The heavy leather flap of the main tent fell shut, the muffled sound a final punctuation mark on Hao Yu’s orders.

  He stood for a moment, the biting night wind whipping at the edges of his grey cloak, his calm yellow eyes sweeping over the grim tableau of his fortress.

  The two hulking guards at the entrance, their auras pulsing with the dense, formidable power of the Body Tempering Realm, bowed their heads in perfect, silent unison, awaiting his command.

  Hao Yu smiled, a thin, humourless expression as he rubbed his chin.

  "While I am gone, you two will guide the one in charge." He gestured with his chin towards a tent, not as grand as his own, but large enough to signify a person of importance.

  "He is not yet fit to become a leader, but one day, he will be."

  One of the bandits who had gathered to see the boss off, a man named Bolin, felt a cold knot of dread tighten in his gut.

  The boss's son… he thought, his own face twisting into a flicker of disdain he could not quite suppress.

  Leaving him in charge…

  He knew the stories, the whispers that circulated through the camp like a foul miasma.

  The son was a storm, a creature of insane mood-swings and decisions so questionable they bordered on the suicidal.

  He must have let his thoughts show, for Hao Yu’s gaze, sharp and piercing as an eagle’s, suddenly locked onto him.

  The leader’s face was stoic, his voice a flat, cold sheet of ice. "Why? Do you not have trust in my son?"

  Bolin’s hands shot up defensively, a sheepish, terrified grin plastering itself on his face as the eyes of the other bandits quickly looked away, wanting no part in the storm that was about to break.

  "N-Not at all, Boss! It's just that…" His mind raced.

  I can't lie. The boss hates liars more than anything. Even if this gets me killed…

  He took a deep, shaky breath. "I believe that your son is not fit for the job!"

  "Oh?" Hao Yu mused, turning his entire body to face the terrified man, his interest genuine and utterly chilling.

  "Continue."

  S-Shit… I'm going to die here, aren't I?

  Bolin thought, but the words, dammed up by fear for so long, came rushing out.

  "W-well, if I might add more, your son… he is highly unpredictable! More often than not, his decisions precede any logic! We don't even know how his train of thought works!"

  He threw his hands up in the air, his voice rising with a frantic energy.

  "One time, he spared one of our captives because he 'felt' like it! Threw away a giant threat!" He squeezed his forehead, his teeth grinding.

  "Not only that, he killed one of our own brothers because the man looked at him funny!" He gulped, his terrified gaze locked on Hao Yu’s unreadable expression.

  Damn it… I shouldn't have made that face.

  Hao Yu was silent for a long moment.

  Then, he cleared his throat and stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on Bolin’s shoulder.

  The bandit flinched, expecting a blow, but instead felt a series of firm, almost paternal pats.

  "I know how wild my son can be."

  W-What? Is the boss… really just patting my back?

  "But trust in me," Hao Yu continued, his voice low and steady. "My son will make the correct decisions while I am gone."

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  He let his hand fall away, his cloak flowing in the wind as he turned back towards the gate.

  "Besides, I will not be gone for long. A day, perhaps two. It depends on the luck of those disciples. They can be quite sneaky." A soft, almost fond laugh escaped his lips.

  Bolin’s shoulders slumped in profound relief as Hao Yu and his handpicked hunting party finally exited the camp, their figures swallowed by the deep woods.

  "P-Phew…" he whispered, his entire body trembling.

  "I just escaped death's doors." He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

  "Guess I should go back to my duties."

  His gaze drifted over to the muddy pen where the women were chained, his earlier fear already being replaced by the familiar stirrings of his own base appetites.

  And enjoy myself later, he thought, his eyes lingering on a girl with hair the color of spun gold. Maybe that blonde one.

  As Hao Yu and his chosen hunters vanished into the deep woods, a profound, if temporary, relief settled over the remaining bandits.

  Bolin let out a shaky breath, the phantom pressure of the leader’s hand still lingering on his shoulder.

  He took a single, confident step forward, his mind already drifting towards the muddy pen and the small pleasures it offered.

  As he moved, a sudden, sharp itch bloomed in the center of his chest. He reached up to scratch it, his fingers brushing against something hard and cold.

  He winced, a jolt of pure, disbelieving agony lancing through him.

