Episode 19: Massacre
Slice!
One of the two standing sentries had his head severed.
He died without even knowing when or how it happened.
The sentry beside him hadn't noticed either.
Only when blood sprayed and his comrade's head hit the ground did he realize an intruder was present.
No. This isn't right.
The men Karon had encountered before were never this weak.
Each had radiated overwhelming bloodlust, their senses keen enough to dismantle mercenary bands even on pitch-black nights.
The sentry's eyes bulged as he raised his hand to his mouth—preparing to whistle.
For a fleeting moment, Karon debated. Kill them preemptively? Or wait?
Slaughtering them now meant hunting down every sleeping bandit—a tedious chore. But delaying risked greater danger.
Piiieeek-
A whistle suddenly pierced the air from an unexpected direction.
"Intruder!"
The shout came from the camp's opposite side. Shong must have been spotted.
Or perhaps he'd allowed himself to be seen.
Pii-
The instant the sentry's whistle began, Karon cleaved through both his wrist and neck without hesitation.
"Over there!"
The commotion across the camp grew louder.
Good. With attention diverted, he wouldn't need to hunt down every sleeper.
He could simply eliminate those emerging from the rear.
After dispatching the sentries, Karon swiftly infiltrated the camp's backside.
Bandits stumbled out from tightly clustered tents, frantically arming themselves. At least they maintained basic discipline.
"Huh? Who—"
Schwak!
Karon materialized like a specter, his blade carving a diagonal arc. A crimson line split the man's face before he could draw his weapon.
Without pause, Karon reversed his grip and drove the sword deep into the tent behind him.
Thud!
Schwaaak-
"Gah...!"
Blood geysered as he withdrew the blade, drenching the tent. Another bandit staggered out and collapsed.
Two kills in an instant. Karon streaked toward the next tent.
Appearing and vanishing like a wraith, he left fountains of blood erupting throughout the camp.
While his men died helplessly, their leader Caylden remained oblivious.
Jolted awake by whistles and shouts, the muscle-bound chief scrambled into clothes and seized his axe.
His brutish physique became fully visible as he stormed outside—only to find his men fruitlessly searching the woods with torches.
Something's wrong.
He'd clearly seen an intruder's shadow in the firelight, heard footsteps rustling bushes. Yet nothing remained.
Not Kruger forest-dwellers either—they'd have swarmed by now.
"Damn it."
Realization struck. He rushed back to his tent—twice the size of others, crammed with treasures.
Flap!
"Hmm?"
Inside stood a stranger in a faded cloak, holding an ancient jewel case. The black-haired intruder thrust the empty container forward with irritation.
"Where's the orb that was here?"
"W-what?"
Caylden stared dumbfounded. The treasures remained untouched—yet this youth had pinpointed the most crucial item.
An orb wielder? No...
If so, why the stealth? Someone else had to be pulling strings.
"Final question. Where's the orb?"
"Hmph. Don't know who you are, but the owner's already gone."
"Where? Veyla?"
Caylden's pupils flickered.
The intruder tossed the case aside, clutching his forehead. "Ah! Damn! Should've realized trash like you couldn't use it. An outsider took it, didn't they?"
He began pacing, muttering carefree. "Could've traveled together... Hasty bastard. Unless he expected company..."
Veins bulged on Caylden's forehead. He hefted his axe. "Who are you? Who sent you?"
"Mm! Not important." The intruder wagged a finger. "You should be pondering how to survive."
"What nonsense!"
"Call your men if curious. Any survivors would come running."
"You madman!"
Caylden's shouts met only silence. He lifted the tent flap—and froze.
Dawn revealed his men strewn like broken dolls, torches abandoned. At the carnage's center stood a blood-drenched boy clutching a severed head.
Thud!
The boy dropped the corpse and advanced. Each step past fallen torches exuded palpable menace.
"What are you?!" Caylden croaked, retreating.
"Raaaah! Die!"
The chief charged. The boy shifted slightly, raising his sword vertically as the axe descended.
Slice!
Caylden's arm soared through the air. "Gaaaah!"
Blood fountained from the stump. Collapsing to his knees, Caylden looked up—into eyes devoid of humanity.
"It's not here... Please... spare..."
Karon leaned close, whispering: "Black cloak. Blue hair. Red orb."
The killing intent vanished like a snuffed candle.
"Ah...!"
Caylden babbled: "Blue Crow Gang! Their blue-haired leader—ruthless bastard who killed the Desert King! One traveled with us! They left for Veyla yesterday! I'm not—"
Zap!
A blue streak flashed. Caylden's head thudded to the ground.
Karon discarded his bloodied sword and wiped his face. "Blue Crow Gang..."
Likely, a member had manipulated these bandits to steal the orb. Offered loot and slaves as payment.
The fools never realized they'd become bait for the Gang's hunters.
Karon surveyed the camp. Shong remained absent. Slaves peered from wagons, some still asleep despite the carnage.
His gaze shifted beyond them.
Strong. Numerous.
He'd sensed encircling presences since before the attack—non-threatening, escapable. Now they closed in.
The foremost aura dwarfed all expectations. Karon waited calmly.
A majestic black horse approached. Its rider—a steel-haired man in gleaming gray armor—exuded razor-sharp energy.
"Karon!"
Shong waved awkwardly beside him.
Karon had already known.
The fool had gotten captured again.
