Among the many species of humans, demi-humans, and beast-folk living in the continent of Vermanyan, the beast-folk are the most oppressed—and the weakest.
The humans, elves, dwarves, and even the orcs have learned to stand together despite their differences. But we beast-folk? We've always fought among ourselves. Divided by ears, tails, fur—by foolish pride and petty hatred.
We isolated ourselves. And humans took advantage of it.
They would raid our villages, slaughter our warriors, and drag our women and children away in chains. They killed our champions. Enslaved our people. Took everything from us.
And we let them.
My village was attacked when I was six. I was sold to a duke who used me as a plaything for three years—until I became sick and useless. Then he sold me off to a traveling merchant for a handful of silver.
The merchant was kind. For a time, I began to remember what it felt like to be human.
But peace never lasts.
One early morning, we were ambushed by bandits while traveling toward the Drakseid Kingdom border. They slaughtered the merchants—cutting them down like cattle. The merchant who saved me died trying to protect us. The rest of us—women and girls—were dragged to their base, a dark, damp cave reeking of filth and blood.
The suffering that followed… I won't speak of it. Pain became the only constant. I thought I wouldn't survive the night. Our fate was sealed.
By afternoon, the bandits were panicking. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I heard the chaos—heavy footsteps, desperate shouting. The bandits were terrified, running through the cave like cornered rats.
I wanted to move. To speak. But my body refused to obey.
Then I saw them.
Men in metal armor appeared at the mouth of the cave, moving with lethal precision. The bandits grabbed the closest girls, using them as human shields.
Cowards.
They had been so confident—so brutal—when they tore through our caravan. But now they were begging.
The first arrow struck clean through a bandit's skull. He collapsed instantly, blood pooling beneath him. Another arrow followed, and another—each one finding its mark with chilling accuracy.
I heard one of the soldiers murmur a name.
"The Bronze Archer."
The bandits fell one after another—clean shots to the head and throat. Their bodies hit the ground in sickening rhythm. Whoever was shooting had to be a god to strike so cleanly from outside the cave.
My eyelids were closing. My vision blurred. But then—
He appeared.
A boy. No older than seven. He stood at the entrance of the cave, bathed in the dim light filtering through the rocks. A crimson cape fluttered behind him. His brown eyes were cold—calculating—but beneath that calm, I sensed something deeper.
Power.
He walked through the cave without hesitation, the soldiers parting as he passed. His gaze swept across the broken bodies of the bandits, then toward us—the captives. His eyes softened, only for a moment.
That was the last thing I saw before the darkness claimed me.
I woke up in a soft bed beneath clean sheets. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, warming the room. My body still ached, but the pain was dull now—a lingering memory.
The room was filled with others like me. Beast-folk. Boys and girls of different species, some around my age. Some had bandages wrapped around their limbs, others clutched blankets to their chests, their eyes still wide with lingering fear.
Human women tended to us, their hands soft, their eyes kind. They treated us gently—not as burdens, not as property, but as people. Their warmth cut through the emptiness in my chest.
For the first time in years, I felt safe.
But we were still lost.
We were alive—but for what purpose? We had no home. No future. Just empty survival.
And then… he returned.
Crown Prince of the Drakseid Kingdom, Rhydher H. Drakseid.
Our light in the dark. Our beacon toward a future we never dared to dream of.
He stood before us—not as a boy, not even as a prince—but as something greater.
A savior. A hero.
We were gathered deep in a forest that seemed well hidden, almost sacred. The ancient trees loomed above us, their twisted branches blocking out most of the light. But he stood atop a rock beneath the dim shafts of sunlight, his crimson cape fluttering behind him as if the wind itself obeyed his presence.
The soldiers flanking him stood at attention—silent, disciplined. Their gazes were fixed on him with absolute focus. The tension in the air was suffocating.
And then… he spoke.
His voice cut through the air—calm, measured—but beneath that calm was fire. A slow-burning inferno that threatened to consume the forest itself.
"There are no more beast-folk villages."
A chill swept through the crowd. The younger ones flinched. The older ones stiffened, eyes narrowing as his words settled in.
"Your people are scattered across this continent—enslaved, hunted, and broken."
My hands curled into fists. Pain stabbed through my chest at the truth behind his words. My people were broken. We had been for generations.
"No more."
His voice sharpened. Even the leaves seemed to rustle in response.
"I don't expect you to understand this yet—you're young. But listen well: I will train you. I will sharpen you into warriors and scholars. You will reclaim the strength they took from you—and together, we will forge a nation. A nation of beast-folk, for the beast-folk. A united one."
