Kazel's steps echoed faintly against the polished tiles. He stopped before a jade lantern that burned low on one of the outer columns, then turned to glance at a wall etched with the history of the Second Moon. He scoffed.
(History built on arrogance.)
Behind him, footsteps—soft at first, then halting.
"Who goes there?"
A young disciple stepped out from the side corridor. He held a glaive across his chest, eyes squinting into the moonlight. He couldn't see Kazel clearly yet.
Kazel didn't turn. "Did the Second Moon train its disciples to bark before they bite?"
The disciple bristled. "State your name!"
Kazel finally turned, revealing the halberd on his shoulder. The white cloak swayed like smoke behind him. The disciple's eyes widened.
"You're—! Kaz—!"
A clang—the shaft of Kazel's halberd struck the disciple's glaive mid-swing, shattering his stance and sending him sprawling backwards. Kazel didn't move from his spot.
The boy coughed, trying to crawl back. "M-Master Agabah said you were dead…"
Kazel tilted his head, voice cold.
"Then let him grieve harder."
---
As a sacred statue crumbled in the Immortal Sect, a blade reaped a soul in the Second Moon.
The two scenes unfolded side by side—destruction and retribution, fire and blood.
In the Land of the Lamb, the disciples of the Second Moon Sect roared as they tore through what remained of the Immortal Sect. Flames surged skyward, devouring courtyards, burning through prayer halls, cracking ancestral stone tablets, and swallowing memories. Statues were toppled. Furniture splintered. Heritage turned to ash.
Agabah stood tall on his steed, basking in the inferno. He laughed."This is what becomes of legacies not sanctioned by the Second Moon."Beside him, his father Maldan raised a hand in silent approval."Let this land remember the price of disobedience," the patriarch said.
But far away, within the very walls of the Second Moon Sect—A massacre had begun.
Kazel stood in a small courtyard, halberd resting on his shoulder. The blood on its blade was still warm. A corpse lay at his feet, a hole punched clean through the chest. Another disciple screamed as he ran—Kazel turned his head slightly, eyes glowing faintly under the moonlight. The halberd left his hand and spun once, twice—
Thunk.The disciple dropped with a metal shaft sticking out of his back.
Kazel walked forward, retrieving his weapon without missing a step."Break furniture…" he muttered, his voice low, dangerous. "…and I'll take your lives."
A group of Second Moon disciples rounded the corner and froze.
They had heard the tales. The whispers. The name.
And now he was here.
Kazel, the Sect Slayer.
One disciple stepped forward, hands trembling. "W-we're not part of the—"
Before he could finish, his head rolled on the ground, his body collapsing a beat later.
Kazel didn't blink. Didn't breathe heavily. "There are no innocents under your banner," he declared.
---
At the same time, Agabah turned toward a burning pavilion with a smug grin."Wasn't this the boy's favorite hall? Where he practiced?" he chuckled."All gone now."
He didn't know.He didn't know that their sect had already begun to die.
---
Back in the Second Moon Sect, panic spread. An elder woman rushed into the main hall, barking orders. But before her command left her lips, the tip of a halberd burst through her chest from behind.
Blood pooled across the marble tiles. Her body slumped, lifeless.
Kazel pulled his weapon free, dragging it behind him like a reaper's scythe. The white one-shoulder cloak fluttered behind him, stained red at the hem. His blue eyes gleamed with fury, his expression carved in stone. His smile was wide, wicked, and familiar.
Each step he took struck terror deeper into those who recognized him.
Some fought. Some ran. Some begged.
None survived.
A beautiful disciple tried to flee. Kazel caught her by the ankle and dragged her back. She screamed once—only once.
Two elders landed from above, one wielding twin swords, the other gathering soul energy to unleash an art.
"Tyrant!" they roared."Monster!""A demon wearing the skin of a man!"
Kazel's halberd cleaved through them both. The first fell in half, the second exploded in a mess of bone and blood.
He didn't even glance back.
