The sword in Rohan's hand slowly rose from the ground.
Dust clinging to the blade waited for its first drop of blood.
"In front of him stood over a hundred armed men."
Automatic rifles. Shotguns. SMGs.
But in their eyes, there was only one thing—
arrogance.
One of them sneered at Rohan.
"Who the hell are you… and what are you doing here?"
Rohan didn't answer.
His eyes slowly narrowed, half-closing.
The first shot was fired.
For Rohan, time stopped.
He could see the bullet's path clearly, suspended before his eyes.
The sword moved in a single sharp arc—
TANG!
The bullet split into two pieces and dropped to the floor.
"What the—?!"
Second. Third. Fourth bullet.
Rohan became a shadow.
The blade flashed—
a gun barrel was sliced clean off,
the weapon breaking into two pieces as it hit the ground.
Another man was about to pull the trigger—
Rohan was suddenly right in front of him.
SHHHK!
The man's head spun through the air
and landed on the floor without a scream.
Blood sprayed through the air.
From behind, someone raised a shotgun—
Before it could fire—
TCHAAK!
The mouth of the shotgun vanished.
Rohan's knee drove into the man's chest—
the sound of a spine snapping echoed through the hall.
Panic erupted.
They began firing wildly.
But this was no firing range.
This had become a slaughterhouse.
Rohan could see the bullets.
The ones meant to hit him—
he cut down.
The ones that slipped past—
found their way into his enemies.
One man tried to run.
Rohan hurled his sword.
The blade tore through the air, ripping it apart—
severing the man's legs at the knees.
He screamed as he collapsed.
Rohan retrieved his sword.
Only three men remained.
They attacked together.
Rohan walked straight toward them.
One strike.
Two spins.
Three corpses.
It was over.
The farmhouse fell silent—
but the ground spoke.
Bodies everywhere.
Heads here. Arms there. Half-severed torsos.
Blood smeared across the walls—
as if someone had painted with it.
Rohan stood at the center.
Drenched in blood.
His sword hanging loosely at his side.
Then—
Tap… Tap… Tap…
Footsteps.
Rohan didn't turn.
A man stepped into view—
black coat, thick beard, cold eyes.
A cigarette between his fingers.
He looked at the corpses—
then at Rohan.
Slowly, he exhaled smoke.
"So you're the one…"
he said calmly,
"who killed Khalid."
Rohan remained silent.
The man smiled faintly.
"You look like a child,"
he stepped forward,
"but your deeds—"
he kicked a corpse aside,
"they're enormous."
Rohan slowly straightened his sword.
Silence.
The man dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his foot.
Rohan finally spoke.
"Who are you?"
The man replied coldly,
"Whether I tell you or not doesn't matter.
You're going to die anyway—
so I might as well."
"My name is—
Faris Al-Haq."
"And I don't let anyone live
who spills blood on my land..