Day 25: Double-edged blade

An ancient enshrined sword brings order and abundance when it's not used -- yet, outside forces seek to steal it, and the chaos it unleashes when it is unsheathed is terrifying.

An ancient mystical warrior fought across the land hundreds of years ago. In his left hand, he carried the scriptures of the Holy Buddha; in the other, he wielded a sword that was centuries old even when he fought with it. He battled the restless spirits of the land, laying them low and scattering them to the four winds; his weapon, already imbued with the holy light of the true enlightened one, became ever more powerful.

The warrior retired his blade one day. None know why -- some say he slew a human in anger, betraying his devotion to the Buddha; others say that he cut the devil itself, sending it back to the depths of hell. What is known that he sheathed the sword and rest it in a small roadside temple; he swore to never again battle, and promised prosperity until the blade was naked again.

A small farming village grew up around the shrine; its land was fertile and easy to till, and its summers and winters were mild. No crop withered from heat or frost. The villagers knew peace and tranquility.

Some years ago, a wandering warrior stole into the village. Entranced by the idea of a holy sword, he crept into the shrine and gazed upon the scabbard for some time. Having screwed up his courage, he approached the blade, and drew it -- just slightly, enough to see its marbled steel that glowed azure in the moonlight -- then he clapped it shut and replaced it. He had been humbled by such a fine weapon; he felt unworthy to wield it, even ashamed to have touched it. He vowed to return one day as a warrior worthy of the weapon.

Since then, the villagers' fortunes have turned. Petty warlords, intent on making the land their own, set their sights on it. Squads came, at first sure they could bully the meek farmers into submission -- only to be surprised by the farmers' stout defense. More men were sent, in larger groups; eventually, the farmers were forced to use their holy sword. They picked lots from among their own; the loser hefted the blade and used it in battle. It shined, even during the day, and cut down foe after foe; none could stand against its powers. However, such stunning defeats only increased the resolve of the most powerful warlords. Soon, whole armies were mobilized to take the village; they roamed across the farmlands, clashing with each other and the farmers. The potency of the blade became their main target -- the farmlands became hard to plow and the weather turned against the farmers. Many moved away; now only a contingent of hardscrabble men, just as much bandits and warriors as farmers use the blade to fight against the intruders in an ongoing guerilla battle.