1st person pov - Kaito Mugenrei
The forest air was crisp at dawn, dew soaking my boots as I stepped lightly over broken branches. My black sword, streaked with red and yellow, rested against my back, its weight familiar and comforting. No one waited for me at the edge of the trees—never had. Solitude was my companion, and the burden of fighting alone was mine to bear. Every movement, every thought, accounted for the next strike, the next kill.
Fresh tracks twisted between the pines, the telltale sign of kobolds moving through the undergrowth. Small numbers, but bold enough to wander near Korvath. They were reckless, and that recklessness would be their undoing. I advanced silently, weaving through shadow and light, calculating their numbers, their paths, the angles where I could strike with maximum efficiency.
A patrol of four emerged from the fog, blades clattering against crude shields. They moved as if confident, unaware of the predator in the trees. I descended on them with precise, brutal efficiency. One swing of my sword, the first fell; another strike, and two more collapsed before even realizing the danger. Only one scrambled backward, gaping, before I ended the chase with a single, controlled thrust.
I paused briefly, scanning the forest. Even small wounds left from jagged rocks or thorns were irrelevant—they were absorbed and forgotten as I pushed forward. No ally waited to patch me up; no healer, no companion. Each scar, each pain, strengthened the focus that had kept me alive for years. I had trained to fight alone, survive alone, and think alone. These kobolds were mere shadows of the real challenge waiting deeper in Korvath.
Midday sun streamed through the canopy as I stumbled upon a larger squad—six kobolds, more coordinated than the first. Their crude shouts rang through the trees, but they were slow, methodical, predictable. I funneled them into a narrow pass, letting the cliffs and thick foliage work as a decoy. My sword moved in a blur, each arc calculated to maximize damage while minimizing risk. The ground was littered with bodies before the last one had realized the trap.
I took a moment to survey the carnage. Weapons, crude trinkets, scraps of cloth—material, but irrelevant. My mind was already moving forward. Another patrol must be out there; more of them than yesterday, more cunning than last week. The burden of eliminating them fell squarely on me. No guild patrols, no adventurers. Just me, the sword, and the forest.
By late afternoon, I stumbled upon the camp. Kobolds scuttled about, trying to organize their limited resources. They saw me too late. With a few precise strikes and the momentum of my earlier battles, the camp was overrun. Bodies fell, screams echoed, but none lasted beyond my sword's arc. When silence finally settled, I stood among the remnants of their defenses.
"The kobolds are multiplying," I thought, scanning the empty camp. If they weren't wiped out quickly, what happened in Bustleburg ten years ago could happen again. The memory of that chaos fueled my resolve. They would not grow bold enough to threaten innocents while I drew breath—not if I could prevent it
Without ceremony, I turned toward the deeper forest, knowing the next camp was only a few hours' march away. My black sword rested against my back, its red and yellow stripes glowing faintly in the waning light. No words were spoken. None were needed. Alone, I would continue, as I always had.