Night is the absence of light, a tapestry of stars its only companion. Silence is their conversation, a stillness so deep it allows the heartbeat of the forest to be heard. The woods were bathed in shadows, illuminated only by the distant, cold stars and the erratic flicker of fireflies.

  “Shift’s over.”

  A bandit trudged up the staircase of the western tower. Every step forced a groan from the wood and a protest from rusty nails. The entire structure swayed—a rickety testament to poor construction and desperate living.

  “Finally. I’m gonna drink myself to sleep.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Any movement?”

  “Not a single critter. The only thing keeping me awake is these floorboards. Shit is so loud I felt you coming before you opened your mouth. You see Lei? The lantern oil is running low.”

  “I can’t see a damn thing in this dark-ass fort, and I can't hear anything over the wind in this tower. A stiff gust is all it’d take to bring the whole thing down. Get going—Desmond was making a racket earlier about losing money. He nearly killed three of our own when he saw the liquor supplies.”

  The new guard listened to the boards scream as his partner climbed down the twenty-meter tower. He stood lazily, surveying the perimeter, lulled into a trance by the low flame of the lantern and the distant hoot of an owl.

  Then, he felt it.

  It was the phantom sensation of a long hair brushing against his neck. He reached back instinctively, his fingers meeting a warmth that shouldn't be there. He tried to draw a breath, but his lungs didn't fill with air—they filled with the heavy, hot scent of iron.

  Your turn!” A bandit kicked the cot, jolting his relief awake.

  “Mmm... I’m up. I’m up. Gonna drain the lizard first.” The man shambled out, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he brushed past the man who’d woken him.

  “Hurry up. I’m tired. You see Lei?” The bandit slapped the back of the relief’s head—moving slower than a slug.

  “AH! I’m going, ya rat-brain!” he grumbled, trudging toward the distant ditch at the far edge of the compound. There were no torches here; the bandits didn't want the stench of hot shit and piss wafting toward their liquor and meat.

  “East tower is where I’m at, right? Oi! I’ll be there in a—Oi! Juungi!” he yelled toward the dark silhouette of the tower. He reached the edge of the ditch and muttered to himself, “Don’t get caught sleeping, you dumbass.”

  “Haaa~” The bandit dropped his trousers, exhaling in relief as he listened to the wind rustle the canopy. But the relief was short-lived. He felt a sudden, heavy presence standing directly behind him.

  “...Come on, Luy, I just g—”

  The bandit turned, but his vision tilted. For a fraction of a second, he saw his own headless body standing by the ditch, a fountain of red spraying the dirt. Beside it stood a shadowy figure with a gaze so cold and apathetic it didn't seem human. Then, the world went dark as his head tumbled into the filth below.

  Back at the tent, Luy waited. Minutes crawled by. He noticed the rest of the shift had already crashed out, their snores filling the air. He tried to distract himself by flicking pebbles into the bonfire, watching the sparks dance, but a prickle of unease crawled up his spine.

  Between the crackles of the fire, he heard it—a faint, rhythmic clink-whirr. A metallic sound that persisted even when his hands were still.

  “Bastard is taking his sweet time. I’m not waiting any longer.” Luy got restless and started walking towards the ditch. The night air was biting, with the forest alive, littered with the sounds of crickets and rustling leaves. “Hurry up! Huh… Did I pass by him? Whatever, I’m going to sleep.”

  He looked into the darkness, seeing nothing but the swaying shadows of the trees. “Whatever. I’m going to sleep.”

  The two freshly rotated gate guards started gaffing off, hearing the metallic [clink] sounds resonating from the interior of the compound, mistaking it for their companions throwing their armor and weapons against each other.

  The compound was dimly lit by a few scattered torches, casting long ember shadows on the ground. They continued to share stories and complain about how they were still stuck in the mountains when they could be in a city’s red-light district.

  “How much longer do you think we’ll be here?”

  “I don’t know. It’s up to the boss.”

  “I hope it’s soon. I can’t hold it in any longer. I’m about to go down to that village and get a taste of the women left there.”

  “Your immediate death if you do. Boss ordered us not to leave till he is done with whatever he needs here in that cave.”

  “I get it, I get it. So what kind of service are you gonna get once we are back in the capital?”

  “Don’t know yet. Not goin’ to wherever you're goin’. You’ve been kicked out of almost every brothel since what you did to those kids.”

  “Come on~ I gave them purpose and sweet release. No one even wanted them as orphans anyway. Hahahahah~”

  “Brutalizing them is going too far. Just get a normal woman, it’ll be better, huh? You probably barely have enough saved for a single meal once there anyway, right?”

  …

  “Right?”

  …

  “You didn’t fall asleep on me, did ya?” The gate guard moved towards the other side of the gate to get a better look with a torch and spear in hand. The flickering flame of the torch casting stark shadows inch by inch on the wooden gate.

  The light hit a pair of boots first. Then a torso, tilted at a grotesque, impossible angle. Finally, the flame illuminated his partner's face. The tip of his own spear had been driven upward through the jaw, punching out through the open mouth like a steel tongue.

