A sharp kick slams into my ribs, sending a jolt of pain rippling through my body.
"Hey, wake up!"
I groan, my eyelids fluttering open. My vision is blurred, the harsh glare of the sun stabbing into my eyes. My head pounds, a dull throbbing that makes it hard to think.
Where am I?
A shadow looms over me, blocking part of the sunlight. As my sight clears, I make out the figure of a man—a middle-aged merchant, dressed in simple but well-kept clothes. His face is twisted in irritation as he glares down at me.
"You beggar!" he spits. "Get out of here! This is no place for you to rest!"
Beggar?
His words barely register as I try to push myself up, my arms shaking beneath me. My body feels strange—weak, sluggish, as if I've been asleep for days. My breathing is uneven, my chest tight, and the scent of dirt, sweat, and rotting food clings to me.
I force myself upright, my head still spinning.
Then—I look down.
My breath catches.
The clothes on my body are tattered, filthy, nothing more than thin rags hanging loosely off my frame. The fabric is stiff with dried sweat and grime. This… this isn't mine.
My heartbeat stutters.
I lift my hands in front of me, my fingers trembling. My arms are bare—my gloves, my sleeves, the fine robes I should be wearing—gone.
Panic grips my chest, cold and unrelenting.
I reach for my face. My fingers brush against my cheek, my jaw—the same face I know. But everything feels wrong. My mind claws for answers, but the more I grasp, the more they slip through my fingers like sand.
What happened to me?
I try to think back, but my memories feel like shattered glass—fragments with jagged edges, painful and incomplete.
The merchant clicks his tongue impatiently. "Did you hear me, boy?" He steps forward, raising his foot as if to kick me again. "Get lost before I—"
I flinch, instinct driving me to move. I stumble backward, my foot catching on the uneven stone street. My balance wavers—
And I crash into someone.
"Watch it!"
A rough shove sends me lurching forward. My shoulder collides with something hard—wood. A cart rattles violently under the impact.
"Oi! You little—!"
The merchant behind the cart whirls on me, his face red with fury. My mind barely registers his words.
I stagger back, my head snapping around, eyes darting frantically through the crowd. People. Everywhere. Voices, colors, smells—all overwhelming.
The marketplace is alive with the sound of haggling merchants, the chatter of customers, the distant ring of metal being worked in a forge. Stalls of fresh fruit, bolts of fabric, steaming food carts line the streets.
It should be familiar.
It's not.
I don't know this place.
I don't know how I got here.
A cold sweat prickles at the back of my neck.
I need to get away.
I whirl around, searching—there. A shopfront stands across the street, its entrance shaded by faded cloth. Inside, I catch a glimpse of what I need—clothing.
A plan forms before I can think twice.
I move.
Quick, silent. I cross the street, weaving through bodies with practiced ease. My fingers graze the edge of a robe hanging outside the shop.
Then—I snatch it.
The fabric is coarse but clean. I pull it over me, concealing the tattered rags beneath. The moment I do, a sharp cry cuts through the air.
"Thief! Thief!"
My stomach drops.
The crowd stirs. Heads turn. Eyes lock onto me.
Run.
I bolt.
My legs move before my mind does, instinct pushing me forward. Faster. My feet slam against the stone, my breath rushing past my lips.
"Stop him!"
The world blurs around me. Shouts. Footsteps pounding behind me. I weave through the crowd, slipping between gaps, ducking beneath reaching hands.
The noise fades.
I turn a corner—
And slam into something solid.
I stagger back, dazed. My eyes lift—straight into the gazes of four noblemen.
Time stills.
Their faces shift from annoyance to shock.
"Shen Zhu?!"
My breath catches.
Who?
The leader of the group steps forward, his expression twisting. "You're still alive?" His eyes narrow, scanning my face as if searching for a trick. "How?"
My pulse roars in my ears. They… know me?
Before I can process it, his hand drops to his sword.
The other men follow, their movements sharp, practiced. Their stance isn't defensive. It's predatory.
They're not just surprised.
They're afraid.
Afraid of me.
"How do you know me?" I force my voice to stay steady, cold.
The noble smirks. "Don't tell me you've forgotten?" His voice is taunting, cruel. Mocking.
"Did you forget how we mercilessly butchered your entire family before your eyes, forcing you to watch as we slaughtered them one by one? And when there was no one left, we ended your pathetic life—just a weak palace guard—right there in the very home you once swore to protect."
Slaughtered my entire family and then me?
A palace guard?
A sharp ache flares in my skull. Images flicker—shadows, bloodstained floors, the faint echo of a scream.
My stomach churns.
