CHAPTER 6 — WHEN SILENCE STARTS TO WATCH BACK
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The night in Rimba Village felt colder than usual.
Not the ordinary cold felt when the wind blew from the northern mountains, or the cold that came with the thin mist blanketing the fields in the morning. This was a strange cold—a cold that crept slowly from within the earth, from the cracks between bricks, from beneath the imperfectly closed bedroom door. A cold that couldn't be driven away by thick blankets or even by the warmth of bodies huddled together on a narrow mattress.
Inside that simple inn room, Kyoichiiro sat cross-legged on the floor. His back rested against the cold wooden wall—too cold to touch with bare skin, but he was used to it. His eyes were half-closed, not asleep, just resting. Claire had been asleep on the bed for an hour now. Her breathing was steady and deep—deep in an unusual way, like someone exhausted not just physically but mentally.
Kyoichiiro couldn't sleep.
His mind returned to the strange footprints he had found that morning. To the cryptic conversation with the brown-haired man who sat beside him on the wooden bench. To the way Edon smiled when talking about the "distributor" who sent food to this village. To the unnatural silence that enveloped Rimba every morning, as if the village was holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone.
This village is hiding something, he thought, his eyes wide open in the darkness. And it's dangerous. I can feel it. But what?
He looked at his own hands—the hands of a six-year-old child, still small and weak. The skin was smooth, without calluses, without scars. The hands of a noble child who had never worked hard. But inside those hands, there was memory. Memory of a sword he had held in his previous life. Memory of how to thrust, slash, and defend. Memory of blood flowing between fingers.
This body is still too weak, he thought, clenching his fists. But my mind... my mind is already mature. I can't just stay silent. If there's a threat, I need to know. To protect Claire. To understand this world.
He sighed softly, not wanting to wake his sister. The cold air entered his lungs, feeling sharp as small daggers.
But how? I'm just a child. No one will listen to me. No one will take me seriously. If I ask too many questions, they'll become suspicious. If I investigate on my own, I could die.
He rubbed his face with both palms. The cold on his skin helped him stay focused.
There's no other choice. I have to move slowly. One step at a time. Observe. Record. And when the time comes... I will act.
---
A MIDNIGHT CONVERSATION
Kyoichiiro stood.
His small body moved silently on the creaking wooden floor. He had learned the art of silent walking from the night guards at the manor—from Marcus, who despite his large build, could step like a cat while on patrol. The technique was simple: place the sole of the foot slowly, starting from the toes, then roll the weight to the heel. Don't rush. Don't seem hurried.
He stepped out of the room, descending the wooden stairs that creaked softly beneath his feet. Each creak sounded too loud in his ears, but he knew no one would hear. Edon had been asleep since nine—he could hear his snoring from behind the door on the first floor. The other guests—only two, an elderly couple resting—had also long been asleep.
The first-floor hallway was dark. Only one oil lamp burned dimly near the front door, enough to cast swaying shadows on the walls. Kyoichiiro walked toward Edon's door.
He stopped before it. The wood was thick, unlike the other doors in this inn—perhaps Edon had deliberately chosen a sturdy door for his own room. Behind that door, Edon's snoring could still be heard, steady as a clock's ticking.
Kyoichiiro raised his hand. He knocked. Softly. Three times.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The snoring stopped.
There was silence for a few seconds—long enough for Kyoichiiro to think Edon hadn't heard him, or perhaps was deliberately ignoring him. Then, the sound of footsteps—heavy, sleepy, but not hurried. A small oil lamp lit up behind the door, thin yellow light seeping through the gap beneath it.
The door opened.
Edon stood behind it, in simple sleepwear—a thin, wrinkled cotton shirt and coarse fabric trousers. His face looked sleepy, his eyes still half-closed, his grayish-white hair sticking up in several places. But despite his drowsiness, he remained alert. His half-closed eyes moved quickly, observing Kyoichiiro from head to toe.
Edon: (His voice slightly hoarse from just waking, but not angry) "Oh... it's you. What's wrong, kid? It's late."