  "N-NGH! W-what the…"

  He looked down. The world seemed to tilt and blur.

  A dagger, its hilt intricately carved from dark wood, was buried deep in his sternum, the leather of his tunic already darkening with a spreading stain.

  A soft, almost intimate whisper slithered into his ear from behind, the voice a chilling caress of silk and venom.

  "I've heard all what I needed to hear."

  N-No… It’s…

  Bolin’s blood ran cold. He forced his head to turn, his neck muscles screaming in protest.

  His terrified gaze met the smiling, almost beatific face of Hao Yu’s son.

  It was the same psychopathic smile he had worn when he’d killed one of their own brothers for a perceived slight.

  Bolin’s strength fled him, and he dropped to his knees, his lifeblood already pooling on the dusty ground.

  The two hulking bodyguards, their faces impassive masks, moved to catch his slumping form.

  "Bury him in the woods," Hao Yifeng commanded, his voice light and melodic.

  He tilted his head, a thoughtful frown momentarily replacing his smile.

  "Wait! No, no, that’s far too dignified." His smile returned, wider and more manic than before. "Tell our laborers to chop up his body and feed it to the pigs."

  A peal of unrestrained, chilling laughter escaped him. "I really should have kept him alive longer! He deserved so much more than that!"

  His face then snapped back to a stoic, cold mask, the shift so sudden it was nauseating. "No one dares insult me and gets away with it unscathed."

  Without another word, he turned and disappeared back into his tent, leaving the two bodyguards with their grim task.

  A shared, unspoken fear passed between them; they were more terrified of the son than they had ever been of the father.

  They hoisted the lifeless body of Bolin and carried it towards the slave pens.

  "H-Hey... What's that?" a man stammered, his eyes widening in horror as the corpse was brought before them.

  "Isn't it obvious what it is?" one of the bodyguards spat, kicking a loose stone. "It's a dead body! I want you to chop him into little pieces and feed them to the pigs."

  He tossed a set of heavy, rust-stained butchering knives onto the muddy ground. The slaves’ hands trembled, their faces paling.

  "D-Do we really… have to—"

  The crack of the lash was a sharp, ugly sound that cut through the tense air, a line of fire searing across the man’s back. "Agh!" He dropped to his knees, his back stinging with a white-hot pain.

  "Do not question us!" the bandit roared. "We didn't keep you alive to talk! You're here to WORK!" The man cried, silent tears of humiliation and despair tracing paths through the grime on his face.

  He had been a captive for so long he could no longer remember the color of the sky in the outside world.

  "Tch, worthless," the bandit sneered. "Cry all you want! That won't save you!" He raised the whip again, the threat hanging in the air.

  The other slaves gulped and scrambled for the butchering knives, their hands shaking as they closed around the cold steel. "That's it! Make sure it's nice and good for our piggies!"

  A boy no older than fifteen, his face gaunt but his eyes holding a cold, hard light that defied his age, grasped a knife tightly.

  "Even pigs are taken care of more nicely than we are," he muttered, his voice a low, guttural whisper of pure contempt.

  "What'd you say, boy?!" a nearby bandit bellowed, turning on him.

  The boy did not flinch. He did not cower. He lunged, driving the butchering knife forward in a desperate, suicidal attack. "H-Hey!"

  Before the blade could find its mark, another guard was there, his booted foot slamming into the boy’s gut with brutal force.

  "You fucking worthless sack of shit!" The boy was sent flying, landing in a heap of hay and mud. "Tch! Take him to the dungeon! We'll strip him naked and whip him around the camp later!"

  Two men grabbed the boy, dragging him by his arms towards a dark, stone-lined cellar. "I'll kill all of you!" he screamed, his voice cracking with a mixture of rage and fear.

  "I swear on this—" His defiance was cut off as the butt of a dagger hilt slammed into the back of his head.

  "Shut the fuck up," the bandit sneered.

  They threw him down the cellar steps, his body hitting the cold stone wall with a sickening thud.

  "Kakh!" He spat a spray of blood, wiping it with a trembling hand as he grit his teeth. He sank to the floor, the cold seeping into his bones.

  And then finally, in the lonely, suffocating darkness, the boy’s composure shattered, and his tears came out.

  I can't live like this… anymore… he sobbed, his small shoulders shaking. I want to go home…

  He was just a boy.