Chapter 01: A Mysterious Fortune.
The golden stalks of wheat swayed under the falling sunlight, while the orange sky, streaked with clouds, whispered of an approaching dusk.
In the heart of these sprawling farmlands, Leeward Kashin walked with slow, deliberate steps, herding his flock. His raven-black hair, reaching down to his neck, was messy and unkempt, as if the winds themselves had made it their playground.
A light beard added a rugged edge to his features, but it was the jagged, crooked scar slicing across his left eye that left the coldest impression. It held no distinct shape, yet it lent his gaze a chilling, distant sharpness.
He raised his wooden staff, waving it through the air.
"Hiss..."
The sheep obeyed, beginning their slow trek back toward the village. There were only nine of them, but for a slave like him, they were a literal fortune—a wealth he held with his own two hands.
A slight, cold breeze bit through the air, making his cloak shiver. He tightened it around his body instinctively.
"Dusk is almost here," he thought. "And tonight is the night of fate I've planned for. Either I succeed and everything falls into place, or I fail and find myself rotting in a cell once again."
His mind was consumed by the plan he had meticulously crafted. Leeward was born a slave to a concubine mother, living his entire life torn between his towering pride and his wretched misery. Despite his chains, he never accepted the idea of serving anyone. This persistent rebellion brought him nothing but brutal beatings time and time alone.
Sometimes, it was worse—he would be resold in slave markets like a piece of worthless meat.
He had tasted the inside of a prison cell many times for theft, and on several occasions, for murder. For someone like Leeward, killing was neither difficult nor a cause for hesitation.
But even blood couldn't satisfy his pride; it only sharpened his cruelty, turning him into a living hell on two feet. It had reached a point where even his current master feared him, avoiding any provocation whenever possible.
The sheep he possessed were the fruit of years of secret saving. He had bought them from his master himself, ensuring a documented contract that proved they were his sole property, beyond any dispute.
As the wheat ears brushed against his legs, his nostrils suddenly flared.
"The scent of blood..."
His eyes widened. A cold, metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, drifting from the north. He turned his head slowly, staring at the vast horizon where the plains met the enchanting colors of the sunset.
The scene was beautiful... and deceptively so.
That was when he spotted it.
"A small carriage over there, looking like a large rock. Something must have happened."
Initially, he didn't care. He turned his gaze back to his flock. But the intensity of the scent grew harsher, as if it were pulling him from the inside, digging into his depths and igniting a dangerous curiosity.
He stopped walking.
In that moment, a serious expression settled on his face—one he hadn't shown in a long time.
"I'll go check it out. If I don't, I know I'll spend the entire night thinking about nothing else."
He wanted to satisfy his curiosity, but something felt fundamentally wrong. The scent of blood was sharp, suffocating—as if a total massacre had occurred.
"Sharp blood... like a slaughterhouse. This is just curiosity I could suppress, but what if I go and find corpses and end up in trouble again? They might pin the crime on me."
His thinking was logical and cautious, trying to keep himself away from trouble. He knew all too well how a single mistake could drag him back to prison... or worse.
Yet, his soul remained unsatisfied. That hidden voice deep within him wouldn't be silenced.
Perhaps he would find gold, jewels, or even a rare spiritual weapon. Any of these could change his status entirely... perhaps even buy his freedom at last.
"I don't know what lies there, but I might find something useful."
He glanced back at his sheep. They were huddled together, calmly chewing on wheat stalks, oblivious to the storm brewing in their master's mind.
He closed his one good eye.
His black cloak rose slightly, as if inflated by an invisible breath, while a faint disturbance rippled from his body.
He had released his Spiritual Field.
The Spiritual Field was an extension of his soul outside his body, forming a slight aura that surrounded him. Leeward was no mere shepherd; he was a warrior. He had survived countless battles—not by choice, but because of the greed of the masters who owned him.
A man who falls without documents to prove his identity… his fate is sealed. He is dragged away to become a slave for one of the Great Clans.
**The Sharman Clan.**
That was the worst possible outcome.
Leeward was at the **First Rank: Body and Soul**, specifically at the final **Transition Stage**. Each spiritual rank consisted of four stages, and he was agonizingly close to breaking through to the **Second Rank: The Iron Warrior**.
But Leeward lacked the resources for cultivation. His social status was a shackle heavier than any physical chain.
At twenty-eight, most of his peers had already entered the Second Rank, some even reaching its advanced stages. Yet, he remained unmoved by the world around him.
He expanded his Spiritual Field slightly, covering a radius of about five meters, cautiously scanning his surroundings. He sensed for any hidden wolves or dangers that might threaten his few sheep.
"Nothing. I'll go quickly and return."
He braced his legs, reinforcing his muscles with spiritual energy, then lunged forward with immense power. A muffled thud echoed in the air behind him.
The first leap wasn't massive. He jumped ten consecutive times, each leap spanning nearly ten meters, until he finally reached the carriage.
And there…
The shock hit him.
Yet his gaze remained frozen—cold and unchanging. He showed no outward interest, though a silent anxiety began to seep into his mind.
Dead horses.
Scattered corpses of Royal Knights.
A massive pool of blood soaked the earth, emitting a foul, suffocating stench that clawed at the throat.
"A true disaster. They are Royal Knights of the Sharman Clan. Whoever did this... I doubt they will survive the aftermath."
His anxiety eased slightly as the truth dawned on him. The weakest of these knights could have killed him without breaking a sweat. This fact alone was enough to clear him of any suspicion; no one would believe a slave could commit such a massacre.
However, he began to scrutinize the injuries on the corpses. The gashes weren't random; they looked like the marks of an eagle's talons or a lion's claws—traces of something he didn't quite understand.
With every body he examined, his conclusion grew firmer.
"This was a slaughter carried out by a single person. Every kill here was clean. Whoever did this must be of a high rank."
The bodies were severed with precision, without chaos, without hesitation. It was the work of someone who knew exactly how to end a life.
He stepped into the pool of blood, his feet sinking into the gore as he moved toward the carriage. It was shredded, completely demolished, as if it had been subjected to a brutal, merciless assault.
He didn't exhaust his mind trying to identify the perpetrator. That no longer mattered to him. All he wanted was to profit from this tragedy… and leave as quickly as possible.
He reached the back of the carriage, placing his hand over the shattered wooden frame, inspecting what remained. As he peered into the rear, his body suddenly froze.
There…
He saw black burlap sacks. Not just one, but several. They looked full, heavy, and stuffed with valuables.
"Bags."
A faint, thin smile traced his lips. He realized that a massive fortune lay before him.
But who did it belong to? And why didn't the killer take it?
Everything was shrouded in mystery.
A flicker of joy tried to surface, but he suppressed it instantly, his face returning to its habitual coldness. He thought about taking some diamonds or gold, so he climbed onto the carriage first. He reached for one of the bags and opened it cautiously.
Inside…
Gold. A vast amount of gold.
Its luster reflected on his face, so bright it almost exposed him
"This is my chance to buy my freedom… No, no. I won't touch this. But maybe I could take a little and leave before anyone detects me."
A violent conflict erupted within him.
If he bought his freedom all at once, he would be exposed instantly. Where would a slave like him get such wealth? That single question was enough to drown him in suffocating hesitation as he stared at the gold, paralyzed by the weight of the decision...
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