The night was as dark as ink, and the embers of the blazing fire still groaned softly.
Black flames flickered intermittently among the heaps of corpses, as if unwilling to detach themselves from the frenzied dance of slaughter and sacrifice. The ground was scorched and cracked, burnt to a deep black; the air hung heavy with the unbearable stench of blood mingled with the bitter fumes of melting magic potions. Heat and coldness intertwined like a curse, slowly spreading atop the hill.
Kaine stood before the cave's mouth, at his feet lay a freshly fallen paladin, his sword still dripping with blood. His right arm hung slightly lowered, the sleeve singed by flame; silver hair fluttered in the wind, and his face bore no trace of emotion—like a carved statue.
His mission was nearly complete.
Yet somewhere deep inside, an indescribable restlessness churned—unease, confusion, and an instinctive alertness. It was like a wolf hunting in the dead of night, amid a field of corpses, still able to scent fresh blood hidden beneath the grass.
Suddenly, the wind shifted.
"Whoosh—!!!"
A piercing whistle tore through the air from deep within the rocky crags.
A magic flame arrow! Burning red from tip to shaft, its unstable flames seemed ready to rip apart the night sky. The arrow traced a burning crimson line like the judgement of the underworld, aimed straight at Kaine!
The youth reacted in a flash, his figure a flicker as he twisted aside; the arrow narrowly missed his collarbone. Though he dodged the fatal strike, the blazing tip grazed his right arm, ripping through armor and scorching flesh, sending a plume of blood-smoke swirling from the wound.
"Hiss—"
No groan, no shout—Kaine only paused for a brief heartbeat, then turned his gaze toward the dark origin of the arrow.
In the night, a figure slowly emerged by the cliff's edge.
Tattered silver-white armor reflected the dying flames; one eye socket was a charred hollow, hair and battle cloak reduced to burnt flakes—almost indistinguishable from the dead in the fire. Yet he stood firm, as rigid as an iron pillar, his broken bow still drawn taut.
—Shexi Yidan.
The Empire's Holy Light Apostle, known as the "Light Blade of the Capital," now a shattered husk. His aura, as if clawing free from the abyssal flames, made the very air freeze.
Kaine's gaze grew colder.
"You're still alive."
Shexi Yidan did not answer. He took a deep breath and drew his bow again.
His arm trembled from burns, knuckles bleeding, yet his eyes burned with unyielding fire. No slogans, no prayers—only a silent, suppressed fury.
In the next instant—a second arrow cut through the air!
This time the magic flame bore golden-white runes—an arcane forbidden arrow, a fusion of holy light and blazing fire!
Kaine snorted coldly, his form like a shadow, leaping sideways with his sword flashing in an icy blue arc.
"Clang—!"
The arrow was sliced in midair, exploding into a roaring fireball that overturned the corpses between them. Bones scattered, flames sprayed, briefly illuminating the darkness.
Riding the blaze of light, Kaine surged forward!
His movements were wind-like, footsteps flowing like water, sword strikes came before the breath—the shadow of a wolf pouncing, a blade aimed straight for Shexi Yidan's throat!
"Clang!!"
Shexi Yidan gritted his teeth, pulling a broken sword from his back just in time to block. Sparks flew; they closed to melee instantly—no hesitation, no retreat.
—This was no knightly duel but a savage battle between beasts teetering on the brink of death.
Shexi Yidan charged fiercely, shoulder crashing into Kaine's chest, swinging his broken sword horizontally, but Kaine blocked with his left hand and countered with an elbow strike, catching the ribs. A muffled grunt. Yet the Apostle retaliated with a crushing right punch to Kaine's abdomen!
"Boom!!"
The blow hit like thunder. Kaine staggered back three steps, face paling, but before he could catch his breath, he stepped forward again, crossing his swords to unleash a second wave of attacks!
At this moment, only the clash of steel and the shattering of stones echoed atop the cliff.
Shexi Yidan's strikes grew less precise, but every blow carried the desperation of a dying man—willing to drag Kaine down into the inferno with him.
Kaine moved like the will of the night itself, swift and relentless as a tidal wave. His blade sliced the air, one sword cutting Shexi Yidan's bowstring, the other piercing his side!
"Ugh—!"
Shexi Yidan roared, blood gushing as he barely managed to block a fatal strike to his chest with his broken sword.
But black flames surged again along Kaine's blade!
The fire whipped back violently, blasting Shexi Yidan backward against the cliff, half-kneeling, swaying precariously.
The firelight still burned; blood and ash mingled into a fog that filled the night.
Both men were battered and gasping; in the silence between breaths, only heartbeat and wind could be heard.