Kyoichiiro: (Standing straight at the threshold, his voice calm and serious—too calm for a child his age) "I want to ask permission, Uncle Edon."
Edon frowned. He rubbed his face with his palm, trying to chase away the sleepiness.
Edon: "Permission? For what?"
Kyoichiiro: "Allow us—me and my sister—to stay here."
Edon fell silent. He looked at Kyoichiiro—looked into those calm light blue eyes, too calm, unlike any other child his age.
Edon: "You're already staying here. No one's kicking you out."
Kyoichiiro: "Not for a few days. For... a year."
Edon was startled. His previously half-closed eyes now opened wide. He stared at Kyoichiiro carefully—searching to see if this child was joking, or if he was serious.
Kyoichiiro: "After a year, we'll leave. And we'll find a way to pay for everything you've given us. Shelter, food, water—all of it."
Edon didn't answer immediately. He just stood at the threshold, looking at the small child before him. The cold night air entered through the door's gaps, making his hair stand on end.
Edon: (After a moment, his voice low) "Are you serious? One year? Why?"
Kyoichiiro bit his lower lip for a moment. He had to be careful. Couldn't tell everything. Couldn't say that he and Claire were noble children whose family had been slaughtered. Couldn't say that he was actually an adult inside a child's body. Couldn't say that he suspected this village was hiding danger.
He had to choose his words. Carefully.
Kyoichiiro: "We need a place to recover. To... become strong." He paused, thinking of his next words. "We've lost everything. Family. Home. The people we loved. We have no one left. Just the two of us."
Edon was silent. His sleepy face had changed—becoming more serious, heavier. There was something in his eyes that Kyoichiiro couldn't read.
Kyoichiiro: (Continuing) "This village feels... safe. But I know not everything is perfect. I just need time. Time to recover. Time to learn. Time to..."
He didn't finish the sentence. There was no need.
Edon looked at him for a long time. Very long. Kyoichiiro didn't blink. He just stood there, staring back, with his calm light blue eyes.
Finally, Edon sighed. His shoulders dropped slightly—like someone giving in to something inevitable.
Edon: (Smiling—a warm smile, but also slightly sad) "Alright. You can stay as long as you need. About payment... forget it for now. What matters is that you're safe."
Kyoichiiro: (Bowing slightly—not a deep bow like to an elder, but enough to show respect) "Thank you, Uncle Edon."
He was about to turn, but Edon raised his hand.
Edon: "Wait a moment, kid."
Kyoichiiro stopped. He looked at Edon with slight surprise.
Edon: (Scratching his bald head—a habit Kyoichiiro had come to recognize) "There's one thing I want to talk about. About... work."
Kyoichiiro: (Frowning) "Work?"
Edon: "You said you'd find money. But you're still children. The people in this village won't want to hire someone your age. Unless..." He paused, thinking of something. "Unless you have a special skill."
Kyoichiiro: (Silent, waiting)
Edon: "I heard from the cart driver who brought you here—he said you know how to handle a sword. Not just hold it, but handle it. Your movements were clean, he said. Like someone who's trained for years."
Kyoichiiro didn't deny it. He just looked at Edon with unreadable eyes.
Edon: (Smiling) "I won't ask where you learned. That's not my business. But... if you're willing, you could help Markus, the village head guard. He's often overwhelmed training the young people here. Maybe you could be his assistant. The pay isn't much, but enough to eat."
Kyoichiiro fell silent. He considered it. Teaching? At six years old? That would attract attention. But it could also be a legitimate reason to train without being suspected.
Kyoichiiro: (Nodding) "Alright. I'll try."
Edon: (Nodding with satisfaction) "Good. Tomorrow morning I'll introduce you to Markus. Now, get some rest. You're still small. You need sleep."
Kyoichiiro nodded again, then turned and walked to the stairs. Behind him, Edon shook his head, then closed the door with a soft click.
