrived, and it turned out they’d been hitting bits of meteorite with lumps of granite to fashion what they wanted. Which would certainly harden it, but I guess the impurities would be the unknown factor.
Man’s about to get rocked all because he wouldn’t make one miserable sword
She tried to have his buttcheeks pierced, but the sword shattered.
Previous page comments: “Ohmyyisun, poor frail desperate woman used as a sex toy by an ogre ten times her weight, the horrors!”
Maya here: “Lord Mana… was a passing lover”
Truly, steel has nothing to offer again the sheer might of this woman. Soul is not the only sword she bears.
Actually though. I suspected Maya wasn’t weak enough to be trapped in Mana’s house by anything but her own will. He was taking advantage of her mental state, but he never had any actual power over her, and in the end he’s just a footnote in her path to Royalty.
Yes, of electric sheep!
That was supposed to go under somente else’s comment, but fsck It…
and his sheep were electric….
Meh, this I think is first and last work I read of this author seeing this Maya backstory “revelations” and how the whole final chapter treatment of some characters in it favouring some like Zaid, making all good guys survive aside Cio just because and other get this fate. Just gonna read to the end, then delete bookmark and forget all about it seeing the mindset behind all of this.
This turned out to not be my cup of tea seeing only this last chapter which twindled my whole likeness for this story which I adored so far and how it destroyed it in my opinion by cheap old gimmicks, maybe other readers like such developments just thrown in but I don’t.
Cio is a demon. She does not die, just get banned. Everybody seems to forget that. Even Abbadon forget this.
I doubt Abbadon has forgotten. But you have forgotten one thing:
Her mask was destroyed. While Allison retains a piece of it, if she makes a new mask for Cio will not contain the Cio she knew, just as Praman Nand could not remake Yabalchoath.
She can resummon the blackness that can fill ‘Cio’s Mask”, but it will bear a new, if familiar shape… and it will likely not be the exact same persona.
But who knows, perhaps bearing the Key of Kings will allow Allison to do what ohers simply cannot. To break the very rules of creation.
Correct, Cio will differ greatly from her passed self… Just as White Chain and Allison both do.
Just as White Chain has aligned her body to her soul and transformed it in a yet unexplained manifestation of the White Art, I suspect Cio’s Black Flame bears the potential to restore itself from nothing.
Oh, thank you Kanye! You’re gonna let us finish, but took the time to shit on it ahead of time. Too bad nobody asked you, nor cares.
The human brain cannot actively forget information. If humans focus on specific info, humans then take longer to forget the info.
Our brains don’t have delete functions like computer software.
Cool…but who asked? If you’re so soft and easily triggered I guess that’s your business, don’t know why you need to proclaim it to all of us.
I notice we never see her face in the flashback when she doesn’t have a sword. When she’s desperate or has a family.
We near the end of the story of the only person I’ve really cared about learning… but the story is good enough, I’ll probably kept reading past that point.
Hovertext reminds me of a realization I had about One Piece a while back. The strongest men in the world are those who cry the most. They will look pitiful as water gushes down they face, crying at the misfortune of both friends and strangers. Do not call them weak, their heart is larger and stronger than yours.
Don’t got a sword? Be the Sword.
I AM THE BONE OF MY SWORD
STEEL IS MY BODY, AND FIRE MY BLOOD
I HAVE FOUGHT UNTOLD BATTLES
NEVER ONCE RETREATING
YET NEVER STANDING VICTORIOUS
THE BEARER STANDS ALONE, FORGING ON A HILL OF SWORDS
AND YET, THIS LIFE NEEDS NO MEANING
THERE WERE NO REGRETS
THIS LIFE IS THE ONLY PATH
MY WHOLE LIFE
WAS UNLIMITED BLADE WORKS
sorry, it’s a reflex
SWORD NOT WORDS
JUMP ON MY SWORD WHILE YOU CAN EVIL
I WON’T BE AS GENTLE!
DIVINE TECHNIQUE
FLAWLESS AND FIRM
STRENGTH MOVES MOUNTAINS
BLADE PARTS THE SEAS
LIFE APPROACHES THE IMPERIAL VILLA
TWO GREAT MEN, SHARED LIFE
WE EMBRACE HEAVEN TOGETHER
Translation: I’ll jump on your sword if you agree to jump on mine. Mutual kills are in vogue these days.
rape six billion swordsmiths
A sword that could hate only like a peasant could hate a lord.
People really getting on my man’s back for his grind smh🤦 we just tryna stay on that grind fr fr 💯💯🤑🤑