The streets in the outer district were half-deserted, dust kicking up from the faint breeze.
A blur shot through the air, landing with a thud and rolling across the ground, scattering chickens and a few horrified villagers.
The dust cleared to reveal a ragged figure sprawled out: robes flame-colored but singed, hair wild and gray, his grin far too playful for a man his age.
The Fire-Worn Monk. Genzu.
Kaen Suro stood across from him, hands stuffed in the pockets of his flame-patterned jacket, his spiky black hair casting shadows over sharp, restless eyes.
"Master Pervert Monk… what's next for training? Is it something like—KABOOM—obliterate any enemy in front of me?!"
He mimed an explosion with his hands, grinning wildly.
Genzu coughed into his sleeve, dusting off his robes before standing tall with a fake air of dignity.
"Don't call me that. It's Master Genzu. The Fire-Worn Monk. Former Lunar Sage. Last flame of Ignisoul. Living legend."
