Hearing the fading sounds of slaughter and the receding clatter of hooves, the boy stirred cautiously and began to look around. The first thing he saw was the corpse of his transporter, lying on his back and gurgling from an arrow embedded in his neck. His gaze slid further, freezing on the only commander still standing—a figure whose appearance sharply contrasted with his soldiers.
His equipment was far more imposing than that of his subordinates: flexible, scale-like armor, as if forged from the hide of some unknown monster, looked capable of withstanding even the most crushing blows. Moreover, he carried multiple weapons—a rarity among warriors who usually relied on a single trusted blade.
And around them... There was no one left. The entire cavalry cohort had been wiped out in an instant. Only the captive boy and the stunned commander remained, frozen in uncertainty.
"Come out, you wretched bitch!" the commander roared through his helmet, its visor marked by a single slit stretching from his left eye to his right.
The boy turned his head toward where the commander was looking and saw a figure step out from the alley where the arrow had flown earlier.
"You..." the man growled, fury boiling in his chest. "What right do mercenaries have to interfere in family affairs?!"
"What a pitiful creature," came a woman's voice, dripping with sarcasm.
The figure was clad in a lightweight combat kimono the color of night, with a sword sheath at her waist. Her build radiated strength and power, but what struck him most was her height—nearly two and a half meters tall. Her face was concealed by a cloth mask with two perfectly straight slits for eyes.
As she stepped out of the alley, she paused for a moment—and in that same instant, a hundred identical figures dropped from the rooftops. Each landed silently, kneeling on one knee and lining up on either side of her. None bore any distinguishing features: identical kimonos, identical belts, and behind their backs—bows with strings emitting a soft blue glow.
The commander, collapsing to his knees, screamed in panic:
"Do you even realize what awaits you?! The Union of Families will never forgive this, and my family will hunt you down personally!" His voice was a mix of rage and despair.
The woman didn't even grant him a glance. Her attention was fixed on the boy, who was crawling toward the dying knight—the same one who had whipped him earlier.
"I promised I'd settle things with you," the boy thought as he carefully approached the knight. Once close enough, he grabbed the helmet and began pulling it off the man's head.
The instant the helmet came loose, a blade plunged from the sky—straight into the stone beside him. The boy stared in shock at the sword embedded in the cobblestones. His actions had not gone unnoticed.
"What will you do?" The same woman's voice rang out, now laced with curiosity.
The boy lifted his gaze to the woman, standing amidst the faceless warriors in identical kimonos, identical swords, and identical bows. A sinister aura radiated from her, thick with darkness, and the sword—vanished from her sheath moments ago—now stood impaled in the ground beside him.
Assessing the situation quickly, he tried to stand, but the shackles weighing at least fifteen kilograms made it difficult. Gathering his strength, he finally rose, gripped the single-edged blade with both hands, and wrenched it free from the stone.
The sword was slightly longer than his usual talwar, but this one lacked a guard, and the length of the hilt suggested it was designed for two-handed use.
The boy raised the blade to the sky, then shifted his gaze to the gasping knight. Their eyes met, and his hand trembled. He had killed monsters before, but taking a human life... The knight's eyes were full of pleading. But what was he begging for? Mercy? Or perhaps death, to end his suffering?
Clutching the sword, listening as the commander in the distance continued screaming at the dark warriors—alternately threatening and pleading—the boy stared into the dying man's eyes.
"Kill me. Don't make me suffer. Just kill me." A familiar voice echoed in his mind.
"What? Who—?" The thought flickered, but he immediately understood—it was the voice of the very rider who had whipped him.
"But why can I hear him?" The boy noticed a faint glow from the sword in his hands. "Ah... I see." This was the blade's trait—to hear the thoughts of the dying.
Steeling himself, he averted his gaze and drove the sword into the knight's chest, ending his torment.
The clang of metal made the commander turn. Seeing the boy standing over the corpse with a bloodied sword in hand, he froze—then his eyes filled with madness.
"This is all your fault, you little worm! I'll gut you, you filthy rat, and throw you in the gutter for the pigs to devour!" Every word seethed with hatred.
He glanced around, noticing the attackers still hadn't moved. Neither their leader nor her warriors interfered—as if his every action had been foreseen.
No, the ambush itself had been flawlessly executed, but what terrified him was something else: they anticipated his moves.
"Tch, no. They're just cowards. I'm stronger—that's why they won't act," he thought, drawing a bastard sword from its sheath, its blade engraved with his family's crest.
Double-checking that the kimono-clad warriors remained passive, he advanced on the boy, who was still pulling the sword from the corpse.
The boy looked up at the approaching commander. Every step oozed hatred. A glance at the masked woman offered no hope—she and her forces still merely watched.
He had expected them to intervene, but nothing happened. His strength was failing: his arms burned from the weight of the shackles, his head throbbed from an earlier blow.
Glancing around, he saw empty streets—the townsfolk had long since fled.
"Should I run?" The thought flickered. The attackers clearly had no intention of helping him, and he stood no chance against the commander. His hands were bound, his clothes in tatters, his opponent clad in sturdy armor.
Footsteps grew closer. The commander quickened his pace, raising his sword for a killing strike.
"What will you do?" the woman asked again, curiosity still lacing her voice.
And in the next instant, the bastard sword swept through the air, descending upon the boy with all the commander's fury and madness.