His eyes burned as he scanned the crowd, and for a moment, it felt like he was looking straight at me.
"Unity in diversity. You will stand strong alongside Drakseid and uphold peace in Vermanyan. You will not kneel. You will not hide. You will become the shield that guards your people—and the spear that pierces your enemies."
A low murmur spread through the crowd. Heads lifted. Eyes widened. Even the younger ones, clutching their torn clothes and nursing their injuries, began to straighten their backs.
He stepped forward, his cape trailing behind him, and raised his hand toward us. His brown eyes—calm and sharp—seemed to strip away the fear lingering in our chests.
"You have a choice."
The fire in his voice surged—hot and unforgiving. My heart hammered painfully against my ribs.
"Slavery… or freedom."
Silence.
The word freedom echoed through the trees like a battle cry waiting to be born.
His gaze hardened. His hand remained raised.
"Choose!"
For a heartbeat, no one moved. My mouth dried. I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears.
And then—
"FREEDOM!"
I screamed the word before I even realized my mouth had opened. My throat burned from the force of it. And then—
"FREEDOM!"
Another voice.
"FREEDOM!"
It spread like wildfire. A roar of desperate, broken voices finding strength together. The trees seemed to shake from the force of it. My legs trembled, but I stood firm. I screamed until my lungs burned. Tears blurred my vision, but I didn't care.
He lowered his hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes flashed with approval.
"Good," he said. His voice was quiet, but it carried through the clearing like thunder.
His gaze sharpened. The softness in his smile vanished beneath cold steel.
"Here on this mountain, you will train. Hone your bodies, your spirits, and your minds. You will bleed. You will suffer. You will crawl through hell and rise from it stronger. And when the time comes—"
He raised his fist toward the sky. His red cape snapped behind him in the sudden gust of wind. The golden light through the trees turned his silhouette into something larger than life.
"—together we will carve the promised nation from the bones of your enemies!"
A surge of energy swept through the crowd. Someone dropped to their knees, clutching their chest as tears streamed down their face. Another beast-folk boy pounded his fist against the ground, his eyes wild with emotion.
"We'll follow him."
"We'll fight for him."
"He's the one. He's the one who'll lead us to freedom."
A hand brushed against mine. A younger girl—barely six—was staring at him with wide, glistening eyes. Her tiny hand gripped mine. Her lips trembled as she whispered:
"He'll save us."
My eyes burned. My chest felt like it would explode. And I knew—knew with a certainty so deep it burned into my soul—
We would follow him.
Through fire and war, through blood and darkness—
We would follow our prince.
Our savior.
Our king.
And with that, our training began.
He left us with the soldiers he brought to supervise us. A training regime had already been prepared for us—precise, relentless, and brutal. We followed it until our muscles tore and our lungs screamed for air. We vomited blood and passed out under the harsh sun, only to be dragged to our feet and forced to start again.
But it was nothing compared to what we had already suffered.
The pain was familiar. The discipline was new. For the first time, pain wasn't meaningless. It wasn't survival—it was transformation.
Our training went on for a year.
And then… he returned.
He arrived without fanfare, stepping into the clearing like a crimson shadow. His cape fluttered behind him as the cold winter wind curled around his figure. We froze where we stood, our training interrupted by his presence alone.
For a moment, we were children again.
He smiled faintly and handed out gifts—a dagger for each of us, forged from dwarven steel and engraved with elven runes. His eyes were warm when he spoke, and even though we were no longer weak, his gaze stripped away the layers of steel we had built around our hearts.
He told us the story of how he defeated a silver-level adventurer in a one-on-one duel. We believed every word. Even if he had added a few embellishments to make himself sound more impressive, we would have accepted them as truth.
But he didn't lie. He didn't need to.
After the celebration, his tone sharpened. The warmth in his eyes faded beneath cold purpose. He stood before us, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze hard as steel.
"You've done well," he said. "But now it's time to rise beyond this place. The training is over. It's time to serve."
He selected one hundred of us—the best among the best. All of them were strong, disciplined, and deadly. I was the best among them. A wolf-folk, fueled by rage and precision.
We said goodbye to the others and left the mountain in silence. We didn't look back.
We discarded our names and became shadows.
I was named Zero.
We became the Ninja Order—the silent force that would reshape the future of Vermanyan. We trained for years without rest, until we practically became one with the darkness. We mastered a specialized form of combat centered on the katana—blades engraved with elven runes and forged by dwarves, light as air and sharp enough to cut steel.
