After leaving the ancient cavern, Jien grew even more cautious. His body felt strange—his energy seemed to recover faster than expected, yet his hunger gnawed at him with unnatural urgency. If he was to survive, he would soon need a reliable source of food.
That afternoon, while stalking prey in the forest, a sound drifted through the misty woods—soft, sorrowful notes carried on the wind.
A flute.
Jien froze. His heart tightened as recognition struck. He slipped into the shadows, peering through the underbrush.
There she was again—the girl in green. She sat beneath an ancient tree, her face touched by melancholy, a jade flute at her lips. A few brilliantly colored birds perched nearby, listening as if entranced by her mournful song.
Jien hesitated. This girl was no ordinary traveler—of that he was sure—but neither did she seem dangerous. If anything, she looked as though she were fleeing something.
Before he could decide whether to reveal himself, the forest erupted with shouts.
"There! The flute! After her!"
"This time, don't let her escape!"
The same retainers as before, their boots crashing through the undergrowth, weapons flashing.
The girl's melody broke off in a startled gasp. Panic flickered across her face. She scrambled to her feet, tried to run, but stumbled and fell hard against the roots.
The pursuers surged forward, relief and cruelty mingling on their faces.
"Miss! Enough of this rebellion! You will return with us!" their leader barked.
"No! I will not! I won't marry him!" Her voice cracked, raw with desperation, as she clawed backward across the earth.
"You have no choice! The master's will is law—disobey, and you doom us all!" The men advanced, blades gleaming.
From his hiding place, Jien frowned. A runaway bride? Family politics. Normally, he would avoid entanglement—he had enough troubles of his own.
But watching the girl tremble, eyes brimming with helpless tears, he saw a reflection of his own struggles: the nights of loneliness, the moments when the world pressed too heavily upon his shoulders. Something within him stirred.
One retainer reached for her arm—
"Stop!"
The word cracked through the air like a blade.
Jien stepped from the shadows, his hand resting on his long saber. Though his clothes were ragged and his face pale, there was a sharpness in his gaze that spoke of battles survived, of death defied.
The retainers faltered, startled by his sudden appearance. Then, realizing he was alone—and wounded—their courage returned in cruel sneers.
"Where did this beggar crawl from? Be gone, or we'll cut you down with her!" their leader spat.
The girl's eyes widened. For an instant, hope flickered there—tempered by worry for this stranger who dared to stand for her.
"Many against one," Jien said coldly, blade sliding free with a rasp of steel. "That's no courage at all."
"Kill him!"
The retainers surged forward. Their skills were crude but their numbers gave them confidence.
Jien drew a breath, summoning the strange new energy within him—the icy fire coiled in his veins since the cavern. It surged into his blade.
When his saber swept out, its arc carried a faint searing heat. The nearest man recoiled, eyes wide, as though his skin were pricked by invisible embers.
Jien pressed forward. His strikes were sharper, faster than before. His instincts felt keener—he could read their clumsy swings before they even landed. Each clash rang with deadly precision.
Within moments, two men staggered back, blood on their arms. The others faltered, unnerved by the unearthly aura in his blade.
The leader cursed, his confidence shattered. "Retreat! We'll deal with him later!" He dragged his wounded men away, vanishing into the trees with bitter threats on his lips.
Jien lowered his saber, breath ragged. Even that short skirmish had pulled at his wounds, draining the strange energy within him.
The girl rose unsteadily and stepped toward him. She bowed deeply, voice trembling: "Thank you, sir… you saved my life."
He waved a hand dismissively. "A small thing. But you should leave quickly—they'll return soon enough."
She looked at his pale face, at the blood staining his clothes. Her lips parted, eyes soft with worry.
"You're hurt," she whispered. "I… I know a little of herbs. Please—let me help."