Kyoichiiro climbed to his room. Claire was still fast asleep, her position unchanged since he left. He lay down on the floor beside the bed—not on the bed, because he had decided he would sleep on the floor to stay alert—and closed his eyes.
But sleep didn't come. His instincts told him something would happen. Tonight. Or tomorrow. Or next week. But something would happen. And he had to be ready.
---
A NEARLY SILENT MORNING
Morning came with an unnatural silence.
Kyoichiiro noticed it immediately after opening his eyes. No roosters crowing—though the chickens in the back coop usually started making noise while the sun was still below the horizon. No sounds of children running on the dirt road—though they usually started playing by six in the morning. No sounds of farmers calling to each other from field to field—though they usually greeted each other before starting work.
Only wind. And leaves rustling softly on the rambutan tree behind the inn.
Kyoichiiro rose. Claire was still asleep—or perhaps already awake but refusing to open her eyes. He didn't know. What he knew was that he had to go out. He had to see. He had to make sure.
He got off the bed—he didn't remember when he had climbed onto it, perhaps Claire had pulled him up in the middle of the night—and walked to the window. He pushed aside the thin fabric curtain covering it.
Outside, the village looked... dead.
Not dead in the literal sense—there were still colors, still buildings, still green trees. But dead in a deeper sense. Dead in the sense of no movement. No life. Like a beautiful painting that didn't breathe.
Kyoichiiro hurried out. He descended the stairs—this time not trying to be quiet, because he no longer cared—and left the inn through the front door. The morning air was cold against his still-warm skin.
He walked along the main dirt road. House doors were still tightly shut. Windows were locked. Kitchen smoke—which usually rose from the small chimneys on the roofs—was barely visible. A few chimneys released thin trails of smoke, but too thin, like fires nearly extinguished.
As if the village is holding its breath, Kyoichiiro thought, his eyes moving quickly from house to house. As if they're waiting for something. Or... hiding from something.
Claire: (From behind, her voice still hoarse from just waking) "You again. Always disappearing in the morning."
Kyoichiiro turned. Claire stood at the inn's entrance, her arms crossed over her chest. The black cloak she wore—Kyoichiiro's, borrowed because her own clothes were still wet from washing—looked too big for her small body. Her face showed slight irritation, but also anxiety.
Kyoichiiro: (Trying to smile—but the smile didn't reach his eyes) "A bad habit, I suppose."
Claire: (Approaching, her voice low) "You feel something strange too, don't you? I do too. Too quiet."
Kyoichiiro bent down. He scooped up a handful of earth from the roadside, then let it fall slowly through his fingers. The soil was dry—very dry, even though there had been dew last night. As if this ground had never been touched by water.
Kyoichiiro: "This village is too clean."
Claire: (Frowning) "Clean? What do you mean?"
Kyoichiiro: "Not clean because it's regularly cleaned. But... as if something is being hidden. As if they're deliberately covering something up."
Claire: "Hidden from what?"
Kyoichiiro: "From us. From outsiders. Maybe from the outside world."
Claire didn't answer. She just stared at the silent village with eyes full of disbelief. She was still a child—still only eight years old—but she was already old enough to know that silence like this never brought good news.
Suddenly, from the eastern edge of the village, a shout shattered the silence.
Not a long shout that could be heard from afar. A short shout. Panicked. Cut off mid-way, like someone shouting but immediately silenced.
Villager #1: (A middle-aged man in shabby work clothes, running from the east, his face pale as paper) "Close all doors! Don't let anyone out!"
Villager #2: (A young woman with a woven basket in her hand, also running, her voice nearly a scream) "Quickly! To the barn!"
Claire reflexively reached for her waist—a movement usually meant to draw a sword. But her sword wasn't there. Her weapon had been lost since the incident at the palace. She only grasped empty air.
Claire: (Still with her hand at her waist, her voice tense) "What's happening?"
One of the villagers—the middle-aged man who had run first—glanced back briefly. His eyes were wild, unfocused, like someone in shock.
Villager #1: "Don't get involved! This is village business! Go back to the inn! Hurry!"
