Xander walked away from the burning village, his face showing no emotion. He felt nothing—no sadness, no fear, just a cold plan in his mind. He needed to find the soldiers with the dragon tattoo who killed his grandfather and the villagers. The little boy's words echoed in his head, but he pushed them aside. Emotions were useless now. He was like a machine, smart and calculating, always thinking three steps ahead.
He traveled down the mountain paths, moving fast and quiet. His body was strong from years of hunting and training with his grandfather. He avoided roads at first, staying in the shadows of trees. But after two days, he reached flat land. The sun was hot, and he needed directions to the nearest city where he could learn more about those soldiers.
That's when he saw the caravan. It was a group of about twenty people with horses and many sealed carriages. The carriages were big and locked, pulled by strong horses. Dust kicked up from the wheels as they moved slowly along the dirt road.
Xander stepped out from the trees. He was handsome, with pale skin that looked smooth like porcelain. His hair was black and shiny, falling just above his sharp green eyes. His face was delicate, almost fragile, like a prince from a storybook. He was tall but slim, not bulky like a fighter. Anyone looking at him might think he was weak and easy to trick.
The caravan stopped when they saw him. The leader, a big man with a scar on his cheek, rode up on his horse. His name was Rocco, but Xander didn't know that yet. Rocco looked at Xander and smiled, but it was a fake smile. He thought, "This boy looks weak. Pale and pretty. We can take him easy."
The others whispered. They were slave raiders, bad people who caught others and sold them. But Xander didn't know. They also did worse things, like stealing organs to sell or using poisonous insects to control slaves. The insect would stay quiet in your body if you obeyed, but bite if you didn't.
"Hello, boy," Rocco said. "What are you doing out here alone?"
Xander looked at them with calm eyes. No smile, no fear. "I need directions to the city."
Rocco laughed. "The city? We're going that way. Come with us. It's safer."
It was a lie. They wanted to capture him. His handsome looks made them think he was from a rich family, good for selling organs or as a controlled slave.
Xander thought for a second. He observed their faces—shifty eyes, hidden weapons. But he needed to move fast. "Okay," he said simply. He joined them, walking beside a carriage.
The group started moving again. They tried to talk to him. "What's your name, kid?" one man asked.
Xander said nothing. He just walked, watching everything. The carriages made creaking sounds. He noticed how the men glanced at him, like predators.
As the sun set, they camped in a clearing. Fires crackled, and they cooked food. Xander sat alone, staring at the flames. No emotions, just calculating.
One man, named Jax, slipped a sedative into Xander's bowl of stew. It was a mix of roots that made people sleep deep. They planned to kill him or feed him the insect while he slept.
Xander smelled the stew. From growing up in the mountains, he knew herbs. "Sleep root and calm leaf," he thought. "Makes you pass out." But poisons didn't work on him. His grandfather had trained him with small doses over years, making him immune. Plus, his blood was like poison itself—deadly to others.
He ate it anyway, pretending nothing was wrong. After, he lay down in a tent they gave him, closing his eyes like he was asleep.
The men waited outside, whispering. "He's out. Go get him, Jax."
Jax sneaked in with a knife, quiet as a mouse. He raised it to stab Xander.
But Xander was ready. His eyes snapped open. He grabbed Jax's wrist, twisted it, and took the knife. In one swift move, he sliced Jax's throat. No noise, no mess. Jax fell dead.
Xander stayed calm. He swapped clothes with Jax, putting on the man's rough shirt, pants, and mask that covered the face. Then he dressed Jax in his own clothes. To make sure no one recognized the body, he chopped off Jax's head with the knife and squashed it under his boot. It was gross, but Xander felt nothing—just part of the plan.
Now, a flashback: Earlier that day, while walking with the caravan, Xander had heard them talking. They were 100 meters away, thinking he couldn't hear. But Xander wasn't normal. His senses were sharp from mountain life. He eavesdropped without turning his head.
"Look at that pretty boy," Rocco had said. "Weak as a kitten. Tonight, we drug him, then cut out his organs. Heart and liver fetch good money. Or feed him the control bug—make him our slave."
The others laughed. "Yeah, boss. Easy pickings."
Xander remembered every word, planning his moves.
Back in the tent, he picked up the headless body and stepped out. The men waited around the fire.
