After days of hunting blades through blood-soaked dungeons, we needed rest. The plan was to push forward—chase down the next sword—but exhaustion had sunk into our bones. We'd fought too long, too hard. Even chasers have limits.
I unrolled our territory map and traced a finger across the worn parchment until I found it: the Kingdom of Gold.
We set out immediately.
The kingdom's ruler was a man obsessed. They said he loved gold more than his own people—named the entire territory after it, built his walls from it, minted his currency in it. Some whispered he'd do anything to possess more.
My companions are Jax, Dixon, and Cast.
Not all of us chase the same weapons. Jax is an axe-chaser—she's accumulated seven to date, each one pried from the grip of something that tried to kill her. Dixon and Cast are sword-chasers, like me.
There are many chaser classes: swords, axes, hammers, bows, and more. Each path demands blood. Each weapon earned, never given.
The journey here was brutal—rugged mountain passes, jagged cliffs, freezing winds. But when the golden walls rose on the horizon, glowing beneath the sun, it felt worth it. This place looked like salvation.
We explored the kingdom upon arrival and quickly learned a hard truth: gold nuggets were the only currency. No nuggets, no food. No food, no shelter.
Conveniently, a fighting contest was underway. Winners took home gold.
Lucky for us, fighting was all we knew.
The contest ran three rounds. Win at least two, and you walk away with something. We tore through every match and left with enough nuggets to forge three small bricks. It wasn't much—but it bought us a room for three nights.
After that, we'd hunt the Blade of Fury.
The second day passed quietly. We ate. We slept. We repeated it until the third morning.
We woke to the roar of a crowd.
Jax slipped outside to investigate and returned with news: a man had entered the arena and was carving through every opponent. Word spread fast—he'd already won nearly a thousand bits.
Curious, we headed to the arena.
The moment we arrived, the crowd noticed us. Commoners turned and shouted, pointing, pulling others to look. We weren't strangers here anymore.
Then the man approached.
He walked with purpose, eyes locked on us, and stopped a few paces away.
"I've been looking for you all morning," he said. "I challenge you to a fight."
I stared at him, confused. "You challenge us to a what?"
I studied him as he waited. He didn't look like a threat—long black hair, bronze armor that gleamed in the light. But the sword in his hand made my breath catch.
The Blade of Fury.
Its handle was pure black. The blade curved like a serpent, warped and wicked, and its surface glowed like heated metal fresh from the forge. It wasn't reflecting light. It was light—barely contained, furious, alive.
The man's patience frayed. "Do you accept or not?"
For a second, none of us spoke.
I felt it—the pull. Not just from the blade, but from everything we were. Chasers don't walk away from something like that. Not when it's standing right in front of you, breathing.
Jax shifted beside me, her grip tightening around one of her axes. Dixon's eyes were locked onto the blade like he was already imagining it in his hand. Cast didn't say anything, but I could feel it—his focus sharpening, his stance settling.
We were all thinking the same thing.
This is what we came for.
I exhaled slowly, then met the man's gaze. "Yeah," I said. "We accept."
The crowd erupted.
People scrambled backward, forming a wide circle around us. The arena guards didn't even try to interfere—if anything, they looked excited. Gold changed hands fast here, and a fight like this? This was a spectacle.
The man smiled faintly, as he'd already expected our answer.
"Good," he said.
Then he moved.
No warning. No countdown.
Just motion.
He blurred forward, faster than anything I'd seen in the arena so far. Instinct barely kicked in before his blade came down. I raised my sword just in time—
CLANG.
The impact rattled through my arms like they were about to shatter. My feet dragged across the stone as I was forced back, boots scraping.
"Fast!" I shouted.
Too late.
He pivoted mid-strike, twisting his body unnaturally, and the Blade of Fury carved a glowing arc through the air. Dixon lunged in to intercept—
—and got thrown.
Not cut. Not stabbed.
Thrown.
The moment their blades touched, it was like Dixon got hit by an explosion. He slammed into the arena wall, the breath knocked clean out of him.
"What the—" Cast started, already moving.
Jax didn't wait. She charged, both axes swinging in a cross pattern aimed for the man's neck.
He didn't dodge.
He stepped into it.
The Blade of Fury flashed once.
Jax's axes never landed. The force of the clash sent her skidding sideways, boots digging trenches into the stone as she fought to stay upright.
"That blade—!" she barked.
I saw it now.
It wasn't just sharp.
Every time it collided with something, it released something—heat, force, rage. Like the blade itself was striking back.
"Spread out!" I called.
We moved.
Cast came in low, aiming for the legs. I circled right, keeping pressure. Jax recovered and came again from the left, while Dixon—still coughing—forced himself back into the fight.
Four angles.
Four attacks.
This should've worked.
The man didn't panic.
He turned slowly, like he could see everything at once.
The Blade of Fury pulsed—brighter.
Then he swung.
It wasn't a wild attack.
It was controlled.
Precise.
And devastating.
The air itself seemed to tear as the blade moved. A wave of force burst outward—
—and we all felt it.
Cast got hit first, lifted off his feet, and slammed down hard. I barely managed to brace, but the shock still drove me back, vision shaking. Jax dropped to one knee, teeth gritted. Dixon—already hurt—went down again.
"Is that all?" the man asked calmly.
No one answered.
We pushed back up anyway.
Because that's what chasers do.
We don't stop.
I rushed him again, forcing my body to move faster than it wanted to. My arms were already screaming from the first clash, but I ignored them. I had to get inside his range—had to—
Our blades met again.
This time, I saw it clearly.
