Great
A man sat in the corner of a tavern in a quiet little village. It wasn't very busy, but it did have the odd customer here and there. This was good, because the hero didn't feel much like talking now.
However, in an inevitable event the bar owner came over to him and began chatting with him.
"Hey there son, do you want a glass or two? It's on the house." He bumbled cheerfully. But this did not move the other man.
Instead of a smile he gave the tavern owner a cold gaze, questioning him and piercing with a chill to his soul. "Why the hospitality?"
The owner back away, mumbling something incoherent. "Well… Uhh… It's just… I want to hear your story..."
The Great Swordsman scoffed at this request, but agreed on the account that he would get free drinks.
"Everyone wants that. Ha ha… I will tell you a story. Just one. I don't have time to tell a fool of things he won't understand."
It began in a darkened, fog-bound battlefield. The thick smoke of cannon fire loomed in the air, making it hard to breathe. These were the harshest conditions of war, the kind where one was forced to walk on his blood-stained comrades to provide carpeting. The Great Swordsman however, needed no comrades. He simply had his sword and his shining, silver auto-vehicle that allowed him to storm the fields of Weyard and cut apart his foes.
He was a just fellow, handsome and super intelligent. Every man wanted to be him, but for some reason, he failed to acknowledge these loyal admirers with little more than a slice from his sword.
His silver armour and shining holy blade were unbreakable, and no one could stand against him. He would charge through the muddy and foggy hills, tearing through the crags and killing another. He was great, and he knew it.
The Great Swordsman in essence had felled an entire battlefield. He was strong and powerful and had all the coolest cars and attacks. Next he was going to conquer alchemy, the power of this world. Some say he was from another world, and that's why he wanted the power of another world. He could have only been so, since he was clearly too great for such a pathetic world.
The tavern owner nodded and cleaned a glass with a bad rag, the rank stench wafting to the Great Swordsman. He rose from his seat and turned to head away from the bar, setting his tenth glass to be cleaned.
"Hey, wait a minute."
He stopped and turned to look over his shoulder, the alcohol not affecting him as he gazed back to the bartender.
"You sound… Great. You are a great power in this world." He set his finished glass down and began to clean another musty piece.
The Great Swordsman nodded. At least someone else knew it. Then, he walked off through the doors and to a stormy, night time setting to find some foot hills. But not before tearing up the continent in his sweet car.
A prequel to Rise of sorts. It's great, like me.