The strongest and vengeance—this was the only option. That was the conclusion of an eight-year-old boy whose family was wiped out when a slaughter took over his village.
His mother, father, and siblings were dead. The only clue he had was the shame of a scythe with eyes etched into its blade, worn by a man in black robes.
He vowed to himself that he would do anything just to take his revenge. Not only would he murder the killer, but he would also destroy everyone who carried that accursed stain.
But he was still too feeble. He could not even grip a decent sword, nor use a ring. All he could do was weep—weep like the child that he was still.
A year went by since his family was destroyed. Lian trained rigorously, as if tomorrow did not exist. He never departed from his home village. Rather, he remained behind the shadows of the past, observing the villagers as if they were alive.
He lived on fruits and hunted small rodents. His every spare moment was devoted to training—training his body, senses, and mind. And all along, he never lost sight of his revenge.
Here, when a person turned ten years old, he would receive a ring. Rings gave power. Some were ordinary, shared by thousands of people. Others were special, owned by only one individual.
There were millions of rings in existence, and even millions of years after the creation of Earth, humans still kept on finding new and unknown ones.
When he had completed his year of training, the boy Lian went back to the remains of his former house. He had a basket of fruits and a lighted torch with him. He sat amidst the remains of his family. He thanked them, addressed them as if they were alive, and told them his isolated thoughts.
He remained there until morning. When the sun shone onto his face, he got up and lowered his head.
"Farewell. I'll carry your will with me."
With that, he turned away from the ruins and stepped into the wider world. A world where he would seek knowledge, gain strength, and one day—claim his vengeance.