"This time, you will really be dead," the noble murmurs. "Kill him."
A flash of steel.
A sword glints under the sun.
A man lunges.
The blade slices toward me—too slow.
I sidestep effortlessly. The sword cuts through empty air. The attacker stumbles, thrown off balance.
Weak.
"You bastard!" He regains his footing, swinging again.
This time, I don't move.
I let him come.
The blade hurtles toward me.
At the last second, my hand snaps up.
Metal meets flesh.
The world gasps.
The sword stops.
I caught it.
The attacker's eyes widen in horror.
"Wha—"
A flick of my wrist.
The sword rips from his grip. It clatters against the ground.
I step forward. My elbow drives into his ribs.
A sharp crack.
He crumples, gasping. I step past him, ignoring his ragged breathing.
The nobles hesitate, their hands clenching around their weapons.
"Tell me something," I say quietly. My voice is calm. Cold. "Who was the one you killed?"
The fallen man glares at me through the pain.
"Shen Zhu."
The name slams into me like a hammer.
My hands curl into fists.
I breathe in.
I breathe out.
Then I lift my gaze, ice settling into my veins.
"You're mistaken."
A beat of silence.
"That wasn't me."
He charges at me again, fast and reckless.
I move without thinking, my fingers grazing his wrist in an effortless block.
And then—
It takes less than a second.
His body jerks violently. His eyes widen in shock as a tremor wracks his frame, his arm twisting at an unnatural angle. I watch as dark veins slither from the point of contact, spreading like ink through his skin.
"W-what…" He stares in horror, his knees giving out. "What did you—?!"
His breath turns shallow and ragged. His body convulses, the poison devouring him from the inside out.
I step forward, my face impassive. Cold. Detached.
"You really thought you could kill me?" My voice is quiet, but the weight of it hangs heavy in the air.
He collapses, clutching his arm, fingers digging into his own skin as if trying to claw the poison out. But there is no escape.
His flesh darkens—a sickly black spreading up his shoulder. His muscles twitch uncontrollably, his gasps turning into choked, gurgling sounds.
"Please…!" he wheezes. Tears spill from his eyes. He crawls toward me, desperation etched into every broken movement.
But as his fingertips brush my shoe—
His body seizes violently—then stops.
Silence.
His corpse slumps forward, his lifeless face frozen in terror. The ground beneath him is scorched black where his skin touched it, as if even the earth itself recoils from my existence.
I exhale slowly, stepping over him without care. But something in my stomach twists.
The remaining men stagger back, their faces pale.
"You…" one of them stammers, voice barely above a whisper. "How did you—how are you so strong now? What did you do to him?"
I smirk, taking a single step forward.
They flinch back as if I had struck them.
"Retreat! NOW!" their leader bellows.
They don't hesitate. They turn and run, their retreat messy, desperate.
I watch them disappear into the darkness, their fear still hanging thick in the air.
Then, finally—I look down at my hands.
The same hands that had just stolen a life in an instant.
A slow, cold realization seeps into my bones.
I didn't fight. I didn't overpower him.
I touched him.
That was all it took.
My fingers curl into fists, but the feeling doesn't leave. A heavy, sinking weight coils in my chest, something bitter burning in my throat.
I should feel victorious. They ran. I won.
But instead, I feel sick.
My body—this poison coursing through me—is not my strength. It is a curse.
The man's corpse lies motionless behind me, a grotesque reminder of what I am now. The last thing he saw was me. Me.
The image makes something in my stomach churn. But I don't have time to dwell on it. My skin is exposed, vulnerable. I need to cover myself.
I crouch down, fingers trembling only slightly as I undo the heavy clasps of his outer robe. The fabric is expensive, unfamiliar—elegant in a way I have never worn before. I run my fingers over the smooth embroidered edges, feeling the weight of nobility in every stitch.
Who was this man? Why was someone like him hunting me? I slip into the garments, adjusting the coat over my frame. It fits almost perfectly, the long sleeves hiding my gloved hands, the high collar brushing against my jaw. This will work.
With my skin covered, no one will die just by touching me. My fingers brush against something solid—his sword.
I unsheath it, inspecting the blade under the dim light. It's worn, but sharp. I grip the hilt tighter and rise to my feet, shoving the weapon into the belt at my waist.
His coin pouch dangles from his belt—I snatch it without hesitation.
I don't know where I am. I don't know who these people are. And I don't know why they want me dead.
But I do know one thing—I need to stay low.
I need to find out what this place is.
I need to survive.
With one last glance at the corpse, I turn and walk away, my footsteps swallowed by the darkness.
I don't look back.