The storm had not yet passed when the fight began.
Rain lashed against the cobblestones, turning the market square into a shimmering mirror of water. The smell of smoke cut through the damp air — the grain cart was already on fire, flames fighting the rain, a cruel attempt to starve the city into submission.
Shino stood in the center of the square, sword drawn, cloak soaked but unmoving.
"Leave this place, wanderer," one of the merchant lord's guards shouted, his voice almost lost under the thunder. "This city belongs to our master!"
Shino didn't reply. His silence was answer enough.
The first guard lunged, blade flashing. Shino moved before the man could blink — sidestepping, striking with the blunt of his sword. The guard collapsed with a grunt.
Another came from behind, but Shino was already turning. His sword caught the man's strike and slid along the steel, disarming him. He kicked the man back into the mud.
The third charged, torch raised high. Shino ducked under the swing, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted — the torch fell, hissing into a puddle. A final quick strike knocked the guard to the ground.
All that remained was the merchant lord, pale as the lightning that lit the sky. His feet slipped in the wet mud as he stumbled backward.
"You profit from their hunger," Shino said, voice quiet but sharp as the storm. "Not tonight."
The man turned and fled into the night, leaving behind his fallen guards and burning ambition.
Shino turned to the fire. One by one, he stamped out the torches, rain helping him finish the task until only smoke remained. The grain was saved.
For a moment, there was peace.
Then the villagers stepped out from their homes and shopfronts, staring at him in silence.
No one cheered.
No one thanked him.
Instead, whispers began to ripple through the crowd.
> "Who is he?"
"Did he kill them?"
"He's too dangerous… we don't need this kind of trouble here."
Shino stood still, hearing every word. The fight had left his body, but a different weight filled his chest — heavier than any sword.
Kim Soo-min approached from the shadows, her hair plastered to her face by rain. Her calm eyes moved from the frightened villagers to Shino.
"Your work here is done," she said softly.
Shino looked at the faces around him — faces filled not with gratitude but fear — then slowly sheathed his sword. The sound was final, like a door closing.
He turned and began walking toward the city gates. Soo-min followed without a word.
Behind them, the whispers grew louder, shaping their own version of the truth. By tomorrow, Shino knew, he would be a story told in fear — the stranger who brought violence, the one who should not be welcomed again.
Halfway down the road, a small voice called out.
Shino stopped and turned.
A boy no older than ten stood in the rain, clutching a small loaf of bread. His clothes were worn, his face smudged with soot from the earlier fire.
He ran forward, splashing through puddles, and stopped a few feet away. Hesitating, he held out the bread.
"Thank you," he said simply. His voice was soft but carried in the storm.
For a moment, no one moved. Then Shino knelt, took the bread gently, and placed a hand on the boy's head.
"Take care of your people," Shino said quietly.
The boy nodded. His small smile was the only light in the dark square.
Then Shino stood and turned away once more.
When they reached the outskirts, Soo-min finally broke the silence.
"Do you regret helping them?"
Shino stopped, water dripping from his cloak.
"No," he said after a pause. "But sometimes I wonder if I only bring fear where there should be hope."
Soo-min stepped closer, her voice calm but unyielding.
"You are not here to be understood, Shino. You are here to do what must be done."
He stayed silent, listening.
"Legends aren't built by those who wait for applause," she continued, her tone softening. "They are built by those who walk away — leaving behind something that cannot be forgotten."
Shino's grip on his sword eased. He glanced once over his shoulder. The boy still stood in the distance, watching.
A faint, almost invisible smile touched Shino's lips.
"Then let them remember me in whispers," he said.
And together, he and Soo-min disappeared into the mist beyond the city gates — two wandering flames, leaving behind not praise, not trust, but a story that would grow with every retelling.