It came from behind them.
A lone figure was descending the slope.
The boy's eyes darted toward the stranger standing just beyond the circle—clad in gray, his silhouette quiet against the light. For a fleeting moment, hope surged in the boy's chest.
But then, he realized. The man was alone.
No soldiers at his side, no banners, no armor. Just two swords at his back and bells at his waist.
The hope that had flared in Ansang's eyes dimmed almost instantly.
"Get out of here!" he mouthed desperately, waving his arms in warning. "Run!"
The soldiers turned.
"This is official business," one of them barked. "Stay out of it."
The figure did not reply. He paused, tilting his head slightly—listening, as if to someone unseen.
The bells at his waist gave a soft chime, though no wind stirred.
Then he spoke, not to the soldiers, not to the boy—but to whatever spirit walked with him.
"Yes… I agree. Such a kind-hearted boy."
Without warning, he moved.
A whisper of steel sang through the air. In a blink, his blade was drawn. In another, it was already in motion.
He passed through the soldiers like a breeze through reeds—graceful, measured, deadly.
No screams. Only the dull thuds of bodies folding to the earth, one after another.
The boy stood frozen, watching the scene unfold with wide, unblinking eyes. It wasn't a fight. It was a rite. A purification.
The captain staggered backward, hand fumbling for his sword. But the stranger's eyes were already upon him—calm, ancient, knowing.
"Such perfect possession," he murmured.
The captain faltered. And then, the bronze mirror on the man's chest flared with a sudden golden shimmer.
The captain collapsed to his knees, weapon forgotten.
Goi leaned in close and spoke—softly, firmly—into the captain's ear. The man began to mutter in return, his voice no longer his own, shifting like wind through withered leaves.
The boy took a hesitant step forward, but Goi had already turned away.
He walked past the fallen, his gaze fixed on the distant village.
The boy dropped to his knees.
"Please…" he called out, his voice breaking. "Warrior… help me. My father… he's going to kill us all."
Goi turned and regarded him. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes held something gentle.
He laid a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Stay here. You'll be safe. I'll take care of the rest."
And with that, he continued down the path.
The boy watched him go, his breath still ragged. Then—unable to help himself—he rose and followed, at a respectful distance.
Not far ahead, six more soldiers emerged from the village outskirts, blocking the road. Without a word, Goi moved. His blade flashed twice—barely a blur of steel—and the soldiers' weapons scattered into the fields like seeds on the wind. Dazed, they fled without a backward glance.
The boy stopped in his tracks.
Goi kept walking.
Each step was steady. Calm. And yet, every footfall seemed to ripple through the land.
The man who had saved him was no ordinary warrior.
He was something else entirely.
As Goi approached the village gates, a squad of soldiers blocked the road, flanked by a single mercenary whose posture spoke of unchecked confidence. The soldiers held position, their hands hovering over hilts, while the mercenary narrowed his eyes—first at Goi, then at the boy trailing several paces behind.
With a sharp, upward jerk of his chin, the mercenary barked, "Seize them both!"
But before anyone could move, Goi's voice rang out—calm, but cutting like a bell struck in still air.
"You wear arms to protect the people… yet you obey a hired sword? What disgrace is this?"
The words struck like a lash. The soldiers flinched, glancing at one another, unease rippling through their ranks. They did not lower their weapons, but their stances faltered—just enough.
The mercenary, unfazed, stepped forward and scoffed.
"You must have a death wish, stranger."
Before the last syllable had left his lips, Goi's hand moved.
There was no cry, no clash of blades. Only a sudden flicker of gold—a glint that shimmered like sunlight on water—and the mercenary collapsed, his knees buckling before he hit the earth.
Goi knelt beside him, speaking softly—too softly for the onlookers to hear. The man, barely conscious, muttered something in reply. Goi said nothing in return, only stood and turned his gaze to the governor's manor that loomed at the heart of the village.
He began walking.
Behind him, the boy followed—quiet, steady.
The soldiers who had hesitated before now watched the two pass, uncertain.
"Young master…" one of them ventured, stepping forward.
Ansang turned his head and gave a slight, almost embarrassed nod. "It's fine," he said. "Follow him."
Like chicks drawn to warmth, the soldiers fell into step—one by one. Not by command, but instinct.
As Goi walked through the village streets, more followed. Farmers with dirt-streaked sleeves, old men leaning on canes, children with wide eyes—one by one, they joined the procession. No banners, no drums. Only footsteps and whispers.
By the time they reached the gates of the manor, more than thirty had gathered behind them.
Four mercenaries stood guard at the entrance. At the sight of the crowd, they stiffened. One stepped forward, his sword already half-drawn.
"You there! Do you even know where you are? This is the governor's house. Get lost—"
He never finished.
Goi moved.
The bronze gladius in his hand seemed to catch the very breath of the sun. The guard dropped where he stood, unconscious before his sword hit the ground.
The remaining three charged.
But Goi didn't meet their blades. He stepped between them—not striking, but weaving—and the golden current trailing from his gladius swept past them like wind through reeds.
All three slumped to the stone, not a mark on them.
Goi sheathed the gladius without ceremony and stepped through the gate.
Inside, startled servants scurried forward to block the way—only to halt when they saw the boy.
"Young master…" they whispered, heads bowing.
Ansang waved a hand, neither proud nor frightened. "It's alright," he said simply.
And without hesitation, he followed Goi once more—toward the heart of the manor, and whatever awaited within.