  Blood trickled down the spear, pooling on the ground.

  “INT—gek!”

  Luy walked back, yawning heavily, eager to sleep in his own cot.

  He threw the tent flap open and started to remove his shabby armor and old clothes. The tent was dimly lit by a single lantern, casting flickering shades across the rough fabric walls.

  He sat down on his cot to remove his socks, but felt a cold, wet grit. It quickly caused him to shout in anger.

  “You bastards spilled your liquor all inside the tent!”

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  He stood up to chastise his bunkmates, only to be met with an eerie silence and a void of motionlessness.

  “...Where’s is Jin's annoying ass snoring?”

  The smell of iron filled his nostrils, reminiscent of a butcher shop. It caused him to cautiously approach the neighboring cots.

  “Guys?”

  A sense of dread reached into his bones. Luy reached his hand over the cot next to him and pulled the covers off.

  Jin lay inside a pool of blood with paper-white skin and the face of a person having a sweet dream.

  The sight sent a chill down his spine. He stumbled back, his heart pounding in his chest. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

  Luy fell to the ground in shock, failing repeatedly to pick himself up, kicking dust into the air as he tried to check the other cots and call for help.

  His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. He noticed a standing figure with an emotionless, predatory gaze—a singular green shimmering eye staring back.

  Blood dripped from its fingers.

  The figure took a soft, soundless step towards him. It placed a warm, blood-soaked hand on his shoulder and leaned into his ear.

  “Run.”

  “EEEECK~”

  The abyssal voice sent chills down Luy’s spine, tears streaming down his face.

  “Des—Desmond! Help me! Help! Devil! Th-There’s a devil inside!”

  He scrambled on the ground, shuffling towards the largest tent in the compound. He made as much of a ruckus as possible to wake his drunken superior, finally reaching the entrance and clawing the flaps open.

  “Desmond sir. Intruder! A Devil…”

  Luy tore the entire entrance apart, letting the waning light of the bonfire reveal the corpse of his would-be savior leaning against his bed. Desmond was gored apart, his entrails pulled out, and a bloody handprint smeared across his terror-stricken mouth.

  “H-How?”

  Luy blanched at the sight of his superior, a cultivator, displayed in such a vile, repulsive manner. The sight caused him to vomit and lose any hope of surviving the night.

  If a cultivator was slaughtered silently inside their base, it illustrated his powerlessness when confronted by that shadowy figure.

  Luy hesitantly turned around and witnessed the blood from the tents coalescing towards the bonfire, snuffing out all its embers. It left a lone shadow pointing towards the cave entrance.

  “The boss can save me! B-BOSS! INTRUDER! THERE’S AN INTRUDER!”

  The last ray of hope gleamed in his eyes as he ran towards the cave entrance, barred from entry. He sprinted with every fiber of his being, wanting to survive, disregarding his orders to never go near the cave.

  As he got closer to the mouth of the cave, the light of hope filled his eyes. He beamed at the thought of surviving this nightmare.

  “Boss, we need help. There’s a monster, a devil.”

  Luy panted to catch his breath and relay the events he had witnessed. He looked back up at the mouth of the cave, hoping the boss heard his plea and would protect him.

  A glint of orange Qi shot out of the cave towards Luy’s head, cleaving it in two, leaving only his tongue.

  His body stood for a moment, swaying, before collapsing to the ground in a grotesque heap.

  “Didn’t I say to not come here? Desmond, get out here!”

  The Bandit Leader Manson walked out of the cave in his leather dragon-scaled armor, surrounded by a violently surging orange aura.

  He looked at the encampment. All of his men were hanging from the walls, headless bodies sprawled about or impaled by spears. Blood pooled around the tents like a dark lake.

  “DESMOND!”

  “He won’t—or can’t answer, rather.” The shadowy figure walked out into the open for the bandit leader to see.

  “Who the fuck are you?! Some pissant cultivator or a do-goody sect pawn?” Manson scoffed, sneering at the man who dared to stand before him after slaughtering his crew.

  “Neither. I’m more of a mercenary in this case, I suppose. I’m in need of a library card; your head is the proverbial key to obtain it.” The figure stated in a blasé manner.

  Spit “The hell does that mean? I needed to test my strength anyway. Since I found an inheritance here, my cultivation went up two levels. HAHAHA~!” Manson took a battle stance, pushing his Qi to the max.

  “If you could kill Desmond, it must mean your cultivation is at least at the ‘Core Forming’ stage. That’s perfect to test against my own.”

  “I already said I’m not a cultivator,” the figure replied. “And I’m not too keen on fighting head-on either. You see… I am more in line with an ambusher or, in this case… a hunter.”

  “HAHAHAHA! You’re shit at both if you’re standing in front of me like that!”

  Manson channeled his Qi, blasting the soles of his feet to propel himself forward like an arrow. He streaked across the ground at sixty meters a second. The fifteen-meter distance vanished in an instant—it looked like teleportation.

