The next day in the village passed with a stillness that belied the storm brewing beneath. Kieran spent the morning walking along the riverside cliffs behind the tavern, feeling the wind against his face, trying to let go of the tension that always simmered under his skin.
But peace never stayed long in his presence.
Word travels fast, especially when pride is bruised—and the drunkards from the night before had plenty of pride to repair. By the time the sun hit its zenith, the small village square was crawling with strangers.
They didn't hide.
Over fifty men stood, armored in layers of leather and steel, blades sheathed at their sides or resting across their backs. Among them, one figure towered—broad-shouldered, cloaked in dark red, eyes like polished obsidian. The insignia on his chestplate was unmistakable to those who knew: S-Rank Adventurer – Derron the Spire Breaker.
Kieran stepped out of the tavern, his hair fluttering in the breeze. His black cloak hung from his shoulders, and the faint glint of the Eye hidden beneath his bangs reflected the tension. He glanced at the crowd ahead of him and took one step forward.
"That's him!" one of the drunkards shouted from the back of the mob, pointing a shaky finger. "That freak from last night!"
Derron grunted and stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "You made some noise last night, boy. Hurt the pride of a few locals."
Kieran didn't answer. His gaze calmly swept across the entire group.
"You're all here over an insult?" he asked, voice flat.
"You threatened villagers," Derron said with a grin. "Some of them have connections. I was paid well to break you. No offense—it's just business."
Kieran's jaw tightened just slightly. He looked up toward the midday sun, then back at Derron. "I gave them a warning."
Derron laughed. "And now I'm giving you one. You have ten seconds to beg."
The crowd chuckled behind him, weapons drawn and arrogance thick in the air.
Kieran didn't move.
Ten seconds passed.
And then the world shifted.
A deep hum vibrated the ground. Shadows pooled beneath Kieran's feet—thick, viscous, unnatural. His Eye flickered to life, glowing with a haunting red as veins of darkness crawled along his right hand.
Then came the pressure—Shadow's Murderous Intent unleashed in full force. The weaker ones in the crowd staggered back immediately, their instincts screaming. Some dropped their weapons. Others began trembling.
"You've made your choice," Kieran said quietly.
In a blur, he was gone from view.
The first five men fell instantly—crushed by a single arc of black energy that split the stone beneath their feet. Kieran's blade wasn't even drawn. It was will and presence, sharpened like a dagger.
Derron's eyes widened. "What the hell—?!"
He raised his arm to block, but Kieran appeared before him in a flash of black mist, striking his gauntlet with such force that it cracked like glass.
The next moment, Kieran vanished again. Screams erupted as more minions fell, one by one, cut down by a man they couldn't even see.
"STAND TOGETHER!" Derron roared. "SHIELD WALL!"
But Kieran didn't care for walls.
From the sky above, he descended—eyes glowing, cloak whipping in the wind—and slammed his fist into the center of the group. A shockwave erupted, launching soldiers into the air like leaves in a storm.
Dust and shadow filled the air.
Derron was on his knees, bleeding, coughing, and pale. Kieran walked toward him slowly now, the air cold, almost still again.
"I didn't kill them all," Kieran said, voice empty. "They're not worth it."
Derron gritted his teeth. "What... are you?"
Kieran stopped in front of him.
"I'm the reason your employer won't wake up tomorrow."
Then he turned and walked away, the shadows receding behind him. The silence he left in his wake was louder than any scream.