The forest was quiet.
Too quiet.
A gentle breeze stirred the leaves, sending moon-cast shadows dancing along the dirt path. The full moon hung like a silver coin in the sky — wide, bright, and watching, like the eye of some bored god with nothing better to do.
Down that lonely path walked an old man. His robes were simple, the color of old ash, and a rusted longsword lay slung across his shoulder like a sack of rice. Every few steps, he'd pause to scratch his back or mutter complaints under his breath.
"This damn trail didn't feel this long thirty years ago…"
The sword clanked with each lazy step. A twig snapped in the distance.
The old man froze.
Then casually scratched his ear.
"Bird, probably."
Above, hidden in the trees, two assassins held their breath.
One of them was an older man, lean and wiry — a shadow dressed in black. His face was stone, cold-eyed, unreadable. That was Mae-Bi, the squad leader. He raised a hand to silently halt his companion.
The other was younger and sweating bullets, white-knuckling his dagger.
"Uh… boss," he whispered. "Are you sure this is the guy? He doesn't look scary. I thought he was supposed to be some reclusive sword demon or something."
Mae-Bi didn't answer. He just flicked his fingers, signaling: Focus.
"I'm not sure," he finally muttered. "But the Heavenly Demon himself gave the order. Kill the old man. Bring the body."
He narrowed his eyes at the figure below.
"He's old, alone, and has no clan. We take him out, report back, and maybe—just maybe—we get two days off."
"I haven't had a bath in three months," the younger assassin grumbled.
"Then stop whining and hold your breath. On my signal—"
"Ahhh-choo!"
The sneeze exploded through the silence like thunder.
The old man didn't even flinch. "You boys done hiding yet?"
Mae-Bi's stomach sank.
His companion turned pale.
"…What the hell?"
The old man sighed and gently set his sword on the ground.
"Assassins these days," he muttered. "No patience. No manners. No hygiene."
He looked straight up at them, eyes clear and bored.
"You think I can't smell blood and dog piss from ten paces?"
Mae-Bi leapt from the tree.
His dagger flashed like lightning.
"Alright, old man," Mae-Bi said, voice steady. "Now that you know we're here, it's time to finish this. Please don't take it personally."
The old man raised an eyebrow. "Did you just say please?"
He burst out laughing.
"You're the squad leader, right? Skilled. Calm. Experienced. And polite?" He wiped a tear from his eye. "I thought assassins were supposed to be emotionless, but you—you're killing me!"
Mae-Bi said nothing, face locked in a cold scowl.
He flicked his hand. "Squad. Strike."
The forest moved.
Ten shadows dropped from the trees in perfect formation.
The old man didn't even pick up his sword.
He just… moved.
It was like watching a breeze tear through bodies.
One step. One breath.
Ten skulls shattered like porcelain.
Mae-Bi turned just in time to see it — his entire squad, lifeless on the ground, blood blooming across the moonlit path.
"What… what are you?" he whispered.
The old man stretched his back with a yawn.
"Tsk tsk. Dogs of the Demonic Cult really are stupid. If your 'Heavenly Demon' actually gave a damn about you, he wouldn't have sent you to me."
Mae-Bi's eyes flared red veins crawling like fire around his pupils.
The Blood-Eye Art. A technique passed down through generations of assassins, etched into their bones from birth.
The old man grinned.
"Oh? Those beautiful red eyes… Now I remember. You cult bastards are bred for this, right? Kidnapped women. Forced breeding. Raised like livestock to make perfect little killers."
Mae-Bi's fists clenched.
"Stop talking."
"Did my words hit a nerve?" the old man said, almost playful. "Strange. I thought you were supposed to be emotionless."
Mae-Bi vanished in a blur of killing intent.
Steel screamed through the air.
But the old man was faster.
He moved.
A flash of motion. A blur of silver.
The next thing Mae-Bi felt was cold steel sliding into his ribs.
He staggered.
Blood filled his throat.
He hit the ground hard, coughing red.
"W-what…?"
"You aimed for my heart," the old man said, brushing dirt from his sleeve. "Not bad."
He looked down at the dying assassin.
"But your footwork is trash."
Mae-Bi tried to stand.
One leg was shattered. His vision swam. Blood poured from the hole in his side.
He was dying. Fast.
But his hand still crawled toward the dagger buried at his waist.
The old man tilted his head.
"Still trying?" he said, almost curious. "You already know you've lost."
He stepped closer and looked down, eyes narrowing as he saw Mae-Bi's face — the pain, the fury, the sheer refusal to give up.
"…Are you about to cry?" the old man muttered, almost amused. "You're the first assassin I've met with real emotion."
He crouched slightly, studying him like a puzzle.
"Judging by your face, you're what — early fifties? You've been through hell."
Mae-Bi's fingers wrapped around the hilt of his dagger.
"I don't… want to die… like this…"
With a hoarse scream, he hurled himself forward.
A last, desperate attack.
The old man sighed — and caught him by the throat.
Mae-Bi's body dangled, twitching.
Then still.
Silence returned to the forest, broken only by the wind rustling through the trees.
The old man didn't move. He just stood there, holding the broken assassin like a man unsure what to do next.
"…Stubborn old bastard," he muttered. "We're probably the same age, you know. You really thought you could win this?"
He looked into Mae-Bi's dimming eyes.
There was no hatred there. Just emptiness.
Resignation.
And beneath it… something else.
"I see," the old man said softly. "You were raised in that pit. The Demonic Cult. Born and bred to kill. And they stuck a centipede in your heart so you'd never escape. Figures."
Mae-Bi couldn't speak. His mouth moved, but nothing came out.
"You don't want justice," the old man said. "You don't want redemption. You just want power."
He tightened his grip.
"Power to kill the bastards who made you into this."
Mae-Bi's vision turned to darkness.
Then — a flicker of light.
The last thing he heard was the old man's voice.
"Alright then. Let's see what you'll do with a second chance."
....
[System Detected: User Identified – Mae-Bi]
[Initializing Regression Protocol…]
[System Installed: Path of the Silent Fang]
[Rewinding to Starting Point…]
Mae-Bi gasped.
He was lying on the cold stone floor of a familiar room — the cramped, filthy quarters of a low-ranking cult dog.
His eyes darted around.
"This place…?"
He pushed himself up, knees shaky. His voice came out hoarse.
"Is this the afterlife?"
He caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror on the wall — younger. Much younger.
No scars. No wrinkles. No blood.
"…Am I dreaming?"
[System Installation Complete.]
"Huh?" Mae-Bi flinched and pinched his cheek. "Ow. Okay, not a dream…"
Then he froze.
A strange, cheerful female voice echoed in his head.
[Welcome, User. Let's begin your journey to becoming the perfect assassin. Again.]
Mae-Bi stared blankly into space.
"…Who the hell is this woman in my head?"