  “DIE~!” Manson roared, cocking his arm back to deliver a punch with all his might. He anticipated the kill, elation filling his veins as he moved to turn the intruder into blood mist.

  In the blink of an eye, he felt a sudden loss of weight. Then came a sharp, searing pain.

  His eyes widened in shock. He watched his own right arm fall to the ground, severed cleanly at the shoulder.

  Panic set in as he tried to pull back, only to find himself suspended in mid-air. Tens of red lines were crisscrossing his body like a macabre web. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer—he was trapped.

  “What did you do? Let go! LET GO!”

  Manson tried to force his way out, but the lines on his body only grew deeper, oozing darkened blood.

  “I’m a hunter, and you fell into a trap with myself as the bait,” the figure said calmly. “I already have a dead specimen of this world’s so-called ‘Cultivator’ organism. I need a live one. I didn't want to accidentally kill you; it would have been a wasted opportunity.”

  The figure opened a bag filled with polished, clean instruments—clamps and blades. He pulled out a brush and ink. The tools gleamed ominously in the dim light.

  “What—what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Hmm? From what I was told, you cultivators have this thing called a ‘dantian’ that houses your ‘Qi’ energy. It gives you supernatural powers. Like that speed of yours.”

  “Th-then what is this?” Manson gestured with his eyes toward his severed arm and trapped body.

  “Oh, those are just nanowires I pulled from my exo-suit. They can’t cut steel or any of that nonsense in anime, but they are superb against flesh.” The figure began etching dash marks across Manson’s torso with the brush.

  “Nma? Why are you placing marks on me? Just let me go! I won’t do evil again. I’ll repent. I’ll be a monk!” Manson’s voice quivered. He looked around the dark encampment, hoping for a miracle, but there was only silence.

  “It’s so I can keep track of where to cut.” The figure pointed to Desmond’s corpse, which lay hollowed out nearby. Manson’s eyes widened in horror.

  “Y-you sicko! DEMON! KILL ME, JUST KILL ME! YOU’RE FROM A SECT, RIGHT? THEY DON’T TORTURE PEOPLE LIKE THIS!”

  “Not entirely inaccurate,” the figure said, moving with methodical precision. “But this is the only time I imagine they will leave me unsupervised. They’re good, caring people—a bit naive, but willing to help a stranger. Regrettably for you, you decided to flock with a bunch of perverts. And… you did just try to kill me.”

  The figure pulled out glass containers and cloth.

  “Kill me… please. I’m sorry. Just end me.” Manson broke, tears streaming down his face.

  “No can do. Reason one: I need to know what an active ‘dantian’ looks and operates like. I already have a dormant one here from that degenerate child abuser.” The figure pointed to a red jar in his hands that housed a squirming, erratic ball.

  “Reason two: from the bounty placed on your head… you have done this yourself, haven’t you?”

  Manson looked back with doleful eyes, seeing his karma return in full. In a final act of desperation, he tried to bite through his own tongue.

  “Can’t have that.” A hand punched through Manson’s teeth, shattering his jaw with a sickening crunch.

  “Ahhaoahohah~! Schoopt pwea schoup ki ma kin ma!”

  “…No,” the figure said, removing his fist with a squelching sound.

  HAAAAAAAAAA~………schoup…………HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA~

  ……schoup…… kin ma ……HAAAAA~

  "Interesting, this dantian seems to react to his screams," he noted while continuing.

  …… kin ma ……HAA~…

  …cough…

  Hours passed. The silence was eventually broken by the subtle chirping of birds as sunlight broke through the tree line.

  “The sun is up already, huh? This has been quite educational.” The figure stretched his arms and neck, cleaning his tools and packing them away.

  “Time to head back to Aria for the card… A fire and the scent of blood for the carnivores should be enough to destroy the evidence.”

  Thud

  Ricky’s eyes widened as he opened the door. Crates of food and gold sat on the stoop, the morning sun casting a golden glow over the scene.

  “Huh? Grandpa, look at the food and money!”

  The village chief, Willard, walked over to the crates. His steps were slow and deliberate.

  He found a letter resting on top of the gold, while his grandson started jumping for joy at the sight of the delicious-looking food.

  ‘Payment and return for the man who helped the village and used all his strength to protect the children’s smiles. The peace is restored, with all wrongdoings being paid back in full.’

  “Are you hurt, Grandpa?”

  Ricky’s voice trembled with concern. He stopped jumping, his eyes wide with worry as he watched his grandpa clutch the piece of paper tightly.

  Tears streamed down Willard's weathered cheeks. His hands shook as he read the letter, each word sinking deep into his heart. Overwhelmed by emotion, he slowly fell to his knees. The weight of relief and gratitude was too much to bear.

  “I’m fine, Ricky,” he said, his voice trembling.

  He reached out and pulled his grandson into a tight embrace, feeling the boy’s warmth and innocence.

  “Let us give this to the villagers.”

  Chief Willard looked toward the road leading to the village, his heart swelling with a profound sense of peace. The morning sun bathed the path in a golden light, and for the first time in a long while, he felt hope blossom within him.