The banners of the Second Moon Sect fluttered in the wind as the army marched back to the Fang.
Their conquest behind them, their expressions were filled with triumph—but one man rode in silence.
Maldan, patriarch of the Second Moon, his sharp eyes narrowed beneath furrowed brows. Despite the wind at his back, there was a stillness in his chest.
Unease.
It started small—just a whisper in his gut.
But it festered.
The rhythm of the march, the cheers of the younger disciples, even the congratulatory words of his elders—none of them could shake it.
His unease spread like an infection. Elders grew quieter. Disciples began to shift nervously in their saddles. Even Agabah, who usually strutted with pride, glanced more than once at the silent patriarch.
Then came the whispers.
"Sect Slayer…"
That was the title the flames left behind.
That was the title Kazel now wore.
A name sharp enough to cleave through their spirits.
As they entered the Fang, the city that once revered them, their celebration withered.
The people avoided them.
Shutters closed. Market stalls were left half-covered. Even beggars dragged their bowls away from their path. Not out of hatred—but fear.
Something had changed.
Maldan's frown deepened.
"Why… is it so quiet?" muttered Agabah, eyes darting.
"They should be welcoming us…" one elder mumbled.
They continued forward until they reached the eastern part of the Fang, where the Second Moon's branch sect stood.
Its gate was open.
Too open.
"Fool! Who let the gates open so carelessly!" Agabah barked, dismounting in frustration.
But Maldan raised a hand, his voice grave. "No one opened them."
He trotted forward. As his horse came to a halt at the gate, his breath hitched.
The courtyard was still.
There, sitting at the base of the grand hall stairs, was a boy—no, a disciple. His robes were ripped and scorched. Blood stained his sleeves. His arms trembled as they shielded his face.
He didn't look up.
He twitched, small gasps escaping between sobs that never formed.
Maldan dismounted without a word.
The earth felt heavy.
Agabah scanned the training ground and froze. "Blood…?"
Indeed, the earth had been scraped, dragged, stained.
Dark red trails traced across the floor—some ending in nothing. Some ending at the burned edges of shattered tiles. Bodies had been dragged away. Or vaporized.
"Speak, child," Maldan said, stepping toward the boy, his voice stern but oddly… soft.
The disciple flinched. His fingers twitched.
Then slowly, he lowered his hands.
Eyes wide.
Lips pale.
His gaze met Maldan's—and in it was no recognition, no reverence.
Only horror.
He didn't speak.
But his mouth opened—and from it, came only one word.
A whisper. Barely a sound.
"Tyrant…"
Then he screamed.
"What are you talking about?!" barked Agabah, his brows furrowed, his hand already gripping the hilt of his blade.
But the boy did not answer him.
His eyes—wide and bloodshot—remained fixed on Maldan.
"Where… are the others?" the patriarch asked, his voice low, dangerous.
The disciple trembled.
"There are no others… Patriarch," he whispered. "They are dead."
A cold gust swept through the gate.
Gasps exploded from the gathered crowd. Disciples staggered back in disbelief, and even the elders paled.
Maldan's face stiffened. His hands clenched the reins until his knuckles went white.
Then chaos broke loose.
"Check the halls!"
"Go! Now!"
The elders darted past the courtyard, their robes trailing behind them.
Their footsteps echoed off ruined tiles, off walls cracked and bloodied. The deeper they went, the more the silence of the sect screamed in their ears.
Moments later, an elder returned, stumbling out of the hall with ash clinging to his sleeves and a tremor in his voice.
"I-It's true… Patriarch."
His voice broke.
Maldan's jaw tightened. Without another word, he leapt off his horse and marched into the grand hall.
What greeted him inside—
His pupils shrank.
The vast room that once held Second Moon's pride… was nothing but a tomb.
The pillars had been cleaved. The stone floor was shredded by sweeping arcs of halberd trails. The walls were scorched black. Burn marks clung to every corner, as if a storm of steel and fire had passed through.
Bodies lay scattered, twisted, and broken.
Some had been split cleanly in two.
Some… were missing heads.
One had his chest crushed into the wall, still hanging like a grotesque painting.
The scent of iron, ash, and death soaked into Maldan's throat.
He moved further in. Every step echoed with the weight of a legacy reduced to rot.
His gaze swept over the carnage. He saw familiar faces—elders, instructors, even the young ones. None were spared.
Not even the kitchen staff.
The clean courtyard outside suddenly made sense.
He killed everyone inside.
And didn't let a drop of blood touch the courtyard.
"Who…" Maldan muttered. "Who did this…?"
But he knew.
They all knew.
"It was Kazel!!"The disciple's scream tore through the tense silence.
Agabah surged forward and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him up with a single hand."Then why are you still alive?!"
