That day, gray clouds loomed over the Silent Vale, as if the heavens themselves knew tragedy was near.
The thunder of hooves shook the earth. Dust rose as the Blood Claw Gang appeared—more than twenty-five strong. Rusted swords, blunt spears, leather whips—all clutched in hands that laughed cruelly.
Their scarred leader stepped forward, red headband trailing, voice roaring:
"Your time is up! You dare toy with the Blood Claws?!"
Old Gael, the village chief, staggered forward. "Sir… the harvest failed… please, grant us—"
"Silence!" The man kicked him to the ground. "I promised one life a day. But since you defy me—today I'll take three!"
Screams filled the air. Three villagers were dragged forward—an old man, a young woman, a boy. Their cries ended in seconds as blood spilled across the earth.
Ains stood frozen, trembling. His training, his movements—it all felt meaningless. "I can't protect anyone…"
Then—
A cold voice cut through the air.
"This is all? And you call yourselves rulers of the road?"
At the edge of the village stood a youth, no more than seventeen. Broad-shouldered, handsome yet cold, eyes sharp with pride. A long sword gleamed on his back.
The bandits laughed. "Who's this brat? Do you want to die?"
But the youth walked forward, gaze filled with disdain. Calmly, he drew his sword. The blade shimmered beneath the gray sky, the air itself trembling.
"If filth like you can oppress a village, then this world is far too dirty."
"Kill him!" the leader roared.
They charged. Weapons struck from every side.
But the sword moved first. Swift—too swift for villagers' eyes. A hiss of air, then bodies fell. Two heads rolled. Three more collapsed.
The blade danced like a storm—cold, precise, merciless. In moments, the ground was littered with corpses. The stench of blood thickened the air.
The village was silent. Relief mingled with dread.
Ains's chest heaved. For the first time, he had witnessed true martial power. Not mimicry, not play, but strength that erased lives with a single strike.
"Humans… can be this strong? My training… it's nothing compared to him. The world… it's so much bigger than I thought."
The youth flicked blood from his blade, sheathed it, and turned away without a word—his steps cold, distant, unreachable.
The villagers longed to thank him, to beg him to stay—but fear sealed their tongues.
Ains watched until the figure vanished into the forest. In his chest, a new fire burned.
"If such strength exists… I too can reach it. I must find my path—until I can stand before anyone."
He did not yet know this youth was a disciple of one of Xyvarra's great sects. But that night, Ains's resolve hardened—stronger than his fear.