Shexi Yidan planted his broken sword in the ground, propping up the last shred of his dignity. Slowly, he raised his head and looked at the advancing shadow—
A boy, silver-haired and blue-eyed, expression cold and bloodstained, yet walking through the flames with the calm certainty of death itself.
He lifted his sword slowly; black mist coiled around the blade's edge, its chill gleaming, as if pronouncing the impending verdict.
"You… cough!" Shexi Yidan suddenly coughed blood, but a flicker of doubt crossed his eyes.
He stared at Kaine's face, trembling gaze, mouth moving faintly:
"Your face… why… does it look so much like… that child…"
His voice was weak but hammered into Kaine's heart like a sledgehammer. His one unburnt eye reflected firelight and the boy's outline, flickering like a wavering flame.
"Are you… him?"
His vision blurred, whether from injury or illusions tearing his will apart.
"I remember… that year… I was a new temple officer, making my first night patrol with the Emperor… and unexpectedly saw the back gate…"
Shexi Yidan's voice was low and trembling, as if dredging up memories from the depths of his soul with his last strength:
"…a shadow slipped out from the rear courtyard, cradling a bundle… it was His Majesty himself… He said the child was a 'sin' that could not be kept… then handed the infant over to a woman cloaked in black…"
He staggered, leaning against the rock wall, as if burned from within by flames, yet forced himself to speak the suppressed truth:
"The child's eyes… were a rare pale blue… like ice and snow from the abyss, a pair of deathly, darkly corrosive eyes… just like yours."
Kaine's sword trembled slightly; the black mist seemed to sense its master's hesitation and momentarily withdrew.
But his face remained as iron, unmoved.
Shexi Yidan looked at him; his scorched face twisted with pain but bore an inexplicable compassion:
"You are… the child who was discarded."
"I once dreamed I saw you crying in the flames… surrounded by fire, abandoned by all… and now you have returned, wielding the power of the night, becoming the blade they fear most."
He reached out, trembling to point at Kaine, his hand barely able to lift:
"There is a fracture in your heart… I can feel it… You kill me without hatred… nor triumph."
"Because you are not the executioner… you are… a victim who has yet to awaken."
Kaine was silent.
Not because he did not understand, but because he refused to answer.
His gaze fixed on Shexi Yidan's hand gripping the broken sword—that warrior's resolve, the knight's oath.
After a half-second pause, he slowly raised his sword, voice cold to the point of ice:
"Shut up."
Those two words severed memories like an iron axe—merciless and cruel.
Shexi Yidan showed no fear. He gently closed his one functioning eye, as if awaiting fate's judgment:
"If one day you remember it all… remember who stripped you of your right to be 'human'… then you will know—not everyone… is willing to watch you be buried in darkness."
His tone was calm, both a farewell and a charge.
In the next moment—
The black blade fell, its cold gleam cutting through the night.
"Swish!"
A line of blood blossomed on Shexi Yidan's chest, like a silently withering red lotus. His broken sword trembled violently and slipped from his grasp.
He shuddered, then dropped to one knee.
A faint, weak smile touched his lips, as if relieved—finally granted true release.
Then his body leaned forward slowly, collapsing on the border of blood and fire.
Silence was the night, and death had arrived.
Kaine did not look back.
He wiped the blood from his blade and drew the "Blazing White Fang," the emblematic sword of the Empire's Holy Knights Commander—his second target.
Then he slowly turned and walked down the cliff.
His steps remained steady, gaze calm as ever, but each step seemed heavier than before. His silhouette, lit by flickering flames, seemed to gradually merge with the deathly, fiery battlefield.
The night wind howled at the cave entrance; rocks behind him slowly collapsed, the fire consuming every trace of what once was.
Only Shexi Yidan's body remained, lying quietly beneath a jutting rock before the landslide. His broken sword still reflected the last spark of fire—like a fallen banner, or the open eyes of the dead.
Kaine did not look back.
But in the wind across the cliff, a faint voice softly echoed—
"You do not belong to darkness."
The voice bore no blame, no sorrow—only a statement.
Like an old soldier's last attempt to reach a boy trapped in the abyss before dying.
Not long after, a faint sound of rolling stones came from the crevice below the hill.
A hawk-shaped magic puppet spread its wings, circling above the corpse heaps, then flew far away. It bore the Imperial emblem—symbolizing the eyes of the searchers.
And miles away in the dense forest, a youth clad in purple-patterned armor rode swiftly. His gaze was sharp; the sword at his side remained sheathed, but each step brought him closer to Pimu Hill.
His name was Larishil—the Empire's youngest candidate law enforcer on the wanted list, and one of the most feared new nobles within the capital's espionage bureau.
The wheels of fate had yet to stop turning.
Kaine's footsteps had long since left the firelight behind, but within his cold heart, something, like the dying black flames, still smoldered…