"Kill them now!"
The commander's voice thundered in the courtyard like a storm, and the soldiers moved without hesitation, brandishing their weapons as they charged toward Christopher and Melina.
Christopher slowly raised his head, his eyes locked on the commander. He tightened the purple scarf around his face. Then he reached with his right hand for the hilt of his sword and slowly drew the blade from its sheath, the screech of steel echoing through the air, sharp as if it were a harbinger of death.
Then he stepped forward, slowly… step by step. Calm, deliberate steps. He took a deep breath and spoke in a low voice laced with menace:
"You will be the first to die by my hand… feel honored."
Melina stood behind him, her eyes slightly tense, her hand hesitantly reaching for her sword. She didn't know who this man was, but she felt an aura around him that couldn't be ignored. He didn't look at her he simply said in a quiet tone:
"Kill the soldiers… leave the commander to me."
Her hesitation vanished in the face of his confidence. She nodded without a word and dashed toward the first of the soldiers charging at them.
On the other side, the commander looked at Christopher from afar. He gripped his sword tightly and pressed his lips together.
Hmm… that mysterious hunter with the purple scarf… a bit of a nuisance. And where did he come from? There's no record of a hunter in this region with such techniques.
He lowered his sword in front of him and took a deep breath, then shouted with authority:
"Hunter with the purple scarf, I am Comma—"
Boom!
He didn't finish his sentence.
In a flash, the ground beneath him shattered, and Christopher surged forward using "Earth Shadow Steps", appearing behind him like a deadly ghost. He swung his sword at the commander's neck without mercy.
The commander felt a chill crawl down his spine. He gathered his sacred energy in his legs and leapt high into the air at lightning speed. While airborne, he slashed his sword violently and shouted:
"Holy Heaven's Curse!!"
Golden-red rays of light exploded from his sword, and a crimson-gold arc shot toward Christopher like a flaming whip.
Christopher felt the aura of death creeping toward him, so he activated "Shadow Steps" again and retreated like a ghost.
He landed firmly on the ground, smirked sarcastically, and wiped the dust off the tip of his sword.
"Is that all you've got?"
The commander slowly descended from the air, landing like a heavy stone, his eyes fixed on Christopher. He didn't respond to the question—he simply pointed his sword forward.
"Who are you? And why are you helping the girl? Someone with your power doesn't interfere without a reason."
Christopher stepped forward, his red eyes never leaving the commander, and the purple scarf covering part of his face fluttered quietly in the wind.
Then he said, his voice full of mockery:
"Helping? You're mistaken. Why would I help a girl I don't even know?"
He paused for a moment, then continued:
"I'm just… testing my sword on you. Trying out my skills. And to be honest..."
"I'm enjoying it. I enjoy the fight."
Christopher gave a faint smile, his red eyes watching the commander. His heart was beating fast with fear, with excitement… and with hesitation as well.
Do you think he wasn't afraid? Or just a fool who feels no fear? No… he was afraid. He fully understood the danger. But that feeling… that thrill that erupts every time he swings his sword, every time he strikes his enemies… it was stronger than fear.
It's pleasure.
A pleasure he hadn't known before… except there, in his old life, when he used to explore dark tombs, filled with traps and danger. He would stand before the unknown, breathing in danger, his heart beating in the same way.
In a brief moment, a flicker of an old memory crossed his mind.
He wasn't on a battlefield… but in a narrow underground corridor. The walls were damp, and the air heavy. Silence enveloped the place.
In front of him was a trap. A complex network of thin, barely visible threads stretched between the walls like a demonic spiderweb. Each thread was connected to a hidden mechanism, ready to unleash hell on whoever touched it.
Rusty metal spears waited in the ceiling, some of them stained with dark black spots… as if it were blood dried for centuries. In the corners, rusty gears leaked sticky oils, producing a ticking sound.
At that moment, Professor John was kneeling on the ground, breathing calmly, but his heart was pounding like battle drums. He held a lamp, shedding light on every detail. He knew one mistake would turn him into a shredded corpse.
He reached for one of the threads, lightly pulled a thin one, and one of the mechanisms stopped.
