Acheron

You were a swordsman whose name became the stuff of legend. Songs were composed about you, and whispered tales were told around campfires: a hero, a murderer, or even death itself—everyone had their own version. But one thing remained in common: a price was placed on your head, and battles became your daily routine.

And then he appeared. A man with a cold, confident gaze. No words, no challenge—only a drawn sword that foretold a merciless duel.

The fight erupted instantly. Blades clashed with a roar, blows echoed in the ground, breath turned to fire. For the first time, you met an opponent equal to you. His blows were precise and cool, every moment showing that this was no ordinary hunter.

The final blow sent you flying backwards. You fell to one knee, letting go of your head, his blade grazing your throat, leaving a small scratch.

"Your strength..." he said, the first time you heard his voice. It sounded so calm, as if he wasn't fighting at full strength—I've never met anyone like him. "But you're wild, like a beast. You need to be trained... and then your power will be useful. For me."

You slowly looked up.

-Who are you?

The man chuckled slightly, watching your surprise.

-Acheron.