But Kyoichiiro was already moving. His steps were fast, yet controlled. He didn't run—running would draw attention—but he walked quickly, following the direction the villagers were running. Claire immediately followed.
---
THE OLD BARN
They arrived at the edge of the village, where an old barn stood crookedly at the edge of a drying cornfield. The barn was made of old teak wood that had blackened with age. Its roof was of sago palm leaves, already holey in several places. The walls were uneven—some wooden planks had come loose, revealing the darkness within.
The large wooden door—the only entrance to the barn—was barricaded from the outside with thick wooden beams. Not one beam, but three. Arranged crosswise, like people who didn't want anything inside to get out.
And from inside the barn, a sound could be heard.
Breathing. Heavy. Deep. Not like human breathing. Too heavy, too deep, like a wild beast sleeping—or like a wild beast holding back its rage.
Also another sound. A scraping sound. Like claws scratching at wood from within. Krekk... krekk... krekk... Irregular, impatient, like something trying to get out.
Claire: (Whispering, her voice barely audible above the scraping) "That… what is that sound?"
Kyoichiiro: (His eyes narrowing, analyzing) "A magical beast. And still alive."
Edon: (Suddenly appearing behind them, without sound, without warning. His face was serious—very serious—without a trace of the smile he usually wore) "You shouldn't be seeing this."
Kyoichiiro: (Without turning, his voice flat) "It's too late for that, Uncle Edon. What's really going on here?"
Edon was silent. He stood beside Kyoichiiro, his eyes also fixed on that old barn. The scratching from inside grew louder, faster.
Edon: (After a moment, his voice low, bitter) "Every few weeks... there's always something like this. Magical beasts. Wounded, or wild, or... cursed. They appear around the village. Usually at night. Sometimes at the forest's edge, sometimes in the fields, sometimes... on the main road."
Claire: (Her voice sharp, like a knife) "Why not report it to the authorities? Or ask for help from knights? Aren't they paid to protect the people?"
Edon smiled. A bitter smile. A smile Kyoichiiro had never seen on his face before.
Edon: "Because if we report it, this village will be erased from the map."
Claire: (Eyes widening) "What?"
Edon: (Continuing, his voice growing lower) "We've seen it happen. In the neighboring village, two years ago. They also had problems with magical beasts. They reported it to the castle. Asked for help. And what came wasn't knights—not to kill the monsters. What came were executioners. They burned the whole village. Houses, fields, livestock... and the villagers too. They said it was to 'maintain security.' That the village was already contaminated. That nothing could be saved."
Claire fell silent. Her hand, still at her waist—which had been clenched—now hung limp. She stared at Edon with eyes full of disbelief, but also fear.
Edon: (Sighing, his voice tired) "So we chose silence. We handle it ourselves, our own way. We trap those creatures, lock them in here, let them starve—or die from their wounds. It's not pretty. But at least, this village still exists."
Kyoichiiro said nothing. He understood. He had seen things like this in his previous life. People accused of being "bringers of disaster." People exterminated not because of their mistakes, but because of others' fear.
This village lives under a double threat, he thought. From the mysterious magical beasts that appear, and from the authorities who would destroy them if they knew.
Suddenly, the sound from inside the barn stopped.
A tense silence descended. Even the wind stopped blowing. Even the leaves on the trees stopped moving. As if nature itself was holding its breath.
Kyoichiiro: (Frowning, his instincts screaming) "Something's wrong."
Then—
BAM!
The wooden door shook violently from an impact within. The barricading wooden beams—three thick beams the size of an adult's thigh—cracked. Not broken, but cracked. A thin white line appeared in the center of the wood.
The villagers gathered around the barn—about ten people, mostly adult men with makeshift weapons: hoes, sickles, wooden clubs—stepped back in panic. Some shouted. Some dropped their weapons. Some just stood frozen, staring at the barn with empty eyes.
Villager #2: (The young woman from before, her voice nearly a scream) "Not now—! Usually they're not this strong! Usually they're dead within three days!"
