A/N: I'm back. Enjoy the better version of Tainted Black.


Twenty years ago.

The Smith of the Gods
forges a blade:
a Sword of Power
a Sword he has made.

A mask to hide,
a mask to protect.
A mask immortal,
a mask unwrecked.

Unparalleled in skill,
others cannot compare.
They neither try,
nor do they dare.

Not one nor two,
but o'er a thousand swords made.
O'er a thousand armors,
he alone has made.


*CLANG*

The sound of steel crashing on steel rang out throughout the small workshop. Inside, a masked man swung away at a chunk of heated metal, forming it into a long, narrow slab with a sharp point on one end.

*CLANG*

Another strike fell, widening the slab just a bit, and elongating it more. Soon, the slab began to look like a sword.

*CLANG*

Yet another strike fell upon the slab, before the man carried it to a vat full of blood red liquid, then quenched the hot metal partly, pointed end first.


He hadn't the time to make a proper, two handed sword, so he had instead made an estoc, edgeless but sharply pointed. It would be enough for most, although for this particular customer, it would be debatable. Pulling out the blade, he carried it over to his tungsten anvil, where he laid the blade down, ready to work the remaining, unquenched part into the guard and hilt. Finishing the sword shouldn't take too long, and he could start on the other commissions.


Now, the man could easily finish a sword in a day, but the customers had been piling up orders relentlessly, asking for various weapons like breastplates, swords, gauntlets, spears, greaves, daggers, helmets, each with their own, unique, customization. Different adventurers had different preferences. One wanted a heavy sword to go with their high strength stat, while another wanted light armor to defend them without slowing them down. He didn't mind. Why would he? People came with money, asked for his works, then paid him to make said works. The cost was rather high, and came with the vow of only using it to hunt monsters, and to protect that which they held dear.

He finished the sword, placing on a rack, before starting another one.


Ten years ago.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Once a man revered by even the gods of the forge for his smithing skills, now a monster on trial before them.

"He's a threat." One god had said.

Hephaestus glared at said god. "Just how is he a threat?"

The speaker nervously looked at the others, then back at her. "We know little about him, his crafts are inhumanly well crafted, and several rumors are going around that he uses blood to quench his weapons and armors."

The masked man said nothing, and the god glared at him. "Well? Are these rumors true?"

He nodded. He couldn't deny it, nor would he ever. It was his style of craft. Nothing would change that.

"See, Hephaestus! Your smith uses blood to quench his creations. Where could he get that much from, hmm? Surely, you cannot continue allowing a murderer to receive your Grace."

Hephaestus scowled. "Are you claiming my adventurer is a murderer? What proof do you have of that?"

"Where else could he get that much blood?"

In truth, a friend of his owned a potions shop. The owner gave him a lot of healing potions to assist with the blood loss, and the masked man naturally healed very quickly. It wasn't too much of a problem for him to smelt and craft as he did. But these gods did not know that.

The uproar among the other gods truly irritated him, but he said nothing. No amount of explanations could make them understand. After all, he was far past his prime: distrusted by the gods, distrusted by the adventurers of Orario. The masked man had nothing left for him.

His goddess was enraged by their fears. "He only uses his blood for quenching. He has never murdered anyone, and the Guild would have arrested him if he did."

Another goddess shook her head. Loki, he remembered. "The dungeon is a dangerous place. Who knows, maybe anyone died in there because of his cursed wares, but their own actions may have played a part as well."

That was enough. He slammed his gauntlets down, surprising most of the other gods. "I have never taken a life for my own benefit. My wares are bathed in my own blood to give them my blessing, to strengthen them. Any who have died wearing my armor fought to their end and beyond even that, driven to strive for nothing less than their absolute best. They swore that upon taking up a weapon I had made for them, that they would use it for its intended purpose, to hunt monsters. They swore that upon donning the armor I had made for them, that they would use it to defend that which they held dear."

There was a flaw in the oath, and one god made it clear to the rest. "And if someone were to claim that other adventurers were 'monsters', and their own benefit that which they held dear? What then?"

He had planned for this. "To make weapons is to make the tools meant to take the lives of others. I have accepted that fate. To make armor is to make a full defense for whoever wears it, good or evil. I have accepted that fate. There is nothing I have done wrong. They swore upon the oath I had asked them to make, and they had taken up my wares as their own. Even if they swore to use the tools I gave them for the benefit of Orario, they could still murder one another in the name of that oath. I cannot change the hearts of others."

He sat back down, his face hidden behind his mask. His goddess smiled at him, then glowered at the others. "See? He has done nothing wrong. If you condemn him, you will have to condemn my entire familia as well."

She was defending him, but the masked man knew what could easily happen then.

