Everything was just an expanse of whiteness.
Across this empty space, echoes resounded, growing louder with every word.
"...Guard it with your life..."
"...Guard it with..."
"...Guard it..."
At some point, the echoes faded into silence... only to return with a sudden, thunderous shout:
"...GUARD...!"
The instant the word was spoken, the world dimmed, and space began to shatter like fragile glass.
As the void crumbled, a piercing scream reverberated.
Huff... haah... huff...
The silhouette of a young man shot upright, his chest heaving as if he'd just escaped drowning.
The room was dark. The once pristine white stone walls had turned gray, their surfaces riddled with cracks of varying sizes.
In one corner, atop a small wooden table, lay an empty gray sheath engraved with faint clouds. Surrounding it, melted candles had formed a hardened wax pool. The faint scent of burnt wick lingered in the air, mingling with the damp, musty odor of the room.
Only one candle remained lit, its flickering flame struggling to keep the darkness at bay, its wick charred and weak.
The young man slowly stood, his gaze drawn to the candle's frail light. His black hair was pulled back into a loose bun, revealing a strikingly handsome face. His delicate yet sharp features—high cheekbones, a slender nose, and a small scar running from his left jaw to his neck—were etched with quiet intensity. His sun-kissed skin, slightly roughened, spoke of a life spent outdoors.
After a moment of silence, he shook his head and thought,
'It was just a dream... yeah, just a dream... no use dwelling on it.'
He moved unhurriedly toward the table, picking up the sheath with a peculiar expression.
'Nightmares of that night still haunt me... but my last memory with you was taking an order...'
His brows furrowed as bitterness flickered across his face.
'Why did Father tell me to guard this sheath with my life...?
No matter how he examined it, it seemed like nothing more than a worn scrap of metal.
...
It took him some time to sort through his thoughts before deciding to lie back down and wait for the morning call.
Just as he was about to set the sheath aside, the faint sound of a bell rang out.
Hearing the triple chime, his expression turned cold. After a deep breath, his face became indifferent, his demeanor shifting to one of complete apathy.
It was a stark contrast to his earlier persona, but such detachment was the only way he'd learned to endure the hell that was his life.
'Survival... it's all about survival,' he repeated to himself.
He turned deliberately, pushed open the room's rotting wooden door, and stepped out without looking back.
No one noticed the small candle in the corner finally extinguish as he left.
...
Stepping out, Yun Zhen found himself in an endless hallway. The marble walls and ceiling, lined with glowing runes, pulsed softly like a beating heart.
Unfazed, he turned right and began walking.
The sound of his footsteps echoed through the corridor, while the runes on the walls glowed in rhythm with his pulse.
Accustomed to the sight, Yun Zhen continued, his indifferent expression betraying no emotion.
After an indeterminate amount of time, the space around him twisted.
A wave of nausea crept in as the surroundings warped, making him feel like clay molded by unseen hands.
Though the sensation lasted mere seconds, for Yun Zhen, it felt like an eternity.
'I hate teleportation arrays,' he lamented silently.
As his vision cleared, he observed his new surroundings.
He stood in a grand hall illuminated by dim white spheres. Massive pillars stretched upward, supporting an unseen ceiling. The floor was inscribed with runes similar to those in the hallway.
'A promotion, huh...' Yun Zhen mused, scanning the hall as if searching for something.
He soon noticed a small desk.
Behind it sat a woman with gray eyes and hair, sorting through a stack of papers.
Yun Zhen approached unhurriedly and announced, "Name: Yun Zhen. Code name: Ink Death. Branch number: 86. Local rank: 21. Reporting to headquarters."
The woman ignored him, but Yun Zhen remained unflinching, standing straight with unwavering focus.
An incense stick's time passed before she acknowledged him with a fleeting glance. Even so, Yun Zhen stayed motionless, patiently awaiting her words.
After setting aside her papers, the woman retrieved a file from the corner of her desk.
As Yun Zhen watched her every move, he caught a flicker of intrigue in her eyes, followed by surprise.
She skimmed the file, then extended her hand slightly. A black stamp materialized in her palm.
With practiced ease, she began stamping the documents, a flash of red gleaming in her eyes each time the stamp struck.
Stamp.
The first stamp elicited no reaction from Yun Zhen.
Stamp.
The second made him flinch slightly, but he brushed it off.
STAMP.
The third sent a chill down his spine, cold sweat forming on his brow.
STAMP.
The fourth nearly brought him to his knees, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself upright.
The woman paused before applying the final stamp, her gaze locking onto Yun Zhen. Her gray eyes had turned completely red, her presence suffocating. Yet Yun Zhen refused to look away, meeting her gaze despite the oppressive weight.
The air in the hall grew heavy as the final stamp descended.
As darkness consumed him, Yun Zhen thought he saw the faintest curve at the corners of her lips—a cold, ethereal smile that was both beautiful and haunting.
It was the most striking smile he'd seen in his eighteen years.
Unfortunate that its price was another descent into endless bloodshed.