Clash! Clash!
Steel rang through the quiet forest, echoing like thunder in the night.
The two men swung their swords down hard, but Kaiden wasn't there anymore. He moved faster than their eyes could follow, his body sliding back just in time. Their blades cut nothing but air.
Before they even understood what happened, Kaiden stepped forward, sharp and fast. His foot slammed straight into the first man's stomach.
"Gah!"
The man folded over instantly, the air forced out of his lungs. In the same breath, Kaiden grabbed the hilt of his sword and twisted it out of his hands like he'd done it a thousand times before. The man's eyes widened in shock as Kaiden spun, swinging the stolen sword across the other attacker's midsection.
Slash!
The sound was wet and sharp.
For a second, everything went quiet. Then came the blood.
It burst out from the man's stomach like a broken pipe, splattering across the ground. His mouth opened, but no words came out—just a choked gasp as his intestines started slipping out through the deep gash.
He looked down in horror, trying desperately to hold himself together, literally. His trembling hands pushed his guts back in, but his fingers were slick with blood. They slipped through, making it worse.
"Ghhhrrraaaahhhh! Ahhhhhh!"
The noise he made didn't even sound human. It was raw pain, fear, and shock all twisted into one terrible sound. His knees hit the dirt, and he collapsed face-first into his own blood.
The three other men froze.
One of them—the one Kaiden had kicked earlier—stumbled back, clutching his stomach. The other two just stared, their faces pale under the moonlight.
The smell hit them next—blood, guts, and iron filling the air thick enough to taste. None of them spoke. None of them dared move too close.
Kaiden stood there, calm. His face blank. The sword in his hand dripped thick red drops onto the ground.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
They realized then… this wasn't the same boy they'd been told about.
The job had sounded simple. Some noble kid, a prince with no combat experience. The pay was high—too high to question. They'd been told he was harmless. A soft target. Easy money.
But the thing standing in front of them wasn't harmless. It wasn't even human in their eyes.
His eyes were cold, his movements sharp, calculated. Every breath he took seemed slow and steady, like he had done this before, like killing was second nature to him.
The first man whispered to the others, his voice shaking, "Who the hell is this guy?"
None of them answered.
Kaiden took a single step forward, his boots squelching in the pool of blood around the body. He looked at the three of them, not with anger or mercy, just… indifference.
If it were the old Kaiden, there was no doubt he would've died here. He would've begged, cried, maybe even tried to run. But this wasn't Kaiden anymore.
This was Drex.
And Drex didn't hesitate.
The men didn't know that, of course. They couldn't have. But they could feel it. The more they looked at him, the heavier the air became. The fear built up inside them like a storm they couldn't escape.
He looked too calm. Too quiet. Like someone who'd done this before and stopped caring about it long ago.
The man Kaiden had kicked earlier finally spoke, his voice breaking, "You… you're a monster."
Kaiden tilted his head slightly, not even blinking. His grip tightened on the sword, and blood ran down his arm, soaking into his sleeve.
"Monster?" he repeated quietly. "You call me that, but you came here to kill me."
The man didn't reply.
Kaiden smiled, but it wasn't a warm smile. It was cold, dead. A smile that didn't reach his eyes.
He took another step closer. The three men stepped back in perfect sync.
The leader of the group tried to regain control, shouting, "Stay sharp! He's just one guy!"
But even he didn't sound convinced.
Kaiden's eyes flicked toward him slowly. Then, in a low tone that sent chills through the air, he said, "I'm right here… come get me."
They didn't move.
The wind blew softly, rustling the leaves, carrying the smell of blood across the road. The moonlight reflected off the sword in his hand, making it gleam bright red.
He didn't look like a scared boy anymore.
He looked like death itself.