As the smoke lingered, the village held its breath. The elder, Ruth, and his family clutched each other, their eyes wide with fear and hope. The silence was deafening, save for the relentless downpour that continued to soak the earth.

  The soldier who had launched the attack watched the smoke intently, his eyes narrowing as he tried to see through the thick haze. His breath was bated, waiting for any sign that his attack had succeeded. The soldier Shawn had been fighting steadied himself, gripping his sword with a mix of anticipation and dread, unsure of what he would find when the smoke finally cleared.

  As the rain slowly dissipated the smoke, a silhouette began to emerge—a sword first, followed by the figure of Shawn, half-bent but still standing. Relief washed over the villagers as they saw him, their hopes reignited. However, that didn’t last long; simultaneously, the two soldiers’ initially worried seeing Shawn standing but later turned into a sinister satisfaction as they noticed the state Shawn was in. The rain completely revealed Shawn's battered form, his clothes torn, and fresh cuts and open wounds bleeding freely. His breaths were heavy, laboured, and each one seemed to take an immense effort.

  Shawn planted his sword into the ground, using it to steady himself as he fought to remain upright. He could feel the weight of his injuries, but curiously, the pain was dulled—almost as if it were distant, muted. He took a moment to assess himself, realising the severity of his wounds. The villagers, who had initially cheered, now looked on with growing concern, some even losing hope at the sight of Shawn’s injuries. The two soldiers smirked, seeing this as the turning point in their favor.

  But then, something extraordinary happened. From the deep gashes and cuts on Shawn's body, wisps of dark blue smoke began to rise, swirling gently around his wounds. At first, he and everyone else watched in astonishment, unsure of what was happening. The smoke seemed to dance over his injuries, and slowly but surely, the wounds began to close, the skin knitting itself back together like there was no wound at all.

  Gasps of disbelief spread through the crowd, the villagers staring wide-eyed at this miraculous sight. Even Shawn, who had been prepared for the worst, looked at his own body in wonder, trying to comprehend the impossible. The pain that had been dulled now faded entirely, replaced by a strange warmth that coursed through him, rejuvenating his strength.

  The soldiers, who moments ago were confident in their impending victory, were now frozen in shock. They had expected Shawn to fall, but instead, they witnessed something that defied logic. The fear that had crept into their hearts before now returned, stronger than ever.

  Shawn, feeling the warmth spreading through him, stood up straighter, pulling his sword from the ground. He rolled his shoulders, testing the newfound energy coursing through him, the healing smoke dissipating into the air. His eyes locked onto the soldiers, who were no longer grinning but watching him with a mixture of disbelief and fear. The resolve in Shawn’s gaze was unshakable, while his wounds healed themselves.

  The soldier who had been battling Shawn felt his sanity fray as he watched Shawn's wounds inexplicably heal, even after enduring the brunt of his comrade’s powerful slashes. He stood a few feet behind Shawn, his mind unravelling as he faced Shawn’s back. Desperation and madness overtook him, and with a wild cry, he gripped his sword tightly and launched himself at Shawn, intending to plunge the blade deep into his enemy's flesh.

  From his vantage point on the roof, the other soldier, who had unleashed the air slashes, muttered under his breath, "That idiot," knowing that the reckless charge would end badly. Shawn, his senses heightened by the recent surge of energy, instinctively turned to face the attacking soldier. Realising he had no time to draw his own sword for defence, Shawn swiftly tilted his head to the side, narrowly avoiding the full impact of the soldier’s strike. The blade grazed his shoulder, cutting into his flesh, but Shawn, driven by reflex and instinct, plunged his sword into the soldier’s chest in return.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  The attacking soldier’s momentum faltered as he coughed up blood, his eyes dimming as life ebbed away. Rain poured down, mingling with the blood that dripped from the wound, washing away the last remnants of his strength. He clung to Shawn for a moment, then his grip loosened, and he collapsed, lifeless, onto the muddy ground. Shawn grabbed the soldier’s weapon using his other hand and took it out from his shoulder with a wince, while removing his sword from the soldier’s chest and his wound started to heal.

  The soldier on the roof, witnessing his comrade’s death, felt a pang of fear. He knew he couldn’t defeat Shawn alone, not after everything he had just seen. His thoughts turned to survival—he needed to report back to his superiors about this incident, but escape wouldn’t be easy with Shawn still alive and vigilant. He needed a diversion, something to distract Shawn long enough for him to make his getaway.

  His eyes fell on the village elder, standing still beneath the banyan tree, surrounded by his family. A cruel idea formed in his mind. He took his sword, aimed carefully, and hurled it with all his might towards the elder, making sure Shawn would see the throw.

  Shawn, already on edge, sensed something. He spun around just in time to catch a glimpse of the soldier on the roof in the act of throwing his sword. Shawn knew instantly what the soldier was trying to do—he had to act fast. But as he moved to intercept it, the dying soldier at his feet clutched at him, trying to stop him down with the last of his strength. While the soldier on the rooftop threw his weapon at the village head

  With no time to react or reach there, Shawn did the only thing he could: he threw his grandfather’s sword in his hand, aiming it directly at the incoming blade. The two swords clashed mid-air with a metallic ring, deflecting each other’s path. The soldier’s sword embedded itself harmlessly in the ground near the village elder, while his grandfather’s sword plunged into the earth on the opposite side, leaving the village head unharmed.

  Relieved but still alert, Shawn immediately turned his gaze back to the rooftop where the soldier had been. But the roof was empty; the soldier had already disappeared, making a run towards the village’s west entrance.

  The fleeing soldier sprinted down the long street, the entrance to the forest just within sight. He knew that if he could just make it to the trees, he would have a chance to escape and report what had happened. His heart pounded in his chest as he ran, the sound of his boots splashing through puddles and echoing in his ears.

  Shawn pushed the lifeless soldier's body off him and raised the sword, which he had removed from his shoulder earlier, in a position to throw with his other hand stretched out. He closed his eyes, focusing all his senses, filtering out the noise of the surroundings. He concentrated solely on the sound of the soldier’s footsteps, the rapid heartbeat of his fleeing enemy.

  Once he had locked onto the soldier’s location, Shawn hurled the sword with all his strength in the direction he had predicted. The blade sliced through the air, tearing through several houses in its path. The crashing of wood and the splitting of stone filled the air as the sword carved its way through the village, unstoppable.

  The fleeing soldier had almost reached the village entrance when the sword found him. It pierced through his side, and the force of the impact sent him crashing to the ground. The sword broke after the impact as it hit the barrier walls of the village after passing through the soldier's body. The soldier’s body slumped on the ground with his life draining from his eyes as the last breath left his lungs.

  The village fell silent for a moment, the rain gradually easing, washing away the remnants of the battle as Shawn stood, breathing heavily, his mind still reeling from everything that had just transpired. The villagers, still processing the whirlwind of events, began to emerge from their hiding places, their eyes fixed on Shawn.

  Shawn’s body trembled with exhaustion, pain, and the heavy weight of what he had just done. He knelt, dropping to his knees in the muddy earth, his chest heaving with deep breaths. His eyes, filled with a mix of anguish and rage, turned upwards to the darkened sky.

  In that moment, a primal, raw emotion surged within him, and he could no longer hold it back. Shawn threw his head back and released a loud, guttural roar, a sound filled with pain, anger, and defiance. The force of his cry seemed to push the falling rain away from him, the droplets scattering outward as if repelled by the sheer intensity of his voice. The roar echoed through the village, carrying with it the weight of all the suffering and the loss he had endured.

  Sword Master.

  Sword Master