Edon: (Stepping forward, his hand raised to calm) "Calm down. Everyone calm down. We've faced this many times. There's nothing to—"
BAM! BAM!
Two impacts in succession. Harder than before. The cracked wooden beam now split in two. The second beam also began to crack. If the third beam also broke, the door would open.
Kyoichiiro stepped forward.
Claire: (Grabbing his arm, her voice panicked) "Kyoichiiro! Don't—!"
Kyoichiiro: (Releasing Claire's grip gently but firmly) "Stay here, Sis. Don't follow."
Claire: "But—!"
Kyoichiiro: (Looking into his sister's eyes, his voice calm) "I know what I'm doing. Trust me."
Claire bit her lip. She didn't trust him. But she couldn't stop her brother either. She could only stand there, watching Kyoichiiro's small back, and pray to gods that might not exist.
Kyoichiiro walked toward the barn.
Edon: (From behind, his voice firm) "Kyoichiiro, don't be stupid. You're still a child. You don't know what—"
Kyoichiiro: (Cutting in, without turning) "I know it's a level thirty magical beast. Maybe lower. Its tracks weren't too deep, not too wide. Most likely it was wounded—that's why it could be caught. But now it's recovered, or at least recovered enough to be angry."
Edon fell silent. His eyes widened. He didn't know that this child could analyze a magical beast's tracks.
Kyoichiiro: (Continuing, still walking) "If that door opens, it will come out. And it will attack whatever's in front of it—including all of you."
He stopped in front of the barn door, about three meters from the wooden door trembling with each impact from within.
Kyoichiiro: (Turning to Edon) "Uncle Edon, tell everyone to retreat. Far. At least fifty meters."
Edon: (Hesitant) "But—"
Kyoichiiro: (His voice rising slightly—not shouting, but firm) "Now. Or someone will die."
Edon gritted his teeth. He didn't know why he was listening to this child. But there was something in Kyoichiiro's eyes—something that made him unable to argue. He nodded, then turned to the villagers.
Edon: (Shouting) "Fall back! Everyone fall back! Far! Quickly!"
The villagers didn't need to be told twice. They already wanted to leave since the barn door started cracking. Now, with Edon's command, they ran—not walked—away from the barn.
Only Kyoichiiro remained standing in place.
Only Claire remained behind him, refusing to leave.
Claire: (Whispering, her voice trembling) "Kyoichiiro... I won't go. I won't leave you."
Kyoichiiro: (Sighing—no time to argue) "Fine. But if I miscalculate... you pull me back. Don't try to fight."
Claire: "And if you're right?"
A faint smile appeared at the corner of Kyoichiiro's lips. Not a happy smile. A cold smile. A smile that said he was ready for whatever would happen.
Kyoichiiro: "Then this village has to choose. Keep hiding and live in fear... or face the reality they've been hiding."
The barn door cracked again. This time, the second beam broke completely. Only one wooden beam remained, and that one wouldn't last much longer.
Kyoichiiro clenched his fist. The training wooden sword Edon had given him hung at his waist—not sharp, not heavy, but enough to stab if he stabbed correctly.
He didn't know if he could defeat that monster. In his previous life, he probably could. His body was adult, his reflexes sharp, his experience vast. But now... his body was still small. Still weak. Still vulnerable.
But I have no choice, he thought, his eyes fixed on the barn door beginning to open little by little. If this monster gets out, it will kill. And I can't let that happen. Not before my eyes. Not after everything I've seen.
The barn door opened. And from that gap—from the darkness within—a pair of glowing red eyes stared out.
---
ONE YEAR LATER
A bright morning in Rimba Village.
The sun shone brightly in a clean blue sky—so clean it almost felt like a fairy tale sky. Birds sang in the trees. Roosters crowed from the coops behind the houses. Dogs barked in the distance, perhaps because a merchant was passing through.
Rimba Village looked... normal. Alive. Breathing.
Not like a year ago.
