Zego's pace was a relentless, silent glide, the Wuji Step technique allowing him to flow through the forest with a speed that defied the uneven terrain. The world around him was a blur of green and brown, a rhythm of motion he had mastered since childhood. Yet, a jarring interruption tore him from his focus. The distinct sound of frantic screams and the coarse laughter of monsters sliced through the tranquility of the woods.
A quarter of a league ahead, a horrifying scene unfolded. A horse-drawn carriage, its wood splintered and its wheels tilted at an unnatural angle, was besieged by a swarm of goblins. These weren't the simple, skittish creatures of the deep forest. These were lean, muscled terrors with crude metal armor and wickedly sharp spears. Their numbers were overwhelming, a sea of emerald skin and malevolent yellow eyes surrounding the carriage and the few guards trying to defend it.
The guards, dressed in the modest livery of a merchant's retinue, fought with a desperate, hopeless courage. Zego watched a young guard with a spear get overwhelmed, his final cry of defiance silenced by a dozen frantic stabs. The stench of iron-rich blood mixed with the foul, coppery scent of the goblins, a smell that Zego knew all too well. It was the scent of a lost cause.
Every instinct he had screamed at him to intervene. He was a wanderer, but his master's words echoed in his mind: "A true master does not stand by and watch injustice." With a fierce resolve, Zego changed his trajectory and became a blur of motion.
He arrived in the thick of the fight, a sudden, silent force. The goblins, too consumed by their bloodlust, didn't notice him until he was already among them. Zego moved with a grace that was beautiful and deadly. His eyes, a gift he had been taught to use since birth, saw the world differently. To him, the goblins weren't just a mass of green bodies; they were a network of glowing, vulnerable points—a deadly tapestry woven from light. Each point, like a tiny star, pulsed with the goblin's life force.
His hands became weapons of both creation and destruction. With his Yang energy, he launched a strike that released a searing wave of force. A goblin holding a bloodied axe was hit square in the chest, the impact releasing a horrifying crunch and a brief, acrid smell of burnt hair and ozone. In the same breath, a quick palm strike infused with his Yin energy froze the war cry of another goblin mid-shriek. The monster was encased in a thin, fragile layer of ice before Zego shattered the frozen corpse with a sickening crack.
Every movement was calculated, a whisper from his past. He remembered his master's sneer when he failed, the Elder's warnings about the balance of power. Was this power meant for slaughter or salvation? he wondered, even as his fists continued their deadly work.
Within moments, the tide of the battle turned completely. The remaining goblins, witnessing their brethren fall with unnatural speed and silence, broke their ranks and scattered into the woods with frantic shrieks. Zego stood in the eerie quiet, his knuckles scraped and bruised, a thin gash on his forearm bleeding sluggishly. He didn't feel pain, only the quiet hum of his energy and the weight of the carnage around him.
He surveyed the motionless bodies, his eyes narrowed. He noticed something odd: each of the goblins wore a small, jagged silver brooch on their tunics. He bent down, plucking one from a dead goblin's chest. It was a crude depiction of a serpent coiled around a dagger. He pocketed it, a strange sense of unease settling in his gut.
"Why are there goblins here?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone. "This isn't their territory."
A soft, trembling voice broke the silence. "Ah, thank you so much for helping us!"
Zego turned. By the shattered carriage stood a young woman, a vision of porcelain elegance. Her silver-white hair cascaded beautifully, a striking contrast to her simple yet graceful gown. Her clear blue eyes met his, filled with immense relief and a profound gratitude that seemed to shimmer. Next to her, an older couple bowed their heads in respect. The scent of her expensive perfume, a delicate mix of jasmine and rose, was a stark contrast to the battlefield's stench.
Heat crept up Zego's neck as her gaze held his. He wasn't used to such an intense gaze or such a refined presence. "Ah, it's nothing..." he mumbled, his voice a little strained.
The girl stepped forward. "My apologies for our rudeness. My name is Silvi. This is my mother, Sophie, and my father, Piro. Thank you again for saving us." As she spoke, a flicker of shadow crossed her blue eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared, and she nervously adjusted a peculiar eight-pointed star pendant that rested against her collarbone. The symbol was intricately carved, a design he had never seen before.
"I-it's really no big deal," Zego replied, trying to force a smile that didn't feel awkward.
Silvi's gaze softened, a hint of awe and sorrow in her voice. "May I know your name? You fight like no one I've ever seen."
"A-ah, y-yes... My name is Zego," he answered, the stuttering returning despite his effort to seem calm.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Zego," she said, her voice like music.
As they spoke, a natural rhythm formed between them. Zego learned they were traveling to the capital of the Aethen Kingdom for a very important matter. Silvi was surprised to discover his destination was the same. "You trained alone all these years?" she asked, her fingers brushing her pendant. "Your technique... it's incredible." Piro's gaze lingered on Zego's bleeding knuckles and the way his hands moved as he spoke, and Zego felt a silent tension crackle between them.
The journey continued, the mood a mix of relief and lingering tension. Silvi and Zego talked, their conversation a bridge between two vastly different worlds. Zego spoke of the raw, untamed beauty of the wilderness, and Silvi painted a picture of a bustling metropolis, filled with wonders he couldn't imagine.
They reached the majestic city gates just as the sun began to descend. The gates loomed like a maw—massive, steel-reinforced, and flanked by high towers that scraped the twilight sky. The air, once scented with pine and earth, was now thick with the smoky perfume of a thousand forges and the distant murmur of a massive population.
But the atmosphere at the gates was not one of welcome. The guards, in gleaming armor, scrutinized every face with an unnatural intensity, their gazes pausing longest on those with silver hair. Refugees clustered near the gates, their carts bearing claw marks and dried green blood, their faces hollow with fear. Zego noticed a child clutching a doll with silver threads in its hair, a detail that made his stomach turn with a sense of foreboding. He saw a guard roughly confiscating a scroll from an old man, its seal bearing the same eight-pointed star as Silvi's pendant.
"It seems we'll have to be patient," Piro said, his voice now laced with a subtle gravity. "Security is very strict here."
Zego nodded, his gaze sweeping over the scene. The guards' vigilance, the refugees' hollow eyes, and the mysterious pendant all seemed to converge into a single point of mystery. The city gates promised answers, but the weary faces of those waiting to enter mirrored his own hidden fears: Was the Aethen Kingdom a beacon of hope, or merely a gilded cage? The last time he had seen silver hair was on the warrior who had burned his village—a memory that made his grip tighten on Borin's rusty knife, a constant companion in his pocket. He had to be careful.
With a deep breath, Zego prepared to face whatever lay ahead. This new chapter was far more complex than a simple goblin raid, and he was beginning to realize that the danger in the city might be even greater than the dangers of the wilds.