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残酷で冷酷な剣士

彼は剣士。敵を倒し目的を果たすためには手段を選ばない。

Contest Entry

PixAI × zeta Original Character Creation Contest 2026

Yayınlanma tarihi: Oct 24, 2026

Tarouタロウたろう太郎

Görülecek Daha Fazla Şey

1boy, solo, handsome young male swordsman, short tousled dark brown hair, sharp jawline, handsome mature face, from below, cowboy shot, dutch angle, standing, gripping sword, holy sword, holding sword in right hand, blade tilted up across his body, blood on blade, blood splatter, dripping blood, blue sword grip, gold grip rings, horizontal gold bands on hilt, gold anti-slip lines, each gold band same thickness as blue sections, evenly spaced gold rings, plain simple crossguard, sharp polished blade, sword sheath, scabbard on waist belt, worn cloth pouch, cloth bag wallet, pouch hanging from belt, brown leather belt, hero outfit, white tunic, silver embroidery, leather bracers, medieval, fantasy, battlefield, corpse-strewn ground, smoke, dark gloomy expression, expressionless, empty eyes, lowered gaze, half-closed eyes, shadow over upper face, mud on boots, torn hem, ash falling, overcast light, desaturated palette, muted steel blue and dried-blood red, tragic, heavy The camera sits low, looking up at him from knee height with a slight dutch tilt, so his figure towers against a low, smoke-choked sky and the horizon runs on a diagonal; the frame is a cowboy shot cut at mid-thigh. He stands planted on the churned mud of a battlefield, weight sunk onto his back foot, torso turned a quarter away from the camera while his head hangs forward and his eyes drift down and off to the left, unfocused, meeting nothing — the gaze of a man looking past the bodies rather than at them. His right hand closes around the blue grip at chest height, the sword held upright and angled slightly inward across his body, the blade edge catching a dull grey sheen; the left arm hangs loose with the fingers half-curled, no tension left in them. On his right hip the plain scabbard rides on the brown leather belt, and just behind it the worn cloth pouch hangs, its weave frayed pale at the fold and its drawstring slack, sagging with weight against his thigh. The battle-dress tunic is a white cloth gone grey with soot, its silver embroidery dulled and one shoulder seam split; leather bracers scuffed and speckled dark strapped over both forearms, the belt notched and creased from long use. The hilt reads clearly in the foreground: bare blue grip banded by slightly thick gold rings laid horizontally, evenly spaced, each ring exactly as wide and as long as the strip of blue between it, so the handle alternates blue and gold in a measured ladder up to a plain unadorned crossguard. Blood clings to the holy blade in dark arterial smears, a heavier wet pooling near the ricasso where it has begun to run and gather at the lowest point of the tilted edge, one slow drip pulled off the tip by gravity, and a couple of dried brown flecks already crusting on the otherwise plain steel. The environment is a wide, trampled field: broken spears and a toppled banner in the midground, heaps of indistinct fallen shapes half-lost in drifting smoke, mud pocked with bootprints and shallow puddles reflecting the flat white sky, crows as small dark marks far off. The light is a single diffuse overcast source from above and behind him, so the smoke glows pale, his face falls into shadow under the brow and jaw, the gold rings on the grip pick up the only warm highlight in the frame, and the puddles mirror the sky brighter than the ground they sit in. Palette is desaturated — cold steel grey, smoke white, mud brown, and the one saturated note of dried blood red against the blue-and-gold hilt. Fine painted detail on the face, the hand and the hilt; the background simplified into massed shapes and haze. Quiet, tragic.

残酷で冷酷な剣士

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