Among the wreckage and splintered bodies, one disciple had managed to crawl his way behind a group of neighing horses. His legs had given out. His lips trembled. The blood around him wasn't his—but it might soon be.
Step.Step.Step.
The sound of boots squelching on damp stone drew closer.
Then the horses stirred.
Kazel emerged from the smoke, halberd balanced on his shoulder, his expression unreadable. His cloak flapped gently in the wind, blood trailing along its edges like ink on snow.
The disciple gasped. "P-Please… I'll do anything!" he cried out, palms pressed together in desperate prayer.
Kazel didn't slow. His eyes locked on the boy's.
"Show me the way to your sect."
"J-Just follow the trail to the west! You can't miss it!!! It's—it's a straight path through the ridge, the flags will guide you!" The disciple's words spilled in panic.
Kazel stopped in front of him.
"Close your eyes," he said quietly.
The disciple froze, then whimpered. But somehow, he obeyed. His hands trembled as he clasped them over his eyes.
Silence.
Only the wind.
Then—nothing.
When he opened his eyes, Kazel was gone.
But the air still felt heavier, colder.
One of the nearby horses reared up, neighing loudly and striking its hind legs. The disciple flinched back into the mud, gasping.
Moments later, a figure arrived.
Saya stepped through the streets, her boots light, her presence still.
On the familiar mark cut into one of the walls.
( The Second Moon… ) she thought grimly.
Her heart pounded.
Then—
BOOM!
The main gate, thick with iron and wood, shattered open.
A gallant black horse burst through, hooves slamming against the ground. A cloud of dust followed.
On its back rode Kazel, the halberd now resting diagonally across his lap. His white cloak fluttered behind him like a flag of wrath.
He said nothing. He didn't glance back.
He simply rode toward the west.
"K-Kazel?" Saya whispered. But her voice was too soft, her feet rooted in place.
He disappeared beyond the horizon, like a phantom pursuing vengeance.
She turned toward the broken gate again—and she finally saw.
The horror.
The destruction.
The blood trails that hadn't dried.
Some corpses were beheaded. Others bisected. But it wasn't the method that shook her—it was the precision.
There were signs of necks pierced straight through—perfectly, cleanly—just like back in the Land of the Lamb, when Kazel had slaughtered that bandit encampment.
But this time… it was worse.
More bodies. More carnage. More silence.
Kazel had shown mercy to none.
Saya tightened her grip on her cloak, her breath shallow.
From a Duskwind Inn near the center of the ruined town, Yasha stared out of a cracked window. Her sharp eyes scanned the distant chaos—fires flickering, buildings half-collapsed, and figures scrambling like insects.
She took another petal and placed it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
Then she saw it.
A flutter of white.
Her brows furrowed.
She leaned closer to the window, placing one hand on the wooden frame, the other unconsciously brushing her sheathed dagger.
"…That white cape…" she muttered. "He's still alive?"
She exhaled through her nose and looked down.
Further down the road, Elder Juni of the Heavenless Bow Sect had just stepped out of an alleyway, her bow strapped behind her back. She adjusted her snow-colored robe and turned, just in time to see a black stallion thunder past her.
"Hey! Watch where you—?!"
Her words caught in her throat.
Her silver eyes widened. Her breath hitched.
"…Kazel."
The cloak. The halberd. The gaze like winter steel.
She turned slowly, watching his figure grow smaller as the horse galloped onward, toward the west gate.
She sighed. ( I would have returned in a rush too, if I knew an army was marching toward my home… )
But then her thoughts paused. A crack in her logic.
( Wait a minute… home? That's not the direction of the Land of the Lamb... )
She turned her head.
( That's where the Second Moon— )
Her eyes sharpened.
"…Is he about to…"
Kazel didn't hear them. He didn't need to.
The hooves of his black horse pounded like war drums. The wind howled past him. The cloak on his back snapped like a banner.
His halberd glinted under the pale light.His blue eyes shimmered with icy conviction.
He rode with purpose. He rode with vengeance.
His heart burned with conquest.
This was not just a return.
This was a reckoning.