"Is it done?" one asked.
Xander changed his voice to sound like Jax—deep and rough. He'd heard Jax talk earlier. "Yes, it's done. What should I do with him?"
Rocco nodded. "Good job. Bring him to the special tent. The doctor will handle the organs."
They led him to a big tent. Inside, it was scary—animal corpses hung from hooks, blood on the floor. Dead deer, wolves, even birds, all cut open.
"Through here," a man said, pulling back a flap to a hidden smaller tent.
Inside was a large table, lit by lanterns. A man stood there, washing bloody hands in a basin. He was the doctor, old with gray hair and cold eyes.
"Put the body here," the doctor said.
Xander laid the body on the table, still masked.
The doctor started work. He used a small knife with tiny points, like acupuncture needles. It was a martial arts skill—precise cuts without tearing. He peeled off the skin carefully, like unwrapping a gift. Xander watched closely. This was new to him, and it interested his cunning mind. "Useful technique," he thought. No emotion, just learning.
The doctor removed the heart and liver, placing them in a dish. They steamed a bit, fresh and bloody.
He turned to masked Xander. "You did great for your first kill, son. He was weak and fragile, but I'm proud. Now you're official. Eat his heart and liver. It boosts your power—we're cannibals for martial arts strength."
Xander faced a choice. He couldn't eat it without removing the mask, revealing himself. But he stayed calm, calculating.
He walked to the table slowly, no suspicion. The doctor handed him the dish.
In a flash, Xander grabbed a knife from the table and sliced the doctor's neck deep. Blood sprayed.
The doctor gasped, grabbing his neck. Shock in his eyes. He tried to shout, but only gurgles came out.
Xander removed his mask, grinning sinisterly. His handsome face looked evil in the lantern light.
The doctor fell, choking on blood, then died.
Xander acted fast. He used the doctor's technique to skin the face—precise cuts, peeling it off clean. He did it perfectly, like he'd known it forever. His mind was sharp; he copied anything after seeing once.
He found a jar of liquid—preservative, he guessed. Dipped the face skin in it to make it flexible. Then he wore it like a mask, adjusting it over his own face. It fit, hiding his features. He put on the doctor's clothes—long robe, gloves. He hunched a bit to look old.
He looked in a small mirror on the wall. "Perfect," he thought. No one would know.
He hid the doctor's body in a side chamber full of corpses—piles of dead people, smelled awful. But Xander felt nothing.
All this took two hours. He was efficient.
As he admired his disguise, a voice called from outside. "Doctor! The leader wants to see you. Rocco says it's urgent."
Xander changed his voice to sound old and gruff, like the doctor. "Coming," he said.
He stepped out, keeping his posture bent. The man who called was a guard, burly with a club.
"Follow me," the guard said.
They walked through the camp. Fires flickered, men laughed around them. Xander observed everything—how many guards, where weapons were, exits. His mind mapped it all.
They reached Rocco's tent, the biggest one. Inside, Rocco sat on a chair, eating meat. He looked up. "Doctor, we got a problem. One of the slaves in carriage three is sick. Coughing blood. Fix it, or we lose money."
Xander nodded slowly. "Show me."
Rocco stood. "Also, that boy we picked up—Jax handled him?"
"Yes," Xander said in the doctor's voice. "Organs harvested. Boy's gone."
Rocco grinned. "Good. Let's go to the carriage."
They walked out, with two guards. Xander's heart beat steady—no fear, just planning. If they found out, he'd kill them all.
The carriage was sealed with locks. A guard opened it. Inside, chains held people—slaves, dirty and scared. About ten, men and women. One man coughed weakly, blood on his lips.
"Fix him," Rocco said.
Xander pretended to check. He touched the man's forehead. "Fever. Bad lungs." But really, he thought, "Opportunity."
He pulled out a small vial from the doctor's robe—found it earlier, poison probably. "Medicine," he lied.
He made the man drink it. It was actually a strong sedative. The man passed out.
"He'll sleep. Better tomorrow," Xander said.
Rocco nodded. "Good. Now, about the insect for new slaves."
Xander tensed inside, but showed nothing. "Yes?"
"We have a fresh batch. Feed them tonight."