Then… a faint sound was heard.
Whoosh!
A slender arrow launched from the ceiling, tearing through the air just centimeters from his face, scratching his cheek with a thin red line. A few drops of blood rolled down his cheek, warm.
But he...
Laughed.
Slowly at first, then louder, rising, mad.
"Heh… hahaha… hahahahaha! Hahahahahaha!"
A short, crazy laugh… the laugh of someone who realized he was still alive.
But the scene faded.
And in its place, the battlefield returned.
He breathed slowly, muttering to himself:
"The place changed… but the feeling is the same."
"What changed is the method, but the essence remained."
Then he tightened his grip on his sword and charged, swinging his blade.
The sound of swords clashing echoed in the air.
Kraaang!!
A red spark burst from the clash, and Christopher stepped back, his arm trembling from the force of the blow. The commander didn't stop. He moved quickly, and with a fast motion like a whirlwind, he spun and swung his sword as if slicing the wind.
Whoosh!!
Christopher ducked at the last moment, but the tip of the blade scratched his shoulder. His coat tore, and a thread of warm blood spurted out. He gritted his teeth and pushed off his left foot, then counterattacked suddenly.
Whoosh!
He slashed diagonally toward the commander's chest, who barely blocked the strike and staggered back a few steps. Dust rose between them, and their eyes blazed.
"Hmph, you're not just an amateur," the commander muttered as he tightened his grip on the sword.
"And you're not just a foolish old man," Christopher replied with a tired voice.
The commander charged again, and the battle ignited between blows and blocks.
Kraaaang! Kraaaaang! Fwoooosh!
Every strike from the commander was like a storm, but Christopher, despite his wounds, countered… blocked, dodged, and attacked. But the difference began to show little by little… his speed was slower, his breaths heavier, blood flowed from previous battle wounds, and his experience was less.
And suddenly—
"Sacred Slash Technique – Second Stigma!"
The commander swung his sword, and a flaming arc of light split the ground.
Fwoooooosh!!
Christopher jumped to the side, but the edge of the arc touched his already injured side.
Aghh!!
A cry of pain came from his chest, and he fell to his knee, panting. The blow wasn't fatal, but it was extremely painful.
The commander approached slowly, his eyes merciless.
"It ends now."
But before he could raise his sword, Christopher lifted his head, the scarf covering his face, only his red eye visible, and he looked calmly at the commander.
Earth Shadow Steps.
Christopher suddenly vanished and reappeared ten meters away, his body exhausted, bleeding from multiple wounds, and his breath ragged.
He raised his head toward the commander, the purple scarf still hiding his face, except for his red eye, whose gleam hadn't faded yet. He laughed lightly, bloodied coughs between, then murmured in a weary but steady tone:
"It was a good fight… but I think it's time to end it."
He looked at his trembling palm, then slowly clenched it. He whispered to himself:
"My mana is nearly drained from my seed… but this should be enough to kill you, I think."
He lowered his gaze to his shadow stretched before him, then extended his right arm toward it and whispered:
"Shadow Seal."
His shadow flickered for a moment, then moved as if alive. It extended rapidly, like fine lines, forming a circle around the commander without him noticing.
It resembled a magical net of shadows, light, barely visible.
The commander, sensing a faint change in the air, stopped advancing, frowned, and muttered:
"What is this?"
At that moment, the shadows suddenly moved from the ground like dark tendrils wrapping around his feet and arms, restraining his movement for a few seconds.
"A seal?!" the commander growled, trying to resist, but the restraints were precisely designed for suppression and domination.
Christopher seized that critical moment.
With just two steps, he approached like a ghost and unleashed a swift sword strike.
…The sword pierced the commander's heart.
There was no scream. Only the sound of steel sinking into flesh, followed by a hoarse exhale from the commander's mouth.
Christopher stared into his eyes and saw in them surprise… not anger, not hatred, but pure astonishment, as if his body hadn't yet realized what happened. Slowly, blood seeped from the commander's mouth, then he murmured in a faint voice:
"The… purple scarf…"
The sword fell from his hand, and his grip loosened.
