A fine drizzle fell over the County office as another group of men—about a dozen—were dragged into the courtyard. Among them was a young man barely past twenty, his heart heavy with despair. The soldiers had tossed him a tattered straw raincoat, which did little to shield him from the rain.
His battered and bruised body shivered uncontrollably, though he was too numb to truly feel the cold. His mind was consumed by fear.
His thoughts ran in circles—was his young son still alive? Had his gentle wife found safety? Or had something terrible befallen them both?
Suddenly, a soft chime—like the faint ringing of bronze—echoed in his head, and his body sagged with exhaustion. Before he collapsed, a man slightly older than himself, clad in a similarly ragged straw raincoat, appeared at his side and steadied him.
The young man, his voice trembling, asked,
"Were you caught trying to save your child too?"
The stranger offered a faint smile, one that somehow radiated calm. Almost instantly, a warm current seemed to flood the young man's battered limbs, revitalizing him as though an unseen power flowed from the stranger's touch.
Overcome by gratitude and guilt, he bowed his head.
"Sir, you didn't have to do this... I was caught lying, trying to buy time for my wife and child..."
Tears welled up, and his words broke.
The stranger simply patted his shoulder and said quietly, "It's all right. Just hold on. Steel your heart."
At that moment, the doors of the main hall creaked open, and Governor Channa emerged onto the veranda, his steps slow and deliberate.
A lieutenant barked harshly, "All prisoners, show respect to the governor!"
The young man's chest burned with fury, but terror rooted him to the spot.
Channa stood tall at the top of the steps, exuding an air of absolute authority that pressed down on everyone present. Yet when the young man dared a glance at the man beside him—the stranger who had steadied him—he was startled to find a look of quiet amusement there. The stranger was smirking, as if none of this spectacle impressed him in the slightest.
Curious, the young man peered closer—and caught sight of something beneath the raincoat: the unmistakable outlines of two swords, crossing at the man's back.
A cold thought stabbed through him: Is he one of the governor's men?
Panic fluttered in his chest.
Meanwhile, Channa raised his voice in a grandiose tone that echoed across the courtyard:
"By law, I should have you all executed... but in my boundless mercy, I will be generous!"
The prisoners, all young men like himself, stood silent, their wills already broken.
The lieutenant stepped forward again, scolding, "You should be grateful! Show your thanks!"
Channa waved a hand languidly, and the lieutenant bowed and stepped aside.
Channa continued, his voice rich with false benevolence:
"You criminals will have one final chance to contribute to JeArk—"
But he never finished the sentence.
The young man barely understood what happened next.
The stranger, who had been standing quietly beside him, now stood directly in front of Channa—his bronze gladius drawn, glowing with golden light—and slashed toward the governor in a swift, fluid motion.
Channa reacted with unnatural speed, raising his left arm to block. Sparks flared, and the golden light around the sword flickered, dimming slightly.
The soldiers erupted in cheers, emboldened by the governor's apparent strength.
Channa retaliated with a brutal flurry of fists and kicks, each blow sharp and vicious. Yet the swordsman—the stranger—did not counterattack.
He merely moved, effortless and unhurried, dodging and blocking with minimal motion, almost lazily.
The prisoners pressed against the courtyard walls, watching with wide, fearful eyes.
The young man's fists clenched unconsciously. Is he struggling because he gave me his strength? Guilt gnawed at him.
But when he looked closer, he saw something strange: The swordsman's face, when illuminated by flashes of golden light, was not grim with effort—but mocking, disdainful.
And each time the gladius flared, a subtle tremor passed through Channa's features—panic, quickly masked.
Frustrated beyond bearing, Channa lunged in for an opening when the stranger's back turned. He tried to retreat—to put distance between them.
But the stranger moved first. His foot snapped out like lightning, catching Channa squarely in the abdomen.
The governor was flung backward, crashing to his knees, gasping for air. The soldiers' cheers faltered. Silence rippled across the courtyard like a crack in glass.
Channa clutched his abdomen, eyes wide with disbelief.
From the corner of his blurred vision, he saw the stranger approaching again—his bronze gladius gleaming dully in the rain.
"You... a mere wandering swordsman... dare mock the authority of the state..." Channa tried to roar, but pain crushed his voice to a wheeze.
The swordsman gave a low, derisive laugh.
"So you really are just an idiot."
His sword flared brilliantly once more.
"Cleanse!"
The world exploded into blinding white.
In that vast emptiness, Channa saw it—the memory he had buried so deep he thought it would never claw its way back.
The day he had abandoned his weeping mother.
The day he swore he would conquer the world with his sword.
As Channa crumpled to the ground, the young men from the village, branded as criminals, broke into a ragged, jubilant cheer.
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. Some tried to flee—the lieutenant made a clumsy scramble over the courtyard wall but was swiftly dragged down by the angry villagers.
The order Channa had so meticulously built crumbled before his dimming eyes.
Meanwhile, the swordsman calmly approached the fallen tyrant, knelt briefly, and whispered something too soft to hear. Barely conscious, Channa lifted a trembling hand and weakly pointed toward the far end of the hall.
Without hesitation, the swordsman rose, his rain-soaked robes fluttering around him, and strode toward the indicated chamber.
From his robes, he withdrew a polished bronze mirror. At first glance, it looked unremarkable. But as he lifted it, a soft golden radiance spilled forth, illuminating the dim hall.
The young man stared in disbelief as the light grew, flooding the chamber.
The wall itself seemed to shudder—then turn transparent, revealing hazy figures crouched in fear. Five silhouettes, once hidden, now exposed under the searing gaze of the mirror.
Through the haze, all could barely make out the figures of five elderly men hiding inside. "Huh? What? What!" someone stammered, drawing the attention of the others. The commotion ceased as everyone turned to look.