In a vast plain, marred by monster corpses and viscous crimson blood carving river paths along the dark terrain, stood a man.
The man exhaled softly, cold air streaming from his nostrils.
He carried silence like a weapon—sharp, deliberate, and always within reach. He was dressed in flowing black robes that rippled like ink in motion as he walked forward.
Every step he took carried the kind of stillness that made sound seem impolite. His hair, jet-black and carelessly tied into a loose topknot, betrayed the elegance of someone who didn't seek attention—but couldn't avoid it either.
Golden eyes flickered beneath his dark bangs, not with warmth, but with calculation. There was no rage in them, no mercy either—only awareness.
Barely five steps into motion, a lady materialized behind him. She stood like a cathedral cloaked in dusk—solemn, dignified, and quietly radiant.
