"P-please… don't kill me!" the boy gasped, clutching his chest. "I'm not with them! I… I'm a victim. That woman… she caught me!"
Soe Gyi's gaze didn't waver. "Why should I believe you?"
"I swear!" the boy cried. "I am Thurain… a son of a wealthy family. My brother—he can give you gold, anything you want! Please, spare me!"
Soe Gyi crouched slightly, tilting his head, voice low and even.
"Did you hear anything? "
Thurain's lips quivered. "I… I heard them. The hidden village… deep in the valley. Treasures beyond imagining. They planed to attack at dawn… please…"
Soe Gyi's axe rested on his shoulder. His dark eyes cut through the boy, cold and unreadable. "How do I know you're not lying?"
Thurain swallowed hard, heart hammering. "I… I wouldn't dare. I know my place."
Soe Gyi's lips twitched faintly. "Do you know what would happen if I found out you were lying?"
"I… I understand!" Thurain gasped. "Please… don't let me die here. I can guide you. I'll tell you everything!"
Soe Gyi leaned closer, towering over him. Silence hung like steel. "Then speak. Every detail. Leave nothing hidden."
Thurain's hands shook violently. "Yes… yes!"
Soe Gyi remained silent, listening, measuring the boy's fear, parsing every word.
While Thurain spoke about the hidden village, a flicker of movement stirred at the edge of the temple. Shadows slid silently through the thick morning mist, closing in on the building. At their head was U Tun Hla, leading a group of skilled martial artists.
As they neared the entrance, a horrifying sight stopped them cold. A headless body lay twisted on the stone floor, blood pooling around it. One of the men gagged, forcing himself to turn away.
"What… what happened here?" a younger fighter whispered, his voice shaking.
Scanning the temple carefully, U Tun Hla's group noticed a faint glow from within. Someone—or something—was inside.
Without hesitation, the group surged forward, weapons ready, every muscle tensed for the unknown that awaited them.
Inside, the scene was worse than any nightmare. Blood soaked the floor, and dark red streaks splattered the walls. Some fighters vomited immediately, retching into the corners. Others froze, knees shaking, eyes wide in disbelief.
From the shadows, a pair of sharp, unblinking eyes watched silently. It took a moment for them to register the figure standing over the carnage.
The first to see him clearly was a tall, muscular woman at the back. She stared into Soe Gyi's cold, dark eyes—and shivered violently.
"W-what… what is that?!" she whispered, her voice cracking.
Her gaze dropped, and horror stole her breath. The head secured at Soe Gyi's waist made her knees buckle. She staggered, nearly fainting, and a sob escaped her lips. Fear overwhelmed her completely.
The others followed her gaze. A man, soaked in blood, stood motionless, holding a severed head as if it were nothing, his eyes colder than stone.
"By the gods… he… he's a demon!" one martial artist gasped, backing away.
"Stay calm! Don't provoke him!" shouted U Tun Hla, raising his hands, though his voice trembled.
A young fighter sank to his knees, trembling uncontrollably. "I… I can't… I can't fight this… he's not human!"
Soe Gyi's eyes swept over the group slowly, reading their fear. He did not speak, yet his presence alone felt like a sentence of death.
Thurain whimpered in the corner, pressed against the wall. "P-please… I told you everything!"
Soe Gyi's gaze flicked to him briefly. "You've spoken. Now remember this: survival depends on usefulness, not begging. So tell me, how can your little life be useful to me?"
The martial artists instinctively formed a loose circle, but terror betrayed them. Hands shook so violently some could barely hold their weapons.
Some of them froze, unsure what to do. Their weapons were ready, but their hands shook. Eyes darted between each other, seeking courage that wasn't there.
Soe Gyi's gaze swept across them, unflinching. "Who are you, and why have you come here?" His voice was calm, but every word cut like steel.
U Tun Hla stepped forward, voice measured but respectful. "We… we are martial artists under the orders of our masters. We did not intend disrespect. We only seek to investigate unusual disturbances in this valley."
Soe Gyi's dark eyes never left him. The temple echoed with silence for a heartbeat. Then he spoke, low and deliberate.