Kyoichiiro stood in front of Edon's inn, watching the village begin to wake. He was now seven years old. His body was slightly taller—not much, but enough to make his old clothes feel tight at the shoulders. His eyes were sharper. Deeper. More like an adult's.
At his waist hung a training wooden sword specially made by Edon—not just any wooden sword, but one with small carvings on the hilt, making it easier to grip. Edon said it was a birthday gift. Kyoichiiro didn't remember ever telling Edon when his birthday was. Perhaps Edon knew. Perhaps Edon just guessed.
Claire stood beside him, also carrying a small bag with their belongings. She was now nine years old. Her once-pale face now had slightly more color. Her once-weary eyes were now a little sharper. The trauma in her eyes hadn't fully disappeared—perhaps it never would—but she could smile again. Sometimes.
Edon: (Standing before them, in his best clothes—a neatly ironed white shirt, black cloth trousers, and slightly shiny leather shoes) "You're really leaving?"
Kyoichiiro: (Nodding) "We've troubled you long enough."
Edon: (Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand—he wasn't ashamed to cry in front of children) "No. Not at all. You were never a trouble."
Kyoichiiro bowed deeply. Like the formal bow he had learned in his previous life—in Japan, at school, at home. Bowing ninety degrees, hands at his sides.
Kyoichiiro: "Thank you for everything, Uncle Edon. For the shelter, the food, the lessons over this past year. We will never forget your kindness."
Claire: (Also bowing—not as deeply as Kyoichiiro, but deep enough to show respect) "Thank you very much."
Edon: (Wiping his eyes again, smiling—a bitter smile, but sincere) "You two... take care of yourselves out there. The world is crueler than you imagine. But..." He looked at Kyoichiiro, his eyes narrowing slightly. "...I think you already know that. Don't forget, there's always a place for you to return to here."
Kyoichiiro: "We won't forget."
---
THE JOURNEY TO FERTILE VILLAGE
A simple horse-drawn cart was already waiting in front. The driver was an old man who usually delivered goods to neighboring villages—they had negotiated the price the night before. The man didn't ask many questions. In villages like these, people learned not to ask.
Kyoichiiro and Claire climbed onto the cart, sitting among sacks of wheat bound for the market. The sackcloth was rough, itching against their skin, but they were used to discomfort.
The cart began to move. Kyoichiiro looked back, toward Edon's inn growing smaller. Edon still stood at the door, waving. A slow, wistful wave, like someone who knew he might not see them again.
Claire waved back. Kyoichiiro didn't. He just watched.
The cart left Rimba Village, passing through a dusty road flanked by forest on both sides. The trees here weren't too dense—many had been cut down for firewood or building materials. But in some places, large trees still stood, their branches reaching high like giant arms gazing at the sky.
Kyoichiiro sat quietly. His eyes kept scanning his surroundings—not out of suspicion, but out of habit. In his previous life, the habit of observing had saved his life many times. In this life, he wouldn't abandon it.
Claire occasionally glanced at him, curious about her brother's calmness, which sometimes made her uneasy.
Claire: (After about half an hour of travel, her voice soft) "You're always like that. Quiet and observing. Like you're planning something."
Kyoichiiro: (Not turning, his eyes still on the trees at the roadside) "Living in this world requires planning. Especially if we don't want to die without knowing why."
Claire: (Sighing—she had heard such sentences too many times from her brother) "Sometimes I wonder, are you really a child? The way you talk, the way you think... like an old person."
Kyoichiiro: (Silent for a moment, then answering in a flat tone) "Maybe I am old."
Claire: (Flicking Kyoichiiro's forehead—hard enough to startle him) "Don't talk nonsense."
Kyoichiiro didn't retaliate. He just rubbed his slightly sore forehead, then resumed scanning his surroundings.
Claire snorted—not satisfied that her brother didn't react more—and sat back with her arms crossed over her chest.
---
BANDITS ON THE ROAD
The cart suddenly stopped.
