"Oh the sky getting dark again"
"It started i shall hurry up"
Rain lashed the Broken Fang Plains, turning the dry earth into a thick mire of mud and blood. Dusk had fallen into a dim, At the center of that empty, storm-swept land stood a lone figure-unmoving,
Han Jiyul.
His long black cloak clung to his frame, soaked from the relentless downpour. Wet strands of black hair plastered against his face, and mud clung to his boots , but he didn't flinch. In his hand, a rusty sword hung like death itself, its dull surface hiding a thirst it had long forgotten.
He stood with the poise of one who had seen too much, felt too little, and killed too often.
"Stop there kid !"
Surrounding him were five bandits-filthy, grinning, and hungry-eyed. They looked like carrion birds circling a wounded beast. But Jiyul wasn't wounded. He was waiting.
"Pretty boy's lost," sneered one, licking rain from his lips. His skin was pale, he grinned.
"Or maybe he's just slow in the head."
"What's that in your hand, eh?" asked another, pointing at the dark red sword holding in Jiyul's left hand. His eyes narrowed greedily.
"That thing's gotta be worth something."
" Give that"
The leader stepped forward, a burly man with a scar splitting his face in two like a crack in rock.
His broadsword was slung across his back, and his muscles twitched under wet leather. "Kid," he growled, voice deep and confident. "Hand over the sword. You can walk away if you do."
Jiyul didn't answer. The storm around him howled, but he was silent-cold eyes watching them like a hawk watches dying prey.
The bandit took a step closer. "You deaf or just stupid?" He reached for the Sword.
Steel hissed.
Jiyul's sword flashed in the gloom, faster than thought. There was no warning. One second the man was whole, the next his hand was flying through the air, blood spraying like a broken pipe. He didn't scream-shock robbed him of it. But the pain came, and he dropped to his knees.
"You don't touch the Sword," Jiyul said, his voice low, emotionless. "Not unless you want to die for it."
The wounded man gasped, blood gurgling from his throat as he tried to cry out. Jiyul didn't wait. One swing—and the bandit's head separated cleanly from his shoulders, spinning once in the air before hitting the mud with a soft thud. Blood sprayed upward like a fountain, painting the rain red.
The other four froze. Terror replaced arrogance. Their hands trembled. One took a step back, only to slip and fall in the mud.
Jiyul didn't look at them. He knelt beside the corpse, his fingers reaching into the dead man's chest. A red glow pulsed beneath the skin like a dying star. As he pressed down, a soft heat surged into him-Blood Ember Art:
Soul Spark.
He closed his eyes.
The man's final memories invaded his mind: a worn-out cottage in the mountains, an old woman waiting by the door, eyes weary but hopeful. "Come back alive, my son," she had said.
Jiyul's lips twitched-barely. "This memory again..." he muttered. "A mother's hope?
What do I care?"
He stood, wiping blood from his sword.
"You bastard!" screamed one of the other bandits. "You killed Jin!"
Jiyul looked at him with indifference. "He reached for what wasn't his. Now he belongs to the mud."
The four remaining bandits roared, charging in rage.
Jiyul moved.
His sword became a blur-an arc of red in the rain. The first attacker lunged with a short spear. Jiyul sidestepped, letting the weapon slide past him, then slashed upward. The bandit's chest split open, ribs cracked, and he collapsed with a strangled gasp.
Another swung a crude axe. Jiyul ducked, rolled forward, and drove his sword into the man's thigh, then twisted. The bandit screamed, falling. Jiyul finished him with a clean stab through the throat.
The last two hesitated, stepping back, their resolve shattering.
"You're not warriors," Jiyul said, walking toward them, blood dripping from his blade.
"You're dogs chasing meat."
One turned to flee.
"Bad choice."
Jiyul's sword whistled through the air and struck the man's back, cleaving him in half.
The last bandit dropped his weapon and fell to his knees. "Please... please don't..."
Jiyul paused.
For a moment, it looked like he'd spare him.
Then he raised his sword and whispered,
"You stood with thieves. Die with them."
The blade descended.
Silence returned to the plain, broken only by the falling rain and the soft gurgles of the dying.
Jiyul stood among the corpses, his breathing calm, unaffected. He knelt beside one of the bodies and drew out another Soul Spark.
Strength rushed into his limbs-he could feel it reinforcing his tired muscles. But with it came another memory-a child crying, a sister's laugh, a game played in a sunny field.
"Pointless," Jiyul murmured. "None of it changes who you were. A bandit. A stain."
He turned his back to the dead and stared at the sky. The Blood Ember Scroll pulsed faintly at his side, like a heart trying to beat through its leather skin. The rain washed the blood from his face, but it couldn't touch the chill in his soul.
"I wasted my time," he said quietly. "Foolish men chasing a cursed thing on my chest ."
A low rumble echoed in the distance-thunder, or perhaps something more.
Jiyul resumed walking, feet sinking into the wet soil with each step. The Blood Ember whispered again, showing him glimpses of powers untapped. But he paid it no heed. He didn't need promises.
He would carve his own fate.
And if the world wished to stop him?
It would have to bleed.