Life in the Silent Vale moved slowly, like the lazy drift of a river. For the adults, days were spent in the fields or forests. For the children, it was freedom to play without worry. But for Ains, every second was a lesson.
He always rose earlier than anyone, standing by the riverbank with his knees bent, letting the cold water wash over his legs. He tried to follow its rhythm. Sometimes he spun, kicked, and fell headlong into the mud. But he never stopped. He stood again, eyes alight, as if he knew no such thing as exhaustion.
"Water never stops…" he whispered. "If I fall, then I too must keep flowing."
Ains knew nothing of Qi, or dantian—those words were foreign to him. Yet his body changed. His movements grew smoother, every strike carrying a faint current of power he could not yet name. To him, it was a small gift from nature.
That afternoon, the sky turned gray. From a tree branch, Ains watched a flock of cranes returning to their nests. Wonder filled his chest—until, in the distance, he saw something unusual: rising dust, the thunder of hooves.
A group of men entered the village. Their clothes were tattered black, their headbands faded red, rusted swords hanging at their sides. On each chest, the mark of a tiger's claw.
Fear rippled through the villagers.
"The Blood Claw Gang…" an old man whispered, his voice trembling.
The name alone drained the color from faces. They were known for extorting poor villages, demanding food, coin, even young women.
Five men dismounted. Their leader, a hulking figure scarred from battle, eyes gleaming like a starving wolf, spat on the ground and laughed coldly.
"People of the Silent Vale!" His voice rang sharp. "From today, your village is under the protection of the Blood Claw Gang. You will pay fifty taels of copper each month. Pay, and you live. Refuse…" He drew his rusted blade and slashed a bamboo post clean in two. "…and this place will burn to ash! Hahaha!"
Old Gael, the village head, stepped forward, trembling but trying to appear firm.
"Forgive us, sir… the harvest was poor. The floods destroyed our fields. We can barely eat. How can we possibly gather fifty taels?"
The leader sneered. "Not my problem. You have one week. If the money isn't ready…" He raised his corroded sword. "…you know the price."
Their cruel laughter echoed as they rode away, leaving only silence and fear.
Mothers clutched their children. Men hung their heads in despair. Fifty taels? For this tiny village, it was impossible.
In the middle of the crowd, Ains stood still, eyes fixed on the dust hanging in the air. His heart pounded—not with fear, but with something he didn't yet understand.
"Why is the world so cruel?" he thought. "Nature teaches balance, teaches life. But men… only teach greed."
He clenched his small fists. Weak, fragile—but inside, a quiet voice rose:
"One day… I will never let them trample this village again."
The sky grew darker. Rain fell, wrapping the Silent Vale in mist and an unspoken threat.