The forest, though not large, was only an hour's journey away, and soon they arrived amidst the thunder of hooves. Thousands of members of the Bloodbone Thieves swept through the quiet mountain village like a black tide. But what awaited them was not the expected emptiness, but a boy slowly stepping out from the village entrance, alongside the horrifying sight of over thirty dead bodies of their scouts.
"What… how is this possible! Damn it, I want to tear him apart!" a burly man roared, his voice booming like thunder. Yet the boy remained unfazed; even his walking pace was unchanged.
"Wait." The calm voice of the leader interrupted the furious man. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the seemingly ordinary yet extraordinary boy. "Where are you from, and why did you kill my brothers? Did these blind fools offend you?"
While the leader spoke, he secretly speculated: This boy is not simple; facing so many armed men, he shows no fear. He likely has powerful allies watching from the shadows, or he is strong himself. But how could a mere kid have such strength? Could he be an ancient undead necromancer? Those necromancers are always mysterious; who knows if they really can become young again!
The thought of a child being able to kill over thirty of his men without anyone raising an alarm was hard for a seasoned thief leader to believe, so he kept oscillating between the last two speculations in his mind. But this time, he was wrong and paid a painful price, for he would never have the chance to regret it.
In response to the leader's inquiry, the boy remained silent, his steps firm and cold, as if nothing in the world could pique his interest. This unusual composure for his age sent a chill through everyone present.
"Damn it, kill him! Watch his surroundings; I want to see who has the guts to provoke the Bloodbone Thieves!" the middle-aged man shouted, both rallying his men and trying to exert psychological pressure by reminding those hidden in the shadows of his status.
As he shouted, the man scanned the area, attentive to every possible hiding spot.
"Kill!" At the leader's command, the thieves brandished their weapons and charged at the boy. The air was thick with murderous intent, and death loomed closer.
"Whoosh—" The boy moved. His actions were too quick to be seen, and for some, before they even got a chance to notice their opponent, they had already been dispatched.
"Ah!" The leader staggered back two steps, a gaping half-meter-long wound visible on his right arm. "Damn it, I was too focused on looking around and didn't realize it was truly this child's strength." Shocked, the leader tightened his grip, causing blood to gush from the wound.
"Leader, you're hurt! Quickly, let me bandage you!" someone behind him exclaimed, eager to please.
"Shut up!" the leader snapped, and with a loud slap, the man fell to the ground, rolling twice and spitting out a couple of teeth.
"Kill, I want him dead!" the leader shouted, somewhat losing control. Under normal circumstances, if a thief leader lost his composure first, at least half of his men would flee, and some might even turn their weapons on him. But today, he was fortunate; everyone sensed the threat from the boy, so they charged forward without fear.
The one who had been slapped, realizing his attempt to flatter had backfired, hesitated with a small dagger, shook his head, and eventually rushed in, only to retreat shortly after.
"It's impossible; this is simply impossible." The leader noticed something odd about the boy's demeanor. He realized he was facing a cursed demon, a vengeful spirit returned from hell.
"Quick, kill him! We must kill him!" A wolfman, in this remote human village, realized there was a life cursed by the highest deity. Was he here for revenge? He dared not think further; he only knew that they had to kill the boy before he grew up.
But their offense was like ants trying to shake a tree. The boy vanished from view in an instant, leaving only chaos and screams behind. In the blink of an eye, another hundred bodies, or what was left of them, collapsed into the blood-soaked ground. The boy's movements were too swift to fathom.
"No, I don't want to die!"
Thieves are thieves; facing death, some began to flee. A single child had already accounted for over three hundred of their fallen brothers in a matter of minutes.
But their reactions were clearly not what the leader wanted to see. With a "thud," a head fell. "Damn it, I want to see who dares to run!"
The leader's thunderous methods had an effect; no one dared to escape. With a demon in front and a ruthless leader behind, the thieves had no choice but to charge forward. Yet their bravery brought them no victory; instead, the encroaching death expanded in each person's heart.
"Ah! Ah! Ah—" Finally, someone couldn't take it anymore. Faced with such a lifeless killing machine, someone went mad. The fear of death unleashed the ferocity within these desperate men, and they swung their weapons recklessly, trying to kill the opponent whom many hadn't even seen clearly. But it was all in vain, leading only to more deaths.
The boy had no consciousness, but his instinctive movements posed a greater threat to his enemies. Under the shroud of cold killing intent, countless people, riders, and even weapons became mere dust in the air under the boy's claws.
As night fell, the battle grew fiercer. The boy's movements were swift and deadly; every strike was accompanied by the fall of an enemy. Blood sprayed, staining the ground and igniting the bloodlust in the boy's eyes. A faint smile crept across his lips, a mix of disdain for life and desire for death.
The dark clouds gradually dispersed, and the scarlet moonlight fell unreservedly upon the earth, adding an eerie quality to this bloody battle. The boy bathed in the moonlight seemed to merge with the strange night, becoming a true devil boy.
The leader's eyes were filled with helplessness and despair. He trembled as he asked, almost exhausting his last strength, "Who... who are you?"
The boy, Finn, gazed back with cold, profound eyes, slowly speaking, each word imbued with an irresistible power: "My name is Finn."
With the final scream abruptly silenced, the battle finally came to an end. Finn stood atop the corpses, his figure appearing unusually lonely yet powerful in the moonlight. He looked up at the strange purple moon, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes before he turned and vanished into the vast night.
The next day.
In the gentle embrace of the dawn, the first rays of sunlight pierced through the gaps in the dense forest, softly brushing Finn's sleeping face and awakening his heavy consciousness. He struggled to sit up from the ground, the world around him enveloped in a pink filter of morning light, yet the air was tainted with a subtle, acrid smell, a silent accusation of the tragedy from the previous night. But everything seemed to have lost its color and weight to Finn, whose gaze conveyed an age-defying indifference.
With heavy steps, Finn walked toward a small house that had been ravaged by the battle. Behind a concealed stone, he skillfully retrieved a seemingly ordinary yet secret-filled small cloth bag. Then, his figure melded into the denser woods.
On this land, the echoes of laughter and joy had vanished, along with his grandfather, who had taken him in, cherished him, and given him endless love. Yet, Finn felt little sorrow over his grandfather's death, as if his heart had long been sealed in an endless frost.
"Finn," the name his grandfather chose for him, reflected his cold and aloof personality, symbolizing distance and isolation in the village, but it also unexpectedly became a footnote to his destiny.
Behind a towering ancient tree, Finn meticulously searched and finally found a deeply hidden box. He took out a uniquely shaped piece of wood from his cloth bag, which fit perfectly into the groove of the box. With a soft "click," the box slowly opened, revealing its secrets inside.
Inside lay a seemingly unremarkable black stone, its surface dull and unremarkable. A fine cord made from the skin of an unknown animal was tightly wrapped around the black stone, resembling an ancient artifact imbued with hidden power.
Finn stared at the black stone, an unprecedentedly strange feeling welling up within him. He slowly put the necklace around his neck, and in that instant, a warm current spread from his heart, a gentle touch he had never experienced in his life. He tightened the cord, ensuring the necklace lay close against his skin, then stood up, his gaze piercing through the woods toward the ruins of the village—once his warm home, now left with only broken walls and remnants, speaking of endless sorrow and hatred.
After standing in silence for a moment, he turned to leave. His steps were firm and resolute, each one seeming to declare the beginning of a new life. As he passed by the weapons left behind by the thieves, he unhesitatingly picked up a sharp dagger and tucked it into his waist, his companion and protector on this unknown journey.
Everything began here.