Not a slow stop, like when the driver wanted to rest or water the horses. But a sudden stop—jerk—with the sound of a horse neighing in protest and the driver cursing.
Driver: (From the front, his voice panicked) "Th-there are people! Many! In the middle of the road!"
Kyoichiiro leaned forward, looking past the driver's shoulder. Ahead of them, about twenty meters from the cart, seven men stood in a line, blocking the road. They weren't uniformed, weren't organized, but clearly weren't ordinary farmers. Their clothes were ragged, their faces unshaven, and in their hands—various weapons. Rusty swords, wooden axes with dull metal blades, iron clubs wrapped in barbed wire.
Bandit #1: (The tallest among them, with a scar on his left cheek, shouted while swinging his sword) "Ha! A fine catch! Get off the cart and hand over all your valuables! If you want to live!"
Driver: (Trembling, his voice barely audible) "W-we're not carrying anything valuable! Just wheat! To sell at the market!"
Bandit #2: (A man with long hair and a squint, swinging his axe in the air—perhaps to intimidate) "Liar! Get down now! Don't waste our time!"
Kyoichiiro sighed. Softly. Deeply. He had expected trouble. This road was notorious for bandits—Edon had told him. But they had no choice. The other route was longer, more dangerous, and they didn't have enough supplies for a longer journey.
He climbed down from the cart calmly. Claire followed, her face tense.
Kyoichiiro: (Standing in front of the cart, facing the bandits, his voice flat) "Leave now. I don't want to hurt you."
The bandits burst into laughter. Their laughter echoed among the trees, scattering the birds roosting on the branches.
Bandit #1: (Pointing at Kyoichiiro with his sword) "Listen to that! The little one wants to be a hero!"
Bandit #3: (A fat man with a thick mustache) "Maybe he's a noble's son. Look at his clothes—though worn, they look expensive. Maybe his family will pay a ransom."
Bandit #1: "Kid, you'd better just hand over your sister. A girl her age sells well in the market—"
Kyoichiiro: (Cutting in, his voice cold—cold as ice, as the air at the mountain peak in winter) "I said leave. This is your last warning."
The bandits stopped laughing. They exchanged glances. Kyoichiiro didn't wait any longer.
He darted forward.
His small body moved fast—faster than a child his age should be able to. This wasn't the result of a year's training in Rimba. This was the result of training from his previous life, which he had hidden all this time, which he now unleashed because he had no other choice.
The wooden sword at his waist was drawn in an instant. Not sharp, but hard enough to break bones if struck with the right force.
He struck Bandit #1's wrist—crack—the sound of bone breaking. The bandit's sword fell. Kyoichiiro continued his motion, kicking the bandit's knee from the side—crack again—and the bandit fell.
Two other bandits attacked simultaneously. Kyoichiiro spun. His small body was an advantage—he could turn faster than an adult. He dodged the first sword slash, then used his spinning momentum to parry the second attack with his wooden sword.
He didn't retaliate with big strikes. Didn't try to hit their heads or chests. He struck small—at wrists, at knees, at the fingers gripping weapons. Crack. Crack. Crack.
The two bandits fell, groaning in pain, their hands hanging limp.
Bandit #3—the fat one with the thick mustache—refused to be outdone. He carried two swords at once, one in his right hand, one in his left. He attacked wildly—swinging left, right, left again—without pattern, without strategy, only with muscle strength.
Kyoichiiro stepped back. One step. Two steps. Three steps. He observed the bandit's attack pattern—not hard, because there was no pattern. Only wild swings that could be easily avoided if he stayed calm.
When the bandit swung his sword too wide—leaving his body open—Kyoichiiro darted forward. He kicked the bandit's leg, making him lose his balance. Before the bandit fell, Kyoichiiro stepped on his neck—hard enough to make breathing difficult, not hard enough to kill—and pointed the tip of his wooden sword right in front of the bandit's eyes.
Kyoichiiro: (Voice flat, unchanged) "Your eyes. I could take them if I wanted. But I don't like wasting time on trash."
