The morning sun rose faintly at 8 AM, its light cold and indifferent like the heavens themselves were watching without care. Today was no ordinary dawn. The streets were crowded, the air thick with murmurs, and every gaze was fixed upon one figure Dong, the name whispered across the continent, now walking toward a fate most called madness.
The ancient Chinese Frozen Dragon awaited him in the far North. A beast of eras long gone, feared not for its flames, but for the stillness it brought freezing both body and will.
Yet the people were not here to wish him well.
Their words dripped like poison.
"He is weak."
"He will die before sunset."
"A fool seeking glory."
They gathered not for support, but for spectacle like vultures circling a wounded beast.
Dong paused at the gate of the southern branch mansion, where his journey began many moons ago. His dark eyes scanned the faces twisted with judgment, and for a moment, a small smile touched his lips not of kindness, but of understanding.
"How curious," he thought, "the weak are always the loudest. Their voices rise not to praise the strong, but to bury them before the battle begins."
---
High above, two silent figures watched from their palace chambers.
The First Prince leaned lazily against the railing, a grin carved on his face.
"Hah! May he die in the most painful way. That bastard deserves nothing less."
Beside another window stood Second Princess Mira, her expression colder than the morning frost.
"He will die. There is no doubt."
Elsewhere, within the deepest halls of power, the First Queen gazed into a glowing magic crystal, her eyes sharp as a hawk's.
"If he survives… if he kills that dragon, he will no longer be a pawn. He will become a threat to the entire continent."
And in the quiet solitude of another tower, Kira rested his chin on his hand, watching the departing figure with a gaze neither cold nor warm.
"I hope he returns," Kira whispered. "Even if he fails to kill the dragon, I hope… he comes back alive."
---
At the mansion gates, the King stood with the scroll in hand a promise and a chain.
"Dong," he said, his voice carrying both authority and hidden venom, "kill the dragon, and the scroll is yours."
Dong's reply was simple, yet his words carried a weight that made the cold morning tremble.
"Before I leave… tell me this: when I face the dragon, will this magic crystal remain active?"
The King shook his head. "No. The moment you confront the beast, the crystal will awaken on its own. Until then, it sleeps."
A faint nod from Dong. "That is a relief. I do not fight to perform for their eyes."
"I am sending ten S-rank guards and three SS-rank elites," the King continued. "They will protect you on your journey. But in the battle… you stand alone."
Dong stepped into the carriage, the wood groaning under the silent storm within him.
"I know," he said, the words almost a whisper. "And that is how it should be."
---
As the wheels turned, carrying him away from the city walls, the air shifted. Behind him, whispers turned to curses, curses turned to bets, and bets turned to laughter.
Yet Dong did not look back. The world behind him was a pool of stagnant water, and he was the stone that no longer wished to sink.
"Twenty days," he thought, gazing at the northern horizon where mountains kissed the sky. "Twenty days of roads, of traps, of whispers, of blood. Let us see… what this path wishes to teach me."
The trees swayed as though bowing to an unseen monarch. Snow fell gently, but did not cling to his shoulders. And deep within his mind, a quiet fire burned not of rage, not of fear, but of something far more dangerous.
Resolve.
---
For Dong knew the nature of men.
"They call you weak not because they know your strength, but because they wish it so. For if the weak rises, the comfort of the mediocre shatters."
The road stretched long, and the sky dimmed as if the sun itself was uncertain whether to watch him succeed or to fall. Yet with every turn of the wheel, every whisper carried by the wind, Dong only became quieter.
Because true strength does not shout.
It walks.
And when the time comes, it devours.
The fifth night of the journey was silent too silent for a land that once breathed with life. The stars blinked faintly above, veiled by wandering clouds, and the cold wind whispered secrets that only the restless could hear.
Dong suddenly opened his eyes. His breath was steady, but his instincts screamed.
"What is this… this strange energy? It's faint, yet it pierces the night like a whisper that refuses to die."
He rose from his bedroll, pushing aside the carriage curtain. All around him, the royal guards lay asleep, their chests rising and falling in careless rhythm. Their swords rested against the wheels, untouched, their eyes blind to the weight of this night.
"Fools," Dong muttered under his breath, a trace of disdain crossing his face. "Even a peak A-rank assassin could pass through here like a shadow and slaughter them all. They call themselves my protectors, yet they cannot even protect their dreams."
The wind carried the strange pulse again distant, hollow, almost mournful. Dong followed it.
---
After a mile of walking under the pale moonlight, a faint silhouette emerged: a village, swallowed by darkness. There were no lamps, no dogs barking, no sound of night crickets only a chilling stillness.
Dong stepped past the crooked wooden gate, his boots brushing against the cold dust. And then… he saw it.
"What in the world…?"
Bodies. Everywhere. Twisted limbs of children, the frail forms of elders, the silent tears still etched upon the faces of mothers. There was no sign of life only a massacre frozen in time.
"No human could do this," Dong whispered, kneeling beside the lifeless form of a young boy, his small hand still clutching a broken wooden toy. "This is the work of something far more cruel… far more ancient."
---
His gaze shifted. At the heart of the village stood a lone tree its bark dark as midnight, its roots curled like the fingers of a dying god. Yet the strangest thing was not its presence, but its glow. A faint, ghostly light seeped from its trunk, pulsing like a beating heart.
"Why… is this tree here? And why does it glow now?"
As his fingers brushed its bark, a sharp pain seared through his mind, and suddenly, memories flooded in not his own, but the final echoes of the villagers' lives.
He saw the village alive again. Children running barefoot, women stirring their pots, men sharpening their old iron blades, elders sharing tales by the fire.
Then a scream.
From the horizon emerged a creature, neither man nor beast, with claws like jagged steel and breath that reeked of death. It tore through the village mercilessly. Flesh fell like autumn leaves, and the joyous laughter of the children turned into silence.
The vision faded. The glow of the tree dimmed, leaving only its shadow behind.
---
Dong stood there for a long moment, his eyes calm but heavy with thought.
"So… that is what happened here. Not war. Not rebellion. Just tragedy wearing the face of a monster."
He sighed, then rolled up his sleeves. The night was cold, the ground hard, but he began to dig. One grave after another, stone after stone, until the land that once held screams now held silence.
Hours passed. The moon began to wane. Finally, he placed the last handful of soil over the final mound. Fifty-three graves. Fifty-three memories returned to the earth.
He stood before them, brushing the dirt from his hands.
"You do not know me. I do not know your names. But the world owes you more than this quiet end."
His voice was low, almost a prayer.
"Rest now. Do not carry your fear to the next life. Your story does not end here, because I will carry it with me. I will find the beast that drank your blood and I will make it choke on its own."
The wind answered him not with words, but with a gentler silence.
Dong turned his back on the graves and walked toward the sleeping camp. The night seemed a little heavier, but his steps were steady.
"So begins another debt to settle," he murmured..
CHAPTER END...