The tale of Soe Gyi spread like wildfire in the dry season. From the small villages along the riverbanks to the bustling towns near the mountains.
The same story traveled on every wind: a carpenter had become a warrior—and he had slain the Tiger King.
In tea shops, markets, and roadside inns, villagers whispered the story with growing awe.
"I swear on my ancestors,"
said a farmer, slamming his cup on the table,
"I heard he carried the beast's body on his back, its head in his hand. Blood everywhere, yet he walked like it was nothing!"
A woman balancing a basket of herbs shook her head.
"No man could do that. He must be cursed—or blessed by the spirits."
But while villagers spoke in fear and awe, news of Soe Gyi's feat reached far beyond their fields.
Nobles in grand halls and warlords in fortified strongholds heard the story too. Some wanted to claim him. Others wanted to test him.
Nay Min, noble of the capital, leaned forward, eyes cold.
"The Tiger King was deadly. A man who kills it… could be my sharpest sword. Find him."
Thurain, counting silver, smirked.
"Strength alone is worthless. I'll tempt him with gold, women, comfort. Even a carpenter might bend."
Aung Gyi, Wind Sect disciple, twirled his staff. "Let him face the storm. If he survives, I'll know his worth."
Shwe MaMa Gyi slammed her spear into the ground.
"The Tiger King was fierce… but men are crueler. If he falls to me, he dies screaming. Let him bleed."
La Yung, son of a nearby town head, paced his courtyard.
"If I recruit Soe Gyi, my name will outshine my father's."
Kyaw Gyi, son of village head, clenched his fists.
"A carpenter? Killing the Tiger King? Bah! Let him face me, man to man."
Sandar, proud warrior of the Moon Clan, gazed at the night sky.
"A man who can fell the Tiger King deserves more than gold."
In taverns, villagers whispered about Soe Gyi. They guessed his fate, some in awe, some in fear.
Soe Gyi sat quietly in his village. He sharpened his tools. He mended his clothes.
But destiny moved.
On the second day after Soe Gyi killed the Tiger King, the morning sun spilled over the village, lighting the dusty streets.
Soe Gyi repaired a wooden stool outside his house when a sharp voice cut through the calm.
"Soe Gyi!"
He looked up. Kyaw Gyi, son of the village head, strode toward him. Broad-shouldered, hair tied in a warrior's knot, his eyes burned with pride and challenge.
Behind him, a crowd of villagers whispered, curious and tense.
"I am Kyaw Gyi, son of the village head,"
he declared, pointing a curved blade at Soe Gyi.
"I heard your tale. As a warrior, I must see if it is true. Fight me!"
Soe Gyi set the stool aside and rose, towering over many. He brushed sawdust from his palms and regarded Kyaw Gyi calmly.
"If a fight is what you want… then let it be."
The crowd gasped as Soe Gyi reached for his axe—the same that had felled the Tiger King.
Kyaw Gyi lunged, his blade slicing through the air in a silver arc. Soe Gyi stepped back, raising the haft of his axe to block.
The clash rang like a bell. Sparks flew. Villagers shouted, some cheering Kyaw Gyi, others Soe Gyi.
Kyaw Gyi pressed forward, strikes fast and fierce. Soe Gyi met each one with calm precision, deflecting blows with the heavy shaft.
When Kyaw Gyi swept low, Soe Gyi leapt back, the blade missing by inches. Dust rose in clouds.
"They fight like lions!" a villager cried.
Soe Gyi countered, swinging wide. Kyaw Gyi ducked, the axe grazing his shoulder, tearing cloth. He thrust back, forcing Soe Gyi to twist aside. The two circled, breaths heavy, weapons ready.
Kyaw Gyi attacked with speed, trying to overwhelm. Soe Gyi moved deliberately, each defense measured, conserving strength.
When Kyaw Gyi lunged high, Soe Gyi trapped the blade, twisting it aside. When Kyaw Gyi closed in, Soe Gyi shoved him back with the flat of the axe head.
Minutes stretched like hours. Sweat drenched both men. The villagers' voices rose to a roar.
Some called for Kyaw Gyi to finish it. Others cried for Soe Gyi to strike. Children clung to mothers, eyes wide with fear and awe.
Then Kyaw Gyi overreached. With a furious roar, he swung in a killing strike. Soe Gyi sidestepped and pivoted smoothly.
His axe came down in a brutal arc—not on Kyaw Gyi's head, but across his arm.
A sickening crack rang out. Kyaw Gyi screamed. His blade clattered to the ground. Blood sprayed. His arm hung useless. Silence fell, horror washing over the crowd.
Soe Gyi's face was calm but grim. He lowered his axe.
Two men rushed forward to carry Kyaw Gyi away, pale with shock and pain. Villagers whispered urgently.
"He… lost an arm,"
one said. "Kyaw Gyi… beaten by Soe Gyi."
Soe Gyi turned to the crowd.
"I did not seek this fight," He said, voice steady.
Then he walked into his house, leaving the villagers murmuring, wide-eyed and silent.
In the Capital, a gray-cloaked spy knelt in the marble hall, forehead pressed to the cold stone. Nay Min leaned forward on his throne, eyes narrowing.
"So it's true… a carpenter who fights like a general,"
he said, stroking his beard.
"Soe Gyi is a blade too sharp to leave in the dirt."
In the Town of Riverbend, young La Yung sat cross-legged on a silk cushion, tapping his fingers on his knee as the spy whispered the news.
"Perfect," La Yung smiled.
"People follow strength. If Soe Gyi walks with me, my father's authority will crumble, and mine will rise. Prepare gifts—women, wine, land. He will not refuse me."
In the Moon Clan, Sandar stared at moonlight spilling across the floor.
"A man who kills not for gold, but because he must… that is rare," she murmured.
At the village head's house, Ko Kyaw Gyi roared, overturning a table.
"Master, your son… he lost an arm. Soe Gyi spared his life, but humiliated him before all."
"Shame!" Ko Kyaw Gyi bellowed. "He has disgraced my bloodline!"
Across capitals, towns, clans, sects, and gangs, the name Soe Gyi carried weight.
Some wanted him as an ally. Some wanted to test him. And one… wanted to destroy him.