And it did. "Very well. Those found guilty of making illegal wares will be permanently banned as a smith following a twenty-four hour period, in which their god or goddess will remove their Grace from the offender. Those found innocent will be free to continue as they wish. All in favor of this?"

All but three hands among the gods rose. "All who oppose?"

The first to remain opposed was of course his goddess. The second, was surprisingly, Loki. The third was a god the masked man hadn't seen before, a large man of powerful stature.

"The majority has decided in favor of accepting this law. We will begin searching in five minutes. Meeting adjourned."


The inquisition had lasted less than ten minutes. Of course, he was the only one found guilty, on the basis of his wares being 'necromantic' in their creation, and thus, illegal. But not a single other person had been found guilty of making illegal wares.

Not one.

Hephaestus had tried to delay the Grace removal for as long as she could, but it was inevitable. With tears in her eyes, she cried every single second of the removal period. It must have hurt her as much as it did him, but he refused to cry out. He would be strong for her, for their familia. Not anymore. It was her familia. He was no longer a part of it. He couldn't be.

The other gods watched him with suspicion as he gathered his tools, when a small blonde girl ran into his shop. "Are you really leaving?"

The girl couldn't be any older than seven, with straight blonde hair and cerulean eyes. He pitied her, since the girl couldn't get on in life without being strong, and with strong friends. He glanced up, and saw Loki standing outside the door. She stared back at him. "Hey, I'm sorry it had to end this way. If you want, you could be an adventurer in my familia. I could give you my Grace. The other gods would allow you to receive a different god's blessing."

He shook his head. The gods had burned his back where a god's Grace would be. He could never receive Grace from a god or goddess again without them seeing that burn. No, he had become a Fallen. But even Loki's sympathy helped, even a little. He knelt down in front of the little girl. "Yes, little one. I am leaving. I may come back, I may not. So do not wait for me."

The little girl teared up, but no tears fell. She was a strong one. "No. You will come back. I know it. You've made the best wares around, and you'll do it again. So you have to come back!"

She shook a little, and the masked man rested a gauntlet on her head. "Then I will come back after all. You want something from me, correct? What is it?"

His purpose was to help people, in his case through crafting both powerful weapons and armors for their use. He knew as much. Others didn't see him as a person, they saw a resource to help them get what they wanted. A cynical look, but it was the truth. It was why he hid his face, so others didn't have to see and feel guilty for using him.

The little girl swallowed. "I want... I want to go fight in the dungeon alongside you. You can be an adventurer in my familia. You're strong enough, right?"

What. What was this? A child wanted him to fight in the dungeon along side her. She wanted him to help her in a way that was entirely new to him. He dealt with people, but with them it was superficially. With her, it would be something more. She wanted him to be a part of her familia, part of her family.

He could not. Not with the burn on his back, not with his failure still there, not when others distrusted him, not when they labelled him as a monster.

She looked down, slightly embarrassed. "I want you to take off your mask, and get along with the other gods as well."

She wanted something more than a selfish wish. It was amusing, that a child would want something not a single other person, even gods, would want from him. She didn't want something from him. She wanted something from him. It didn't matter if he was a monster, she would never call him such a thing. No, to her, he was a person, someone who was in need of a friend to console them, to comfort them.

She wanted be that friend, the masked man realized. But he had to leave. He grabbed a sword off of the wall, one he had a fondness for.

Desperate, the Sword of Conquering Despair, he had called it. A straight, double-edged blade, a simple black hilt, and a straight crossbar, he had engraved a shattered white shield into the hilt to emphasize the sword's power. Indestructible as it always would be, it would never dull, break, tarnish, or show any signs of wear, under almost any circumstances. It had a hidden power locked deep away in it, like almost every sword he made. This was his second best sword, one forged from his very soul and blood, and the second one he had enchanted. It was too personal to give away, so he had kept it on display, with a 'not for sale' sign underneath, to convince buyers that his wares were as good in function as they were in aesthetics. He sheathed the blade, and held it out to the girl.

She was surprised when he did so, gently taking the sword. "Is this for me?"

He nodded, smiling beneath his mask. This was not something he would normally do. But this girl had potential to become something better. "This, is Desperate. Take it, use it well. This sword will never break or dull. Do you swear to use it to hunt monsters, and to use it to reach that which is what you wish to achieve in life, that you could not reach on your own?"

She paused, then nodded, resting the sword on her hip. "I do."

He nodded, then stood up. "Loki. Take care of her. She's one of yours."

There was no questioning the steel in the young girl's eyes. She wanted to both protect something, and be so strong she would never have to be protected. She was naive, but he could sense unparalleled strength in her heart. She would refuse to let others stand in her way, and she would always stand in front of them. Always.

He walked past Loki, turning back only to speak a few words of encouragement to the girl.

