"Why do you think Black Wolf and the others haven't come back since yesterday?"
"Who knows. Probably bagged a fat merchant and ran off to Rigait to enjoy themselves."
The torchlight licked across the speaker's face, highlighting a deep scar at the corner of his eye that gave his sneer a cruel edge.
Beside him, a tall, round-faced man widened his eyes in exaggerated surprise. He quickly waved the torch away from his face and spoke with mock seriousness:
"That can't be it, right? Boss Leopard's given strict orders—nobody's allowed to sneak off to Rigait after a roadside hit. They can't be that stupid. What if something went wrong?"
The scarred man scoffed and switched the torch to his other hand.
"Black Wolf and Gray Rat are both intermediate-level in North God Style. Sure, Ground Scorpion's a bit weaker, but come on—how could a roadside mugging go south for them? Use your brain. Or is all your height just hiding a brain in your pants?"
His tone dropped as he jabbed a thumb behind him, into the darkness.
"Why else do you think Boss Leopard's face has been so sour lately? It's been months now—everyone's sick of this bandit work. Sure, a few fat lambs wandered through, but the real target? Not even a feather left behind."
"Everyone knows that kid with the thousand-asura bounty isn't even in the kingdom anymore. Only reason Boss Leopard's still chasing is 'cause he bragged to the other bandit crews that our outpost has airtight intel on all north-south traffic. What a joke."
The round-faced man immediately slapped a hand over the other's mouth.
"Keep your voice down! You trying to die? You think you can just say that out loud?!"
"Let go of me, damn it! Why not say it? I've had it with that bastard Leopard for a while now. If he weren't a top-tier in both Sword God and Water God Styles, who'd follow him? He only got his position by bending over for Night Lion. Pah!"
"...Go on. Tell me more about the bending over."
Hearing that, the scar-faced man perked up with a wicked grin.
"Oh, that wasn't a one-time deal. Every time he goes back to the capital, he spends a night with Night Lion. Comes back walking all funny. That waist of his, mm—"
He trailed off, frowning. The round-faced man was staring at him, frozen.
Only then did he realize—the voice that had asked that last question wasn't familiar.
He turned, startled.
At some point, a scrawny kid with glasses had walked right up beside them. Pale-skinned and delicate-looking, the boy was now leaning in with gleaming eyes, eavesdropping with far too much interest.
The three of them locked eyes in silence.
Then, when the scar-faced man failed to continue the juicy gossip, the boy looked genuinely upset.
"...Wait, what? Why'd you stop? Come on, what about Boss Leopard's waist?"
The two men suddenly snapped out of it, blades flashing from their sheaths.
"Who the hell are you, brat? You new? You don't know the rules? Think you can just sneak up and listen to your seniors talk?!"
"You dare covet Boss Leopard's waist?!"
The boy blinked at them, then lowered his head meekly.
"I'm new, yeah... I don't know the rules. Someone told me to fetch you guys. Said that guy named Leopard is pissed."
The two men exchanged glances, brows furrowed.
"Listen, kid—if you tell anyone what you just heard, you're dead. You hear me? I'm an intermediate-level swordsman. I could chop up your twiggy little body in seconds. If I find out you blabbed—"
The glasses-wearing boy bowed respectfully.
"Got it, got it. I wouldn't dream of it, big bros~ But it's getting late, we should really head back now."
He turned and began walking in the direction the scar-faced man had earlier pointed toward.
As soon as the boy's back was turned, the man's anger vanished. He exchanged a silent look with the round-faced man and stepped forward, draping an arm around the kid's neck.
Behind them, the round-faced man quietly rested a hand on his sword's hilt and began to draw.
The scar-faced man tightened his arm slightly, as if playfully pulling his "little brother" close.
"You seem a bit unfamiliar... What's your name?"
"Allen. Let's move—still an hour's walk from here."
At that, the man's expression darkened.
"...An hour? It's only half an hour. And Allen? Don't remember any new guy named—"
His voice faltered. His pupils widened.
"Ai... Ai—"
He tried to say Allen's name again, but the strength in his throat gave out. The air that once vibrated his vocal cords so easily now refused to move. He couldn't even summon the breath to speak.
The forest tilted in his vision. The boy—Allen—hadn't even shrugged him off. He simply kept walking, and the scar-faced man's grip slipped uselessly from his shoulders.
The man flailed toward him, grasping at nothing. His hand reached for his blade—but even the smug, practiced fluidity of a drawcut failed him. His arm refused to move.
Then his vision began to act on its own.
The world spun as his eyes dropped toward the ground. Tree branches shifted and danced in moonlight, leaves flitted upward like a reversed waterfall. The full moon slashed the night sky.
He saw his round-faced comrade's expression flash from confusion to horror.
Grass rustled at his cheek. Something warm splashed across his face, salty and metallic.
The scar-faced man's head hit the ground with a thud. Blood sprayed across the clearing. His lifeless eyes stared at his own headless body as it toppled forward, and the color faded from his pupils.
He was dead.
Amid the blood and moonlight, Allen turned, wiping his blade as thick rivulets of blood dripped from his swordsman's robes.
The round-faced man stood frozen, hand still on his blade, shaking like a leaf.
"Allen... You're that Allen! The Water God Style—"
Allen stepped forward, calm as a man taking a stroll.
In the next instant, his figure vanished from the man's vision.
The bandit's mouth fell open. The word advanced was still stuck in his throat when he heard a soft footstep behind him.
Then came Allen's voice, quiet and close:
"Corpses don't talk."
The man's heart lurched. He twisted instinctively to look—
—and learned what it meant for your vision to move without you.
The world spun out of alignment. Moonlight spiraled with tree shadows, drawing streaks of white across the dark. It was disorienting, almost beautiful.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Allen's face flash past—still smiling.
W-What... That was the [Longsword of Silence]... But he's only supposed to be an advanced Water God—
The thought never finished.
His mind tumbled into darkness, swallowed without a ripple.
Thud.
His head hit the ground.
Allen's footsteps receded into the forest, the sound of his humming carried by the wind.
"That makes five."