For a fleeting moment, his old instincts stirred—the weight of his past, the code that had shaped his every step. The samurai way demanded protection of the weak, the innocent. And yet... these were strangers. Faces he would never know, lives he would never touch.
He was no longer bound by the honor of a lord, no longer a samurai in the traditional sense. The world had taken that from him long ago. Even before these strange events unfolded.
He had already walked away from that life. The path of a rōnin was one of solitude, of abandoning the bonds that once tethered him to a purpose greater than himself. In that detachment, he thought he had shed the weight of honor, but it still clung to his conscience like an anchor refusing to be dislodged, dragging him back to a past he had chosen to forget.
There was a quiet irony in it—how the very code that had once defined him, that had once given him a sense of clarity in the chaos of battle, now served only to weigh him down.
However, the moment was pressing. Conflict or not, hesitation would only lead to death. His mind sharpened, instincts overriding doubt. A weapon. Footwear. These were his priorities. He had been painfully aware of his bare feet the moment he arrived—each step over twisted roots and damp earth a reminder of his vulnerability. A single misstep, a sharp stone, or even the bite of some unseen creature could be fatal.
Kurai remained perched in the tree's embrace, his sharp gaze sweeping across the shifting landscape below. The predators had done their work efficiently—fear had spread like wildfire, sending the scattered figures into frantic motion. Some fled blindly into the jungle, while others grouped together in tight, desperate clusters, clinging to the illusion of safety in numbers.
Kurai settled his weight against the rough bark, adjusting his position as he watched the inevitable unfold. His heartbeat was steady, his breathing controlled.
His gaze shifted, narrowing as a large group of eight stumbled into view. They moved with frantic energy, their eyes wide, hands raised in futile defense.
As expected, the beasts appeared. Three of them, sleek and savage, like shadows given form. They moved with a brutal grace, weaving between the huddled figures, their attacks precise and vicious. The first beast leapt into the group with a snarl, its claws tearing through the air, catching a man by the throat. The second followed, cutting down a woman with a single swipe, blood spraying in the air. The third, larger than the first two, sank its fangs into the back of another victim, dragging the screaming man backward into the jungle.
The group fell apart, chaos unravelling in every direction. Kurai's eyes followed the carnage, studying every move, every shift of the beasts. The last of the group, a young man, barely managed to scramble away. He was bloodied and broken, his leg mangled, but somehow he found the strength to crawl toward the underbrush, his movements slow and agonizing.
The beasts, satisfied with their kills, began to drag their prizes away into the dark heart of the jungle, leaving behind a trail of carnage.
Kurai's heart rate barely quickened. He had his chance.
With fluid motion, he descended from the tree, his body landing soundlessly on the jungle floor. Every step was calculated, his instincts sharp. He moved swiftly and silently through the undergrowth, keeping to the shadows, careful not to alert the wounded man of his approach.
The man's ragged breath was the only sound he could hear now. A faint rasp, barely audible over the noise of the jungle, and the rustling of leaves underfoot. Kurai paused, watching the man's desperate crawl.
The situation was clear. The man was finished. No one would come to his aid, not here, not in this jungle. The beasts would eventually return, but for now, they were content with their slaughter. Time was short.
Kurai's gaze flicked to the man's legs. Bloodied, broken, and vulnerable—his boots were still intact, oddly shaped but sturdy, a treasure to someone who needed them. Kurai moved in closer, his shadow falling over the wounded man.
The man's breaths were shallow, each one a painful rasp. He had no time left—not from the beasts, but from the agony of his wounds. It was a matter of minutes. I'll make it painless.
No hesitation.
With a swift, practiced motion, Kurai reached down and delivered a forceful strike to the man's neck. His fingers pressed at a vulnerable spot, the blow quick and lethal. The man's body shuddered once before going still, the suffering ending in an instant. No sound, no struggle—just the quiet finality of it.
Kurai draped the sturdy leather boots over his own feet, feeling the shift in balance as he secured them. He made a slighty angled bow, and stood over the man for a moment, expression unreadable. . It may have not been the death he deserved, but it was the one Kurai could offer.
But then, as if mocking him, a voice echoed in his mind—cold, cutting, and relentless in the tense air around him. It brought with it a grim realization.
"You've absorbed another creature's Aether. You've grown stronger. 10 points have been allocated."
Kurai stood still for a moment, the weight of the quiet pressing down on him. His expression furrowed, thoughtful, he turned away from the lifeless man and began moving through the undergrowth. With each step, the strength from the man's so called Aether seemed to settle within him, a subtle hum that vibrated through his body. The jungle around him was silent, save for the rustling leaves, but his mind was sharp. He moved swiftly, leaving the beasts' grisly work behind, heading in the the opposite direction of where they dragged the bodies.