"He… he spared me!" the disciple croaked, eyes brimming with terror.
"What did you offer him?!" Maldan's voice was like thunder.
"H-He asked for the location of the Second Moon Sect…"
The moment those words left his lips, the wind seemed to die.Elder Crane stiffened.Agabah froze.Maldan's eyes widened, as if trying to comprehend what had just been said.
All around them, disciples and elders exchanged horrified glances.A shiver rippled through the air, as if the mountains themselves were trembling.
"How many did he bring? Who aided him?!" Maldan roared.
"He… he was alone."
"ALONE?!"Agabah's teeth gnashed. Veins popped along his forehead."Don't you fucking lie to me, or I'll kill you right here!"
"I-I'M NOT LYING!! HE WAS ALONEEEE!! NOBODY COULD STOP HIM!!"
"YOU—!" Agabah raised his fist, ready to crush the boy's skull.
But—
"He might be right, Young Master," Elder Crane interrupted, voice heavy.
Agabah paused."…Crane?"
Maldan turned to the elder, his brows knitted."You're certain?"
"If even a few of our inner sect elders stayed behind… they might've been able to fend him off. But as it stands…" Crane shook his head. "They were caught off guard. They didn't stand a chance."
"That's impossible!" Agabah snapped. "He's a lone brat! Still in the Body-Tempering Realm!"
"That hosts four Spirit Beasts inside his soul," Crane corrected, arms folded.
The words struck like lightning.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"A… savant?"
"Or… a genius…"
The whispers multiplied. Dread thickened the air like smoke.
"Make haste!!"Maldan swung onto his horse in one fluid motion. His fury seethed through every vein."I want eyes on the Second Moon Sect now!!"
The elders mounted behind him. Hooves slammed the earth. Dust rose like a war march had begun.
"Tch."Agabah clicked his tongue, drew his sword—and sliced the living disciple's head clean off.
"That's for betraying the sect!" he spat, flicking blood from the blade before mounting.
As the disciple's head fell and his body collapsed, his final vision was a blur of galloping steeds, flowing robes, and the rising dust of those who would soon witness a grave without mourners.
---
As the sun reached its peak, so did Maldan's army return home.
But the warmth of daylight could not melt the dread that clutched his heart. The moment he saw the gate—left ajar, just slightly—his breath caught.
He passed through.
And his heart crashed.
His lips parted, but no words came. Only silence. Only devastation.
The courtyard that once stood proud, echoing with discipline and the steps of rising talent, was now a grave. Bodies lay strewn across the ground like discarded memories. The pair who guarded the gate had met brutal ends—one was cleaved in half, the other severed. There was no elegance in their deaths, only the mercy of how swift they must have been.
This was no battle. This was butchery.
The grand halls of the Second Moon Sect—the place of legacy, pride, and power—had been reduced to a horror amusement. Cracked pillars, shattered tiles, and blood-soaked walls marked the path of wrath.
Gasps broke out around the courtyard. Elders dismounted. Disciples covered their mouths, some even vomited.
Agabah stood stiff. His pupils darted. His hands trembled.
He couldn't blink. He knew the truth.
( This… this stemmed from me. )
He had escalated the conflict. He thought it would bring glory—dominance.Instead, it had brought a bloodbath.So many dead.So many legacies lost.One man's rage had cleaved an entire sect's honor.
Maldan dropped from his horse.
His legs buckled the moment his feet touched the stone.His knees slammed into the paved courtyard.Then his hands followed, trembling as his fingers dug into the bloodied earth.
His jaw clenched. His teeth ground together.
The veins on his neck pulsed.
And then—he roared.
A sound so raw, so wounded, that the skies above seemed to recoil.
As Maldan's roar faded into the bloodied winds, silence swallowed the courtyard.
Then—footsteps.
Measured. Unhurried.Each step echoed against the ruined marble like the toll of a bell before execution.
A voice followed—cold and biting, like steel sliding across frost.
"Agabah,""This realm you mentioned… Soul Refining, was it?"
Every breath caught.Every eye turned toward the grand hall.
And from its broken entrance—through smoke, shadow, and ruin—he came.
Kazel.
His figure bathed in sunlight, his halberd resting lazily on his shoulder.Not a single limp in his step.Not a trace of hesitation.Only a smirk carved into his lips—and eyes that glinted with conquest.
His injuries, once mortal, had healed. His aura was steady, unshaken.
Agabah's throat dried.Elder Crane narrowed his gaze.The core disciples shifted.The elders tensed.
Even Maldan—kneeling in despair—turned his head slowly, his pupils shrinking.
One man.
Standing before an army.
Smirking like he owned the place.
"Now then, let me show you the purest definition of one-man army!" Kazel sprinted forward into the fray with his halberd in hand.