Stealth. Infiltration. Assassination.
These became the pillars of our existence.
We became ghosts.
Our first major assignment came when he turned ten.
He gathered us beneath the moonlight, standing on the rocky ledge overlooking the valley below. His crimson cape drifted in the cold wind, but his voice carried through the dark like fire through dry grass.
"You will strike in silence and leave fear in your wake."
We listened in absolute stillness.
"First—secure and protect the Drakseid soldiers kept prisoner in the depths of Gehena."
My ears twitched at the name. Gehena. That cursed fortress, the scar of the Drakseid Kingdom.
"The enemy will try to kill the prisoners when the attack begins. Kill them first."
No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just cold, surgical precision.
"Second—once the main army leaves Verdune, you will eliminate the city guards."
A ripple of tension spread through us.
"Make it loud. Make it brutal. Line their heads along the roads. Let the nobles see the price of defying us."
The tension sharpened into quiet resolve.
"Third—kill the nobles. The ones who profited from slavery and suffering. Let their houses burn, and let their families beg for mercy that will never come."
I lowered my head. A thin smile tugged at my lips. This was the moment we had been trained for.
We followed his orders to the letter.
When the Drakseid army attacked Fort Gehena, over a hundred bandits descended into the prison to slaughter the two thousand prisoners. We were already there—clinging to the ceiling beams, masked by the darkness.
They didn't see us. They didn't even feel it.
The first head dropped with a wet thud.
Then another.
And another.
Silent. Efficient. Clean.
By the time the last head rolled, the stench of blood and death had already saturated the air. We left no survivors. No witnesses.
Under the cover of the darkness of the deadly forest, we moved toward Verdune. The main army had already left the city, leaving the streets guarded by complacent, underpaid soldiers.
We moved like shadows. Through alleys, rooftops, and walls. We slit their throats as they stood guard on the city walls. We dragged them from their safety and opened their throats in the market square. Blood pooled beneath their bodies, staining the cobblestones.
"Cowards," I whispered as I wiped the blood from my blade.
We took their heads and lined them along the road. By morning, Verdune would wake to the sight of death.
And the nobles?
We slipped into their estates through open windows and hidden servant passages. The first noble died with a dagger through his throat before he could scream. The next one watched his wife die before he begged for his own death. We showed him mercy.
Only one noble begged for his family.
We gave him his wish.
We sent them all to hell together.
Justice.
Balance.
All in a day's work.
We returned to the duke's mansion beneath a blood-red sky.
Verdune had already fallen. The banners had been torn down, the streets washed in blood, and the nobles' heads lined the gates like trophies. The city had been conquered—claimed.
And so had we.
Our master was readying himself for sleep.
He sat at the edge of a large canopy bed, his crimson cape folded neatly on the chair beside him. His gloved hand rested against the hilt of his sword, his fingers grazing the leather absentmindedly. Moonlight filtered through the tall glass windows, casting pale silver lines across his figure.
He wasn't tense. He wasn't tired.
He was simply… thinking.
I slipped beneath his bed, moving without a sound. My breath was shallow, my heartbeat steady. I stayed hidden, testing him.
It didn't even take him a second.
"You and your men did well today, Zero."
His voice was quiet—but it burned.
My heart hammered painfully in my chest.
His gaze lingered on the window, the moonlight catching the sharp line of his jaw. His hand slid from the hilt of his sword and settled lightly on his knee. Calm. Relaxed. But there was steel beneath it.
The weight of his praise pressed down on my spine, cold and heavy. I felt it settle beneath my skin, stirring the heat curling low in my chest.
Approval.
It burned more than any wound I'd ever suffered.
"The Ninja Order performed well this battle. Take my praise—I don't give it easily."
My chest tightened. My pulse roared in my ears. He was satisfied.
That was enough.
"Excellent work as always, Zero. Rest for now, along with the other numbers. I may have a big project coming up for you all. Give my regards to the others."
My breathing was shallow now. My hands trembled against the floor. I would have killed a thousand more men to hear those words from him again.
His smile deepened—not cruel, not cold—but knowing. His eyes darkened beneath the pale moonlight.
I slipped into the shadows, heat burning in my chest. My hand brushed the hilt of my blade as I vanished into the dark garden. Some of us whispered in the dark that we had become monsters. That we were walking a path from which we could never return.
I didn't care.
I would follow him into the dark.
I would become his sword and his shadow.
Even if it meant losing my soul.