The moment they touched, the Blade of Fury flared—
—and everything went wrong.
The heat surged up my weapon, into my hands, into my arms. It felt like gripping molten metal. My grip broke instantly, and my sword flew from my hand, clattering across the arena floor.
Before I could recover—
He hit me.
Not with the blade.
With the hilt.
A clean, brutal strike to the chest.
I couldn't breathe.
The world folded in on itself as I hit the ground, rolling hard across the stone.
Somewhere nearby, Jax roared and charged again.
Another clash.
Another burst.
Silence.
When my vision cleared, she was down too.
Dixon tried one last time—desperation driving him forward—but it didn't matter. The man stepped past his swing and struck him across the back, dropping him instantly.
Cast was the last one up.
He staggered forward, blood running down his arm, eyes still locked on the blade.
"...We're not done," he muttered.
The man tilted his head slightly.
Then he moved.
One strike.
Cast hit the ground and didn't get back up.
Just like that—
It was over.
The crowd was quiet now.
No cheers. No shouting.
Just silence.
I tried to move, but my body wouldn't listen. Every muscle felt torn apart, every breath sharp and shallow.
Footsteps approached.
The man stopped near us, the glow of the Blade of Fury dimming slightly as he rested it against his shoulder.
"You're strong," he said. "Stronger than most."
That didn't feel like a compliment.
It felt like a verdict.
I forced my head up just enough to look at him. "...Then why do I feel like we didn't even touch you?"
For the first time, his expression shifted—just a little.
"Because," he said, "you didn't."
He turned, beginning to walk away.
"Rest," he added over his shoulder. "You'll need it if you plan to chase blades like this one."
And just like that—
He was gone.
Leaving us broken on the arena floor, the weight of that loss was heavier than any wound.
We came here to hunt the Blade of Fury.
Instead—
It hunted us.
I don't remember how we got back to the room.
Someone must have carried us—or dragged us. The people of the Kingdom weren't cruel, just indifferent. A few gold nuggets probably changed hands. That's how everything worked here.
When I woke, every part of me screamed.
My chest was bruised black where the hilt had struck. My arms were raw, palms blistered from the heat that had surged through my blade. I tried to sit up and immediately regretted it.
Jax was already awake, sitting against the wall, wrapping fresh cloth around her forearms. She didn't look at me.
Dixon was still unconscious, breathing shallow. Cast sat beside him, staring at nothing.
No one spoke for a long time.
"We got destroyed."
Jax's voice broke the silence. Blunt. No softening it.
"I've never seen anyone move like that," Cast said quietly. "It wasn't just speed. It was like... he knew where we'd be before we got there."
I forced myself upright, wincing. "That blade. Every time it touched ours—"
"It hit back," Jax finished. "I felt it. Like fighting two enemies at once."
I nodded slowly.
That man had the Blade of Fury. He'd mastered it. And we couldn't even scratch him.
"So what now?" Cast asked.
I didn't have an answer.
Dixon woke a few hours later. He didn't say much—just sat up, checked his wounds, and stared at the ceiling.
We spent the rest of the day recovering. Eating what little we could afford. Letting our bodies piece themselves back together.
But the loss hung over us like smoke.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I kept replaying the fight. Every swing. Every miss. Every time he moved like we were standing still.
You didn't.
His words echoed in my skull.
We hadn't touched him. Not once. Four chasers—fighters who'd cleared dungeons, killed monsters, earned our blades through blood—and we couldn't land a single hit.
What were we missing?
On the second day, I left the room alone.
I wandered the golden streets without direction, mind churning. Merchants shouted. Crowds moved. I didn't hear any of it.
I ended up at the arena.
It was empty now. The stone floor still bore scorch marks from the fight—black streaks where the Blade of Fury had carved through the air. I stood in the center, where I'd fallen, and looked up at the sky.
"You're the one who fought him."
I spun around.
A man stood at the edge of the arena. Older. Lean. Eyes sharp like he'd seen too much.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Name's Dator." He walked closer, hands in his pockets. "Saw the whole thing. Impressive."
I almost laughed. "We lost."
"You survived." He stopped a few paces away. "Against someone like that? That's nothing."
I didn't know what to say.
Dator studied me for a moment. "You want to know why you couldn't touch him."
It wasn't a question.
"Yeah," I admitted. "I do."
He nodded slowly. "Come find me when your crew's healed. I might have something useful."
Before I could ask more, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
I told the others that night.
"Dator?" Dixon frowned. "Never heard of him."
"He said he watched the fight," I explained. "Said he might know something."
Cast crossed his arms. "Could be a trap."
"Could be," I agreed. "But right now, we've got nothing. That man with the Fury Blade—he's on a different level. If we fight him again the way we are now, we'll lose again."
Jax was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "So we find Dator. Hear what he has to say."
"And if it's useless?" Dixon asked.
"Then we figure something else out." I looked at each of them. "But we're not giving up. That blade is still out there. And there are more like it."
Silence.
Then Cast nodded. "Alright. Let's find him."
We tracked Dator down the next morning.
He was waiting near the eastern gate, leaning against the golden wall like he knew we'd come.
"Took you long enough," he said.
"You said you had answers," I replied. "So talk."
Dator smiled faintly.
"Not here. Walk with me."
We followed him out of the kingdom, past the walls, into the open wilderness beyond. He didn't speak until the golden towers were far behind us.
Then he stopped and turned.
"What I'm about to tell you," he said, "is something most chasers never learn. Or learn too late."
We waited.
Dator's expression grew serious.
"It's called Potential."