Back in Rocco's tent, they planned. Xander listened, learning more. These raiders worked for a bigger group, not the dragon tattoo soldiers. Small fry, like bugs to crush. But useful for info.
As they talked, a shout came from outside. "Hey! Jax is missing!"
Rocco frowned. "What?"
A man ran in. "We can't find Jax. And the boy's tent is empty!"
Tension rose. Rocco stood. "Search the camp!"
Xander stayed calm. "I'll check the special tent."
He slipped away as chaos started. Men ran with torches, yelling.
In the special tent, Xander grabbed knives and tools. He hid in shadows, waiting.
One man entered the hidden area. "Doctor? You here?"
Xander struck from behind, knife to throat. Dead quick.
He dragged the body to the corpse chamber.
More shouts. "The doctor's tent—blood!"
They found the mess. Rocco roared, "Intruder! Find him!"
Xander, still disguised, joined the search. "I saw someone run that way," he lied, pointing to woods.
Half the men ran off. Now fewer in camp.
Xander went to carriages. He unlocked one quietly—keys from doctor's robe.
Slaves inside whispered, scared. "Who are you?"
"Quiet," Xander said. "I'm freeing you for now so help me fight these guys."
They looked at him, an old doctor? But he removed the face skin quick, showing his young face. "Trust me."
Some nodded. He gave them weapons—knives, clubs from guards he'd killed.
Together, they sneaked out. Xander led, cunning plan in mind.
They ambushed small groups. Xander killed swiftly, no noise. Slaves helped, angry from captivity.
Tension built as fights broke out. A guard saw them. "Escape!"
Alarms rang—bells clanging.
Rocco charged with men. "Kill them all!"
Xander faced Rocco. No emotion, just calculation.
Rocco swung a sword. "You! The boy!"
Xander dodged, fast as wind. The battle was fierce, Xander barely dodged Rocco's attacks. Xander couldn't help but admire what these martial artists could do. He wondered if he could it too afterall he got this far using only his hunting skill... He used the acupuncture knife technique until one managed to precise connect and stab Rocco.
He cut Rocco's arm, and was laced with Xander's blood which was poisonous. Rocco fell, yelling.
"Who are you?" Rocco gasped.
Xander grinned sinisterly. "Your end."
He sliced Rocco's neck. Leader dead.
The remaining raiders fought, but slaves outnumbered now. Blood spilled, screams echoed.
Xander moved like a shadow, killing efficiently. He felt nothing—just clearing obstacles.
One raider tried the insect trick—threw a jar at Xander. Bugs flew out, poisonous.
But Xander was immune. He caught one, crushed it.
He fed the bugs to a raider. "Obey me," he mocked, but killed him anyway.
By dawn, the camp was quiet. All raiders dead. Slaves free.
They thanked Xander. "Who are you?"
He looked at their happy faces, full of hope and then he responded with a question " Do you all want to live!?" The slaves were dumbfounded by this sudden question. Their faces distorted at the sudden realisation of what was happening. " but sir, please spare us. We barely managed to survive the organ traders please " an elderly man begged while many men and boys who still had energy draw the swords they were carrying pointing them at Xander.
" And why should I let you live. I said earlier I will free you from the organ traders I never said anything about letting you go free".
All the people hearing these words were shocked but they knew from how he was looking at them indifferently that he was not joking around.
The oldest man among the slave who could not walk that much limped towards Xander carrying two large books. All the slaves were shocked at what was happening and what the elder intended to do.
" Our clan is called the Meiji clan, it use to be one of the biggest ancient clan but its was about to be extinct, thanks to you helping us we are yet to live again. In exchange for our lives please have this martial arts book from our clan. These organ traders were sent by the Demonic cult to look for our ancient martial arts. It has many powerful techniques but it is not complete as it was in the ancient time. This is the basic breathing technique and first form only, it is divided into 7 manuscripts but we only have Two...the others have long since been lost and stolen by the Demonic Cult please sir, take this and spare our lives" pleaded the old man banging his head to the ground...
Some of the slaves witnessing this were crying while following what the old man did, bowing. Some showed discontent and vowed to revenge.
Xander received the Manuscripts smiling brightly " since you gave me such a precious gift it would be rude if I refused... its only natural that I too give you something in return wait here for a minute.
Xander headed to one of the tent and came back with a backet full of the control bugs (poisonous control insects).