As the sun pressed down through the thinning canopy of the forest like a blade of white fire, Goi advanced along the winding mountain trail. The soft chime of bronze bells marked each of his steps, their delicate tones mingling with the murmurs of cicadas and the sighing trees.
Then—silence. The bells stilled. Goi halted.
A moment later, the underbrush ahead exploded. A soldier burst forth from the thicket, stumbling as though flung by unseen hands. Dirt clung to his uniform, and sweat glistened along his brow. He saw Goi—nearly tumbling backward. His wide, frantic eyes locked on the two swords at Goi's back. Hope flared in his face.
He collapsed to his knees.
"Please—save me, warrior! No—Master! No, divine one!"
Even as the words tumbled from his lips, shapes emerged behind him—low and lithe, gliding like smoke.
Wolves. But not of this world.
Their eyes burned with an unnatural gleam. Their teeth dripped with malice beyond hunger. And yet, they waited. Watching.
Goi's hand moved to his steel blade. The bells at his waist answered in a whisper of metal. He chuckled softly.
"I know," he murmured, "these beasts are no ordinary creatures"
The wolves sensed it too. His stillness was not hesitation, but coiled purpose.
From the pack, one stepped forward—massive, grim-eyed, its sinews bristling with barely-contained wrath. There was intelligence behind its gaze. And something darker.
Goi tilted his head. "So you're the leader."
Munone was surprised. How can a human radiate such sacred force…?
And yet, despite his astonishment, his eyes—no longer truly his own—remained fixed on the nape of Goi's neck, calculating the moment to strike.
Perhaps it's for the best, he thought bitterly. Better to fall to this man than to remain a chained beast to a Living Wrath.
In the blink of an eye, Goi moved.
Steel flashed once. Munone fell—silent, swift, undone by a single stroke.
Yes… A spirit unworthy of guarding even its own mind has no business pretending to be a mountain god… Let it end here. Let me rest.
As Munone's breath faded, peace washed over his fallen form. The others stiffened. A sharp bark rang through the clearing.
Had they been as they once were—his loyal kin—they would have grieved. They would have stopped, mourned, howled their sorrow into the sky.
But these were no longer wolves. Their minds had also been shackled—warped by the same Living Wrath that had taken Munone.
Then, a second beast stepped forward to seize command.
Goi wasted no time. Another flash. Another fall.
The wolves wavered.
Goi stepped forward, sheathing his blade with calm precision.
"What now?" he said lightly. "Your leaders are gone."
They backed away, paws scuffing the dry soil. But before the retreat became flight, a low growl rumbled through their midst—deep and ragged.
Their fear was gone.
Goi smiled coldly. "Ah. You are claiming that this is your territory, right?" He scoffed. "No! I don't think so, monsters!"
With a collective snarl, they lunged.
But Goi was faster. The bronze gladius gleamed as he drew it, the blade catching the high sun. One turn, one breath, one word:
"Cleansed!"
A wave of golden light surged from the blade, fanning out like a sunburst. It struck the wolves mid-air, collapsing them mid-leap. They fell as though their strings had been severed—silent, limp, and utterly still.
The forest held its breath.
Goi exhaled. The bells gave one final chime—as if saying, 'Good Job.'
Behind him, the soldier—Goney—staggered forward, breath trembling, eyes wide with disbelief. He dropped to his knees again, voice shaking.
"Th-thank you, Master!" he cried. But even as gratitude spilled from his mouth, his gaze drifted toward the darkened heart of the forest.
"My younger brother... he's still out there. Jidal. We were on hunt. The sheriff led us deep into the woods—and these things, these... monsters—they came for us."
He pointed, his hand trembling, toward the trees that stood unnaturally still, as if listening.
"There's a greater evil deeper in. Something worse than wolves. Please, I beg you."
Goi turned his head, eyes narrowing.
The air was heavier now. The shadows beneath the canopy were too deep for midday. Something unnatural pulsed in the woods ahead.
He nodded, calmly sheathing his bronze gladius.
"These are not mere beasts," he said softly. "You should leave this place. Now."
Goney said nothing.
Goi looked at him—not with judgment, but clarity. "You've done enough. You must live to tell others. Go."
"But my brother—"
"I will find him," Goi said, already turning away.
Goney remained frozen, torn between fear and duty. But as Goi stepped into the darkness, his figure half-swallowed by the trees, he raised one hand in parting.
"Go. Now."
The words were final. Commanding. Unmistakable.
And so, Goney bowed low—his forehead nearly brushing the earth.
When he rose, Goi was gone.
The path behind him stretched clear. The wolves lay still. The bells no longer sang.
Goney turned. And ran.
Behind him, the forest closed once more, holding its secrets.