As Baines stepped out of his home, a heavy shadow of uncertainty clung, the question of his survival hanging in the air. Yet, his sister, eyes heavy with unspoken fears, watched him go in silence.
Yet, she still let him go, knowing full well that whatever plan he might have had would be riddled with flaws, filled with dangerous, reckless, and immature loopholes that would eventually lead her to prevent him.
But wasn't that better?
That way, at least there was hope she could cling to. The desperate wish that he might survive, might carve out some semblance of purpose in this cruel world, and fulfill his goals.
...
The sky was dark, yet the streets pulsed with life despite the late hour, its streets awash in flickering torchlight and the clamor of trade.
Voices rang out, sharp and insistent, cutting through the cool night air.
"Fresh clothes! Finest silks from the east!"
"Steel forged for warriors! Commission sales are open!"
"Thread and dye, best prices in the city!"
As expected from a merchant district, the market never slept, and trade never ceased.
Yet beneath the haggling and bartering, every figure in the crowd carried a weapon. Swords glinted at hips, daggers gleamed beneath cloaks, and wary eyes scanned for threats.
After all, in this world, to walk unarmed was to invite death's cold embrace.
Baines wove and navigated through the streets with practiced ease, his steps sure until he paused before a dilapidated building. Its faded signboard creaked in the wind:
Baek Transport Agency
Once a pride of his family, the agency now stood abandoned, its legacy dissolved by his sister's hand—not out of malice, but to protect their honor.
To open the agency again was risking the family, which was something she didn't wish for. Instead of laying off the staff, she had ensured every worker was reassigned, their livelihoods preserved.
Even in ruin, she shielded the Baek name and honor.
KNOCK… KNOCK…
The door creaked open, revealing an elderly man whose weathered face lit with shock at seeing who it was,
"Y-Young Master! Come in, quickly!"
Baines stepped inside, the musty air of the old agency wrapping around him like a shroud. "Uncle Kwon, have you been well?"
"As well as one can be," Kwon replied, setting a tray of steaming tea on a worn table. His hands trembled faintly, betraying his age. "I've kept this place warm, waiting for the family's return."
Kwon, one of the agency's longest-serving workers. He had refused reassignment, believing that one day, the Baek family would rise again. His loyalty was a relic, as enduring and stubborn as the dust-covered walls around them.
"So," Kwon said, his voice steady despite the weight in his eyes. "What brings you here, young master?"
Baines met his gaze, unflinching. "I need a favor."
Kwon straightened, his bow slight but sincere. "Young master, you need only ask. I'll assist to the best of my ability."
"Good." Baines' voice was cold, resolute. "Listen carefully."
For revenge, he needed power—not the fleeting strength of muscle or blade, but the raw, unrelenting ability to kill without hesitation. True power.
He needed to become a force that could make the world tremble. The world needed to know terror.
But such things weren't taught in noble academies or righteous organizations.
If he walked up to those evil factions and requested to be trained, he would be killed before he even set foot inside.
That left him with only one, jagged and perilous option.
"I need you to sell me to the savage tribes."
The words struck like a thunderclap.
Kwon's eyes widened, his breath catching. "Young master, what—?"
...
"Uncle Kwon, Uncle Kwon, wake up!" Baines shook the old man, who had slumped in his chair, felled by the sheer madness of the request.
"Huh? Uh, young master?" Kwon stirred, rubbing his eyes, his heart hammering as he prayed he'd misheard. "Sorry, please… repeat that."
"I need you to sell me to the savage tribes." Baines' voice was a blade, sharp and unyielding.
Silence choked the room.
Kwon's face drained of color, his hands trembling as the weight of the words settled. He nearly collapsed again, clutching the table for support.
"Why?" he croaked, voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you think our family can ever return to what it was?" Baines' expression was a mask, cold and unreadable.
Kwon swallowed hard, seeing the boy he'd known replaced by a stranger forged in grief. There was something in Baines's gaze, a hollowness, a weight only those who had lost everything could carry.
"Sigh... Young master… death will be the least of your worries."
"Nothing worth having comes without risk," Baines said, his voice steady despite the storm within. He remembered the Eye, the searing pain as he'd forced it into his socket.
If he hadn't risked his life, he would still be at home.
Kwon's gaze lingered, searching for a flicker of doubt. "But why the tribes? Why not train elsewhere? You could've said you're going to learn elsewhere.
"Other places don't have what I need." Baines' fists clenched, his knuckles whitening as memories of that horrific day flooded back— the screams, blood, the ruin of his family. "I need revenge."
Kwon studied him, catching a faint red glow flickering across Baines' form, like embers dancing in a dying fire.
He exhaled, defeated. "If this is your choice… I'll make the arrangements."
Thirty minutes later, Kwon returned, a large backpack slung over his shoulder and a smaller bag in his hand. "Are you ready, young master?"
Baines nodded, rising to his feet, his heart a steady drumbeat of resolve.
Together, they stepped into the night.
But the moment they crossed the threshold, the world turned to ash.
Black figures materialized from the shadows, their forms cloaked in darkness, encircling the marketplace like vultures. The air grew thick with the acrid stench of burning wood and blood, the crackle of flames rising as screams pierced the night.
Merchants fled their wares abandoned, and the buyers dropped whatever they held as the assassins advanced, their movements silent and precise. Not one person thought to pull their hidden or open weapon to fight.
There was something about these assassins that made them just abandon everything and run.
Baines froze, his breath stolen by terror.
It wasn't by the act or the blood. It was the familiar chilling emblem on their masks: a bleeding eye beneath a dagger.
Baines's mind went blank.
His vision tunneled, the world blurring into a nightmare he'd lived before. The screams, the fire, the blood, everything blurred.
The sight was familiar. It was happening again.
Not again.
His body trembled.
"Not...again." In his second core pulsing wildly, a surge of crimson energy erupted.
Then—
PSTCHTCH!
A sharp, searing pain tore through his chest.
He staggered, gasping, his gaze dropping to the blade buried in his ribs. His breath hitched, and warmth spread across his torso.
His blood.
After having previously lost a lot of it, he instantly recognized it this time. Blood poured from the wound, warm and unrelenting, pooling beneath him.
"Gurk.." With agonizing effort, he turned his head and met the eyes of his killer.
"K-K-Kwon…?"
The old man stood motionless, his face a mask of cold detachment, his hand steady on the dagger's hilt.
"Why, young master?" Kwon's voice was hollow, devoid of warmth. "Why couldn't you just stay in your little prison in peace?"
Baines collapsed, his knees buckling as crimson soaked the cobblestones. His gaze swept the burning marketplace, flames devouring stalls, black-clad figures swarming toward his family's manor.
"No…" His voice cracked, trembling with despair. "Not again. Not again. Not again."
He pictured his mother, lost in her coma, and his sister, crippled and defenseless, trapped within the inferno. His hand reached out, fingers clawing at the air, but there was nothing to grasp, nothing to save.
This was a familiar scene. This was the nightmare he'd fought to escape, the wound that had never healed. Yet it had returned before he could even begin his fight.
"This is what happens when you get funny ideas like that," Kwon said, his voice a distant echo. "Tonight, the Baek line ends."
Darkness swallowed Baines.