Christopher remained standing, his hand still on the sword's hilt embedded in the commander's body. He didn't move.
A silent, heavy moment. Killing wasn't new to this world, but for him… this was the first time he killed.
He slowly pulled the sword, and the body collapsed to the ground lifeless.
He looked at it, his face covered by the scarf, but his eyes remained fixed on the commander. He didn't feel pride. He didn't feel elation. But a strange feeling… as if something heavy settled in his chest.
He took a deep breath. Looked at his blood-stained palm, then at the sword's blade, crimson in color.
He didn't tremble. He didn't vomit. Just… silence.
In the forest around him, silence prevailed.
Even Milena, who had finished off the last soldier, stopped, staring at Christopher from afar. Something had changed in him. He wasn't just the calm, confident person anymore. There was something else. A new weight. Maybe maturity. Or maybe something else.
Christopher lifted his head slightly, as if listening to the wind.
Then muttered to himself, in a tone only he could hear:
"It didn't feel good… but it didn't feel bad either."
He lowered his head and whispered:
"Killing… is not how I imagined it."
When he finished speaking, pain crept into his body as if he hadn't felt it until now. He collapsed backward and leaned against a nearby tree trunk, his breathing heavy and his eyes half-closed from fatigue and dizziness.
He looked up at Milena, who was silently watching him, and a faint smile formed on his face behind the scarf. He said in a low voice tinged with light sarcasm:
"Why are you looking at me like that? … Did you fall in love with me?"
Milena blinked twice, then lifted her chin slightly and said coldly on purpose:
"Hmph… Fool. Even if you were the last man in Novalim, I wouldn't fall for you."
Then she added, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, her tone less sharp than before:
"But I won't deny… your way of fighting isn't bad."
Christopher chuckled lightly, despite the pain in his chest, and said:
"I'll take that as a compliment from you."
Milena slowly approached him, looked at the wounds on his body, and said while looking at him:
"In any case… thank you. Without you, I wouldn't be here now. And I wouldn't have been able to save my uncle."
Christopher looked at her, his eyes half-closed, his tone still sarcastic:
"You're mistaken. I didn't save you… and I wasn't thinking about your uncle at all. I was just testing the sharpness of my sword."
She looked at him for a moment, then sighed and gently shook her head, as if she didn't believe him:
"Liar. But it's okay… I'll thank you anyway."
Christopher gave a faint smile behind the scarf and tried to respond, but the pain hit him hard, and his smile faded.
Christopher suddenly staggered, then collapsed beside the tree, his body hitting the ground with a faint thud. Milena rushed to him, her face slightly pale.
"Hey! No… don't joke now!" She knelt beside him, placed her hand on his neck, searching for a pulse. It was there… weak, but present.
She sighed in relief, then looked at his bloodied body, and the blood on his shoulder and side.
"This idiot… fought with all these wounds?!"
She pulled a small vial filled with red liquid from her cloak. But before she reached out to treat his wounds, she paused. She looked at the purple scarf still hiding his face and raised an eyebrow.
"Mmm… what is this mysterious hunter hiding? A scar? A burned face? Or maybe… just a very normal face?" she muttered while looking at him with one eye, then smiled softly.
She shook her head and lightly slapped her cheek: "What are you thinking now, Milena? You left him bleeding while imagining his face!"
She sighed, then slowly reached for the scarf and gently pulled it off.
Suddenly… she froze.
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted in silent surprise.
"Huh…?"
His face was… young. At most, no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. His skin was slightly pale from exhaustion. But… he was clearly handsome, handsome in a way you'd never expect from that quiet-voiced, mysterious-toned hunter.
"A child?!" she whispered in shock, then covered her mouth with her hand.
"Impossible… his voice, his presence, even the way he spoke… I never suspected for a moment he was a child!"
She stared at him for a few seconds, then let out a small, quiet laugh.
"What a strange one… even unconscious, he still holds his aura."
Then she pulled out the vial and came closer.
She opened the potion and poured the liquid on his wounds, then took out a clean cloth and wrapped his wounds quickly and looked at him then at her uncle.
"We have to get out of here… I don't know how much time we have before the temple reinforcements arrive."