The wheels of a lone cart creaked against the uneven dirt path. The sky hung gray, the sun veiled behind layers of ash-like clouds.
Upon the cart's back lay five lifeless bodies, their faces pale, their armor broken. Flies buzzed lazily around the stench of death.
The horse pulling them trudged forward without complaint, guided by a silent rider.
The figure's face was hidden beneath a dark hood, but the faint, sinister glow of a red aura bled into the air, swaying with each step of the horse.
As the cart neared a looming, weather-worn castle, the rider tilted his head slightly, a faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
The heavy gates groaned open. The cart rolled into darkness. The scene faded.
Somewhere far away…
Cold water splashed over Ryn's face.
Kneeling at the edge of a quiet stream, he let the droplets run down his skin, clearing the haze from his mind.
The memory still lingered—the way his blade, Inferna Soul, had cut through the unknown man during the tournament. The sound, the flash, the weight of it.
He lifted his head, glancing over his shoulder at the sword lying on the grass.
It glowed faintly in the shade, almost… alive.
A thought passed through his mind, quiet but firm.
Let's see what's next.
Three days after the tournament, Ryn finally reached the outskirts of a small village.
The air here was calm, the wind carrying the scent of wet soil and fresh grass. But that calm was broken by a sudden splash and a cry from the riverbank.
A young man had leapt into the water—his body rigid with despair.
Without hesitation, Ryn sprinted forward, plunging into the cold river. His arms closed around the man, dragging him to the shore.
Moments later, on the lake's edge, Ryn laid the coughing stranger on the ground.
"What's wrong with you, dude?" Ryn asked, his tone caught between disbelief and concern. "You're way too young to be ending your life. What happened?"
The man sat up slowly, avoiding his eyes. "Thank you… for saving me. But… sorry. I can't tell you."
He stood, shaking water from his clothes. "I don't know you."
Before Ryn could speak again, the stranger walked away without looking back.
Ryn exhaled sharply. What the hell…? He muttered under his breath, "Forget it."
He continued toward the village gates. But just as he entered, he noticed an old woman lying near the entrance.
Her face was dry, her skin rough, her breathing shallow. Ryn approached and gently tapped her shoulder.
Her eyes fluttered open—then, in an instant, she wrapped her frail arms around him, trembling.
"You… you're finally here, my son! I've been waiting so long… Where have you been? Are you alright?"
Ryn froze, caught off guard. His voice was hesitant. "I'm… sorry. I'm not your son."
The woman blinked at him, her expression shifting from hope to realization.
"My bad… I thought you were him."
"It's alright," Ryn said softly. "But why are you waiting here? This place isn't safe. What if a monster attacks?"
She looked at him with teary eyes, then smiled faintly. "You look restless, boy… Come with me."
She led him away from the village center, down a narrow path lined with tall trees. At the end stood a small, weathered house, isolated from the rest.
Inside, she told Ryn to rest while she prepared something to eat.
Sitting quietly, Ryn stared at the wooden walls, thinking about her earlier words. Soon, she returned with tea and snacks, sitting across from him.
Her gaze was soft, watching him eat as if she were seeing someone dear to her.
"I'm Ryn," he finally said. "A traveler. Can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead," she replied.
"You mentioned your son before… Is he the one you've been waiting for all these years?"
The warmth in her eyes clouded with sorrow. "His name is Yamit. He left five years ago. One day, he came to me and said, 'Mom, I finally found a job. Now we can live happily and settle everything.' And then… he never came back."
Ryn's grip tightened slightly. "Do you know where he went? Who he worked for?"
"No. He never told me."
Ryn stood, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You called me son earlier. So I'll promise you this—I'll find your real son. No matter what."
Tears welled up, but she smiled. "Thank you… my son."
That night, Ryn rested in one of the rooms. But his sleep was broken by rough voices outside.
"Old lady! Give me my money!" a man barked.
Another voice laughed cruelly. "Your son owes us, and it's been five years! Pay up, or we throw you out!"
"I just need more time," she pleaded. "My son will return—"
"You have three days. Then we take everything," the first man snapped. Their laughter trailed off into the distance.
Ryn's jaw tightened, fire stirring inside him. He forced himself to stay put… for now.
Hours later, he found the three men drinking soba in a dimly lit spot, boasting about bullying the old woman.
They didn't notice the figure sitting across from them until it spoke.
"Enjoying yourselves?"
The third man sneered. "Who the hell are you, brat? Get lost—"
Ryn's hand shot forward, gripping the man's wrist. In a flash, heat flared—muscle burned away, leaving only bone.
The other two froze in terror.
Ryn's smile was cold. "Sit down."
They obeyed instantly.
"You hurt my mom," Ryn said, his voice low but burning.
"Y-Your mom?!" one stammered.
"That old lady you mocked," Ryn growled. "You have mothers too, don't you? How dare you talk about someone else's that way?"
"ANSWER ME!" he roared, flames flickering in his red eyes.
"We're sorry! We're so sorry!" they cried, kneeling.
"You know what you have to do," Ryn said.
"Yes, sir!"
"And the money—you'll get it from me. Never disturb her again."
They fled without looking back.
Ryn returned just in time for dinner. The woman didn't notice he'd been gone.
As they ate, she asked about his travels. He answered lightly, smiling for her sake.
But halfway through, a strange, heavy aura rolled over the village. The lights flickered.
The woman's face went pale. She shut the main door, killed every light, and clutched Ryn's arm.
"Promise me one thing, son… No matter what happens, don't do anything. Promise me!"
Her grip trembled. Her body was cold.
Ryn hesitated… then nodded. "I promise."
Outside, footsteps echoed at the village gate. The air grew colder.
A shadow approached through the mist, slow, deliberate.
And then—silence.
To be continued…