"I will see you again, Sword Princess."


Five years ago.

The masked man stared at the boy in front of him. No older than eleven, the albino glared at his opponent. Yes, the albino. The boy had snow white hair, pale skin, and piercing red eyes. He was fighting against a wild goblin, a rather rare appearance outside the dungeon, and so very far away from Orario, too. But the boy wasn't doing too well, his knife breaking as the goblin attacked once more. If this kept up, the boy would fall, and die.

A voice rumbled next to him. "Well? Aren't you going to help him? He'll die, you know."

The masked man turned to see the man from five years ago, one of the three gods who had opposed his banishment. "What about you? You're a god, after all."

The god shrugged. "And you're a wandering supporter. What will you do?"

The masked man glared at him from under his mask, then charged the goblin. Said goblin lasted an instant longer as the masked man grabbed its head with his gauntlet, and crushed it, blood spurting from the neck as it tried to regenerate. All monsters outside the dungeon seemed to have some level of regeneration, most likely a mutation resulting from living on the surface for so long alone, with no backup from other monsters.

But the masked man wouldn't have any of that, slamming his hand into the center of the goblin's body, then tearing out the magic stone that allowed its existence. Without it, the body of the monster quickly withered and dissolved into smoke and ashes, which scattered to an unfelt wind. He pocketed the stone, then turned to the boy. "Not bad. If your knife hadn't broken, you might have killed it."

The boy nodded, obviously depressed about the outcome. He looked at the god, tears in his eyes. "Grandfather, I failed."

The god shook his head. "Bell, don't worry. The masked man helped you out because it's what he does. He helps people."

The masked man fought the urge to sigh. This god thought him to be a supporter, but that didn't mean he helped people. It was actually the opposite. He had killed thousands, the one who donned his armors and used his weapons but did nothing to help him, when he left with his blessing. Only once did he spare a life, the girl he had met five years ago. That was the one blessing he did not take. Desperate was not a sword to betray him. Instead, that girl would be the last to take up any of his wares. "Do you truly believe that?"

He knelt in front of the boy. "I did it because I was selfish. A child can see that. But, my question to you is this: Do you have what it takes to commit yourself to the happiness of another?"

It was a difficult question. Many would say yes, commit themselves to proving themselves right, and him wrong. They would fail in the end, struck down by their own selfishness.

The boy looked at the masked man's gauntlets, then at his mask. "I don't. Not as I am, at least."

The masked man chuckled. "Then, what is it you seek to obtain this?"

Many would say power. But this boy was not many. He was weak in body, but strong in his determination to prove himself. "A strong knife. One that won't break. That's all I ask for."

He was surprised, though less than he expected. This boy did not know how harsh life was, how quick another would be to betray him. He would try to go on in life as his own, yet prove himself to those who challenged his strength. This boy was still a child, but one who knew that the world would not forgive him for relying on another. Would he survive in such a harsh world? The masked man did not know. However, the boy asked of him a knife.

The masked man crossed his arms. "Child. Do you expect to get by with only a knife? Where will you get the strength to wield it, the experience to overcome the enemies that will stand before you, the resolve to defend that which you hold dear, when you ask only for a simple knife?"

The boy tightened his grip on the broken hilt of the knife he held, his body tense. He looked down for a moment. Then he looked up, and the masked man saw the strength in the boy's eyes, something he hadn't seen since the girl he saw the day he left, but this boy was even younger than her!

"Masked man. I ask of you a knife, nothing more. It is my choice to take up the role of an adventurer, and I will never question if that choice was the right one for me. I will rise to face and overcome the challenges and enemies that try to overwhelm me. I will learn from those challenges and enemies, adapt to the upcoming ones. I hold the resolve of my decision already, masked man. So give me a knife, one that won't break. That is all I need."

The masked man chuckled once more. This child was ready for the dungeon. Perhaps even for the world. "Child. You do indeed hold resolve. For that, I thank you. While you are naive, you see the world as it was meant to be. You will receive your wish in due time. Keep your resolve strong, and the blade you wield will be just as strong."

The masked man pulled a long knife out of his black cloak. The blade, black in color, held an ethereal look to it, with the runes empowering it a dark red. He handed the blade to the boy.

The boy took it, accepting of the consequences that could arise.

The masked man turned to leave, speaking a final time before doing so. "Child. You will face impossible odds, and enemies far, far greater than you can ever be. But as long as you hold your resolve, feel no fear, your blade shall never break. Go forth, to the dungeon of the gods. Prove yourself worthy of the title of 'Adventurer'. We will meet again, Record Holder."


A/N: I'd also like a beta reader for this story, so I can make said story a bit decent than the original.
Reviews are appreciated, as are PM's for other things.