The two remaining bandits—who had only stood at the back, perhaps because they were the most cowardly—saw their comrades fall in minutes. They trembled. They threw down their weapons. They knelt.
Bandit #4: (A thin man with tangled brown hair, his voice trembling) "W-we're sorry! We were wrong! Please don't kill us! We were just... we were just hungry!"
Bandit #5: (A younger man, perhaps newly joined) "Yes! We'll leave! We won't come back! Please let us live!"
Kyoichiiro looked at them with a cold expression—flat, emotionless, like reading a boring book.
Kyoichiiro: (In an unchanged voice) "Take this trash and go far away. Don't worry, they're not dead. Just unconscious. Or..." He looked at the bandit whose neck he was stepping on. "...almost unconscious. But if you come back, or if I hear of bandits operating in this area again..."
He didn't finish the sentence. There was no need. His stare was enough.
The bandits didn't need to be told twice. They quickly lifted their comrades—some still groaning in pain, some already unconscious—and fled into the forest. Within seconds, they were out of sight.
Kyoichiiro turned to the cart driver, still stunned on his seat, mouth agape and eyes wide.
Kyoichiiro: (Sheathing his wooden sword calmly—as if nothing had happened) "It's safe. Can we continue?"
Driver: (Stammering, his voice trembling) "Y-yes! Of course! Thank you, kid! You... you were incredible! I've never seen—"
Kyoichiiro: (Cutting in, not fond of praise) "Don't tell anyone."
Driver: (Nodding quickly) "Right, right. I won't say a word."
They climbed back onto the cart. Claire sat beside Kyoichiiro, looking at him with a mixed expression—between awe, wonder, and a little fear.
Claire: (After the cart began moving again, her voice soft) "So... over this past year, you weren't just training, you've already mastered it."
Kyoichiiro: (Still looking ahead, not turning) "Training without results is meaningless."
Claire: (Snorting, then flicking Kyoichiiro's forehead gently—as usual) "So wise."
But a small smile appeared on her face. For the first time since leaving the palace, she felt a little safer with her brother beside her.
---
FERTILE VILLAGE
The cart continued, leaving the forest behind and entering a hilly region. In the distance, a new village came into view—larger than Rimba, with denser houses and wider streets. The surrounding fields were fertile, full of fresh green plants—rice, corn, vegetables, and fruit trees with fruit hanging from their branches.
Claire: (Pointing toward the village) "Is that... the village you mentioned? Fertile Village?"
Kyoichiiro: (Nodding) "Yes. Edon said this village is more developed than Rimba. There's a market, an inn, there's... maybe work."
Claire: (Frowning) "Work? For children?"
Kyoichiiro: (Sighing) "Not for children. For us. I can work—delivering goods, helping at a shop, anything. As long as someone's willing to accept."
Claire didn't answer. She just stared at the approaching village with unreadable eyes.
The cart stopped at the edge of the village. Kyoichiiro climbed down, helping Claire, who was still a little stiff from sitting too long. He paid the driver—a few silver coins, savings from small jobs in Rimba.
Kyoichiiro: "Thank you. Safe travels."
Driver: (Smiling, patting Kyoichiiro's shoulder) "You too, kid. Take care of your sister."
The cart left, leaving them at the dusty roadside.
Kyoichiiro observed his surroundings. This village was indeed busier than Rimba—though the day was still young, several merchants had already opened their stalls. The sounds of bargaining, of children running, of creaking carts—all blended into a warm symphony of life.
This world is vast, Kyoichiiro thought, his eyes on the bright blue sky. Full of mysteries and dangers. But also full of possibilities.
He turned to Claire.
Kyoichiiro: "Come on, Sis. Let's find a place to rest. The day is still long. Tomorrow we'll start looking for work."
Claire: (Nodding, her hand reaching for Kyoichiiro's—not from fear, but to feel that she wasn't alone) "Let's go."
They walked into the village, leaving the road dust behind them. The sky above was still blue, and the wind still blew cool.
Their journey had only just begun