In particular, three sword arts had always caught my interest.
When I created the game, I had designed four in total, but these three stood apart—[Severed Moment], [Silent Eternal], and [Broken Beat].
Each represented a fundamentally different philosophy of combat, each was lethal in its own way, and each now terrified me as I stood on the receiving end of the world I had once crafted. It was a strange sensation, to feel both awe and fear toward something I had personally designed. What had once been lines of code, abstract numbers on a screen, had now become real—alive, dangerous, and indisputably lethal.
[Severed Moment]
[Severed Moment] was a sword art born from the manipulation of time itself.
When activated, the blade did not merely cut matter. It erased a fraction of time, carving out a segment of reality measuring one-tenth of a minute. Within that erased interval, cause and effect collapsed. The slash struck before the target could even exist in a state capable of reaction.
Anything in its path was not severed by steel, but by the edge of time itself—a boundary sharper than any physical blade could ever be. Defense, regeneration, instinct, and reflex became meaningless; the damage had already been done by the time it was perceived.
To outside observers, the strike appeared incomplete. No visible swing. No audible impact. No moment of resistance. Only the result.
A body severed. A space emptied. A life ended without ceremony.
This sword art did not kill through overwhelming power. It killed by denying the very moment in which survival was possible. It was subtle, elegant, and horrifyingly efficient. There was no struggle, no exchange of force, no drama. Just… erasure. And that erasure left an imprint on the mind, a lingering sense of violation that was hard to shake. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how terrifying a weapon like this could be in the hands of someone truly skilled.
It fascinated me not because it was flashy, nor because it was brutal, but because it was almost impossible to defend against. I imagined myself wielding it, not just cutting bodies, but reshaping the very flow of reality around me. Even as I shivered at the thought, I knew this was the sword art I had always secretly desired.
[Silent Eternal]
[Silent Eternal] moved with an entirely different rhythm. It was not forceful, nor did it announce itself with crushing intent. It was… beautiful.
I had described it as an art that drew the eye before it drew blood—so fluid and refined that those who witnessed it often forgot they were watching a killing technique at all. Every motion flowed seamlessly into the next. Each step was measured. Each slash traced as if following an invisible melody only the sword could hear.
The blade did not cut with brutality—it glided. Steel shimmered softly as it moved, catching the light in gentle arcs, creating the illusion of a dance rather than combat. To an observer, it almost felt improper to interrupt it, to attack something so mesmerizing.
That was the trap. Beneath its elegance lay absolute precision. Every strike calculated, every angle chosen to end a life with the least resistance possible. The sword passed through flesh as effortlessly as it passed through air, leaving wounds so clean they often went unnoticed until strength began to fade.
There was no frenzy. No desperation. No visible intent to kill. Only quiet certainty—the outcome had already been decided. Those drawn in by its beauty rarely realized their mistake until they felt their body failing. By then, the dance was already over.
I couldn't help but admire it from a distance, even though I knew I could never use it myself. To wield [Silent Eternal] required a harmony between body, mind, and sword that I didn't possess. And more importantly, it belonged to the protagonist. The thought of altering it in any way made my stomach tighten. Some forces were not meant to be tampered with, not even by their creator.
[Broken Beat]
Then there was [Broken Beat], infamous even among the three. To call it a sword art was generous. No flashy swings, no elegant motions—just raw, overwhelming strength. It was a series of seemingly random attacks, but in the hands of its practitioner, it crushed anything in its path.
Why was it infamous? Simple. Training it required reforging the human body, restructuring flesh and bone to suit the brutal style. The pain was unbearable, the mental strain enormous, and countless aspiring swordsmen broke under it. Those who survived did not merely endure—they became terrifyingly powerful, transformed into living weapons whose strength was almost inhuman.
I shuddered to think of it. Brutality, pain, and sacrifice were all part of its training. That wasn't for me. I had no desire to reforge my own body in such a torturous manner. I wasn't a masochist. And yet, I couldn't deny the power it offered. There was a perverse allure to it, even from a distance.
So why did I find myself drawn to [Severed Moment] above the other two? There were two reasons.
First: it was the kind of sword art I had always wanted. It didn't just cut—it erased time itself. With my Time Affinity, I could make it stronger, bending erased moments to my will and manipulating cause and effect like no one else. That alone was exhilarating. I imagined the possibilities endlessly, each scenario more thrilling than the last.
Second: out of the three, it was my favorite. Imagine facing hundreds of opponents, only to have their heads fall as if by magic, while you barely moved. Wasn't that utterly badass? It wasn't just about the killing—it was about the artistry of erasure, the perfect control over chaos. I felt a strange exhilaration, a pulse of power that made my heart race.
As for [Silent Eternal], it belonged to the protagonist. I couldn't change that; tampering with it might shatter the carefully balanced world I longed to survive in. And [Broken Beat]? Too brutal, too punishing. My body and mind weren't prepared for such a strain. I would never endure it willingly.
I pondered how best to grow stronger, my thoughts lingering on the path I would take. I imagined practicing, refining my control over time, testing the limits of my own potential. The possibilities felt endless, yet at the same time, they weighed heavily on me. Every sword art had a cost, and the higher the power, the higher the price.
The rest of the trip passed in silence, my mind consumed by these thoughts. Outside, the city lights blurred past, but I hardly noticed. Every moment was spent imagining, calculating, planning.
Glancing out the window, I saw a grand royal palace approaching—the venue for the princess's birthday banquet.
It was past seven when we arrived. The palace glowed with warm lights, brilliantly illuminating the darkening sky. Guards stood at the entrance, a quiet but imposing presence, stationed on either side of the main gate. The stairs leading up to the palace were wide and immaculate, flanked by manicured gardens.
"It's huge," I whispered, awestruck.
It was my first time seeing my creation in real life. Until now, I had only experienced such grandeur in the game. Every tower, every archway, every gleaming surface made my imagination falter. It was more magnificent than anything I could have imagined, more real than anything I had ever touched.
I can handle this, I reminded myself. After all, in my old life, I had once attended dinners with high-ranking officials. A royal banquet couldn't be that different. I could adapt, I could survive, and I could play my part.
I adjusted my collar, took a deep breath, and stepped forward, ready to enter the palace and face the evening ahead.