"One gold for one life," he said, voice like ice. "If you cannot pay, then one arm for one life. Or die. Your choice."
The group flinched. A younger fighter whispered, barely audible: "He… he's serious…"
Soe Gyi's gaze moved to Thurain, who cowered in the corner, eyes wide. "As for your noble boy," he continued, voice even colder, "ten gold for one life. Or serve with one arm. Or die. That is your only option."
A shudder ran through the room. One man dared to swallow hard. "We… we cannot—"
"You cannot what?" Soe Gyi's voice was calm, but there was a weight behind it, like a falling mountain.
The tall woman, trembling, whispered to her companion: "We… we can't."
Her companion's voice cracked: "We… we have families… we can't—"
Soe Gyi tilted his head slightly, dark eyes narrowing. "Families? They mean nothing once you reach the underworld. Only if you survive you can provide for them."
Another silence stretched, longer this time, heavy with fear and anticipation. Knees shook, breaths quickened. Some gripped weapons they no longer trusted.
U Tun Hla swallowed, bowing his head slightly. "Then… we offer gold for our lives. Enough to meet your terms."
Soe Gyi's lips curved ever so slightly. "Good. Pay, or lose. And remember—mercy is not given freely. Obedience earns survival. Disobedience earns nothing but death."
"You have until dawn to decide. Fail, and the temple will remember nothing of you but the sound of your screams."
Silence claimed the room again, thicker and heavier than before. Every eye followed Soe Gyi, not daring to blink. Even the shadows seemed to recoil from his presence.
Thurain sat slumped in the corner, trembling like a leaf in the storm. His wide eyes darted between Soe Gyi's cold stare and the martial artists who now argued in hushed, angry tones.
Ten gold for his life. Ten. He almost laughed through his tears. How could he, a victim dragged here in chains, possibly have such wealth on him? Even if he had carried it, the greedy hands of that woman and her band would have stripped him bare long ago. And the other choice—his arm? A noble without arms was no noble at all. How could he return home crippled, to face the mocking of peers who once envied him?
The despair crushed him like a mountain.
From the shadows of the group, one martial artist muttered bitterly, "What rotten luck… All for wealth, we came on this damned mission to rescue some pampered noble brat… and instead we've stumbled into the jaws of a monster."
Another spat, shaking his head. "We're dead men already. Who among us common blades ever carried one gold piece, let alone enough to pay this fiend? And for what? To save some useless rich son?"
"Curse the noble," a third growled under his breath. "If not for him, we wouldn't even be here!"
The words struck Thurain like knives. His teeth clenched, and his face twisted.
"What… what noble?" he croaked, his voice trembling. "Whom are you searching for?"
The martial artists paused, exchanging uncertain glances. One finally sneered, "The one we were ordered to find. The noble son, missing for days. Word said he was taken by bandits into this cursed valley."
Thurain's heart pounded. He could barely force the words out. "The one you search… is in front of your eyes."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then laughter burst out, harsh and cruel.
"You? Don't joke with us!" one barked. "The noble is a handsome youth, refined and fair. Not some wretched, ugly-faced beggar like you!"
"Yes," another jeered. "Even if he was useless, he was at least a jewel among pigs. Look at you—filthy, bruised, and broken. Don't insult our intelligence."
Something inside Thurain shattered. Rage flushed his face as he screamed, his voice breaking under the weight of despair.
"You fools! What do you think happens to a face when it takes fists and boots every day? When it's dragged through mud and spat on like a dog?" His voice echoed through the temple. "I am that noble! And now I am nothing, thanks to them—thanks to you all chasing shadows!"
His words hung in the air, bitter, raw, undeniable.The hall was drowned in silence after Thurain's outburst. His words echoed—raw, pitiful, furious.
Soe Gyi stood there, axe dripping faintly, his cold eyes fixed on Thurain.
He looked down at the trembling noble and spoke, his voice low, steady, like steel dragged across bone.
"Born with gold, but begging like a rat. Face or no face, title or no title—you're all the same when the mask is broken."
His words cut deeper than blades, making Thurain shrink even further into the shadows.
The martial artists dared not speak. In that temple, only Soe Gyi's voice remained, heavy and merciless.