The village lay silent under the cold breath of dawn.
Wind swept through the dirt streets, carrying the faint scent of burnt wood and ash.
Kael stood atop one of the taller shacks, his silhouette blending into the gray morning light. His eyes scanned the horizon, sharp and calculating.
They were coming.
He could feel it.
The subtle tremor in the ground. The rhythm of heavy boots drawing closer.
The Ironbloods were near.
And they had no idea they were marching straight to their deaths.
The Enemy Approaches
The first figure emerged on the dirt road.
A man atop a black horse, clad in dark leather armor with a spear slung across his back. His gaze swept lazily over the village, exuding the confidence of someone who believed he already owned it.
Behind him marched a group of men, laughing and swapping crude jokes as they trudged forward.
They weren't prepared for a fight.
They weren't expecting resistance.
They were predators who had never faced prey that fought back.
But this time… the prey was something else entirely.
Kael dropped silently from the roof.
He passed by the villagers hidden in the shadows, their faces pale and tense. They clutched whatever tools or weapons they could find, waiting for the signal.
They were terrified.
But their fear now had a purpose.
For the first time, they weren't waiting to die.
They were waiting to strike.
Kael crouched behind one of the oil barrels positioned at the village entrance, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring.
The first move had to be swift.
Brutal.
Final.
He waited.
The bandit leader rode into the village center, his expression hardening as he scanned the empty streets.
"Strange," he muttered.
One of his men, a wiry second-in-command, stepped up beside him.
"What's wrong?"
The leader's eyes narrowed.
"Where is everyone?"
First Blood
Now.
Kael moved.
The Shadow Steps activated, his body a blur of speed and silence.
The blade gleamed in the dim light as it found its first target.
The bandit didn't even have time to scream before his throat was cut.
Kael turned, already driving his dagger into the ribs of the second man.
The leader spun in the saddle, eyes wide with shock.
"What the hell—"
But Kael didn't give him time to finish.
A villager tipped one of the oil barrels, spilling its contents across the entrance.
Another struck a flint, and flames roared to life.
The village's gates erupted in fire, cutting off any chance of escape.
The Ironbloods were surrounded.
And Kael… was among them.
The Massacre Begins
The bandits were not warriors.
They were thieves, murderers, and scavengers, men who thrived on terrorizing the defenseless.
Against villagers, they were gods.
Against a true predator… they were prey.
Kael dove into their ranks, his dagger an extension of his will.
A slash to the leg of one.
A stab to the neck of another.
A kick that shattered the knee of a third.
They fell like leaves in a storm.
Panic spread like wildfire through the Ironbloods.
"It's a trap!" one of them screamed.
But it was too late.
The Shadow Lotus pulsed within Kael, feeding on the chaos, its energy wrapping around him like a shroud.
The village was not just a battleground.
It was his arena.
And he was the master of it.
The Final Man
Minutes later, it was over.
Bodies littered the ground, their blood soaking into the dirt. The air was thick with the stench of smoke and death.
The villagers watched from the shadows, stunned into silence.
They had never seen a massacre.
They had never seen one man crush so many.
But Kael wasn't finished.
The Ironblood leader knelt in the dirt, clutching his wounded shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Kael approached slowly, spinning the dagger in his hand.
The man spat blood at Kael's feet, glaring up at him with hatred.
"You… you have no idea what you've done," the bandit growled.
Kael tilted his head, feigning curiosity.
"Enlighten me."
The man's twisted smile revealed bloodied teeth.
"The Ironbloods aren't just a gang, boy. We have a true leader—someone far beyond your reach."
Interesting.
So this victory was only the beginning.
Kael leaned closer.
"You should have started with that."
And then, without hesitation, he slit the man's throat.
The leader fell, his body joining the rest of his men.
Silence.
The battle was over.
But Kael wasn't fighting for this village anymore.
He was fighting something far bigger.
Kael turned to the villagers.
They stared at him with a mixture of terror and awe.
For the first time, there was something new in their eyes.
Respect.
Hope.
Kael glanced at the bodies, his expression unreadable.
This was just the first step.
If the Ironbloods had a leader… he would find them.
And he would end them.
He wiped his blade on the tunic of a dead bandit and began to walk.
"You're not slaves anymore," he said without looking back.
The villagers didn't answer.
They didn't need to.
Kael left the village behind, his mind already on the next step.
The true enemies were still out there.
And Kael Zhan was coming for them.