Death emerged from the shadows wearing human skin.
Five figures materialized from the forest with the fluid precision of predators who had hunted together for years. Their movements spoke a language older than words—overlapping fields of fire, escape routes calculated to the heartbeat, communication through glances that could coordinate slaughter without a sound.
I felt my mouth go dry. These weren't desperate bandits or opportunistic thieves. These were professionals who killed for a living.
"Defensive positions," Dmitri's voice cut through my paralysis, calm as still water before a storm. "Priority one: protect the client. Priority two: preserve the cargo. Priority three: try not to die."
"Try not to die?" My voice cracked slightly.
"Optimistic planning," Jane muttered, fumbling for documents with hands that trembled despite his professional composure. "Emergency combat protocols. Someone should survive to file the reports."
The advancing team halted thirty meters away—close enough to speak, far enough to avoid immediate violence. A calculated distance that screamed of experience with negotiation at sword-point.
Then their leader stepped forward, and Jane's face drained of color like blood fleeing a mortal wound.
The man moved as if gravity were merely a suggestion. Tall and lean, wrapped in dark clothing that seemed to drink the morning light, he carried himself with the terrible grace of someone who had turned killing into an art form. His weapon—a curved blade with an unusually long grip—remained sheathed, but his hand rested upon it with the casual intimacy of a lover's touch.
When his eyes found ours, I felt something cold crawl down my spine. They were the eyes of someone who had looked upon death so often that it no longer held mystery or fear.
"No." The word escaped Jane's lips like a prayer to a deaf god. "No, no, no. This cannot be happening."
"Jane?" I managed, my throat suddenly parched. "Who is that?"
"Kaguro Matsumoto." Jane spoke the name like an incantation against evil, as if saying it might somehow make it less real. "The Demon of the Silent Blade."
The silence that followed was pregnant with horror.
"Former guild leader from Kaze Region," Jane continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Vanished three years ago after the Crimson Valley Incident."
"What happened at Crimson Valley?"
Jane's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Forty-seven mercenaries. Professional soldiers with years of combat experience. Found dead without a single cry for help reaching the patrol stations less than a kilometer away."
The forest around us seemed to hold its breath.
"No signs of struggle. No evidence of pitched battle. Just perfect, surgical death delivered in absolute silence." Jane's words painted images I didn't want in my head. "They say he can end entire companies without disturbing the morning dew on nearby grass."
"That's impossible," I said, but the conviction in my voice was already crumbling.
"That's why they call him the Demon of the Silent Blade," Jane replied with the hollow tone of someone reciting his own eulogy. "His sword techniques are based on forbidden arts. Ancient forms of killing that were sealed away because they were too perfect, too lethal for civilized warfare."
"How lethal?"
"The kind where other guild leaders—people who've spent decades facing impossible odds—refuse to fight him even when honor demands it." Jane's hands shook as he gripped his emergency forms. "A-rank classification doesn't begin to encompass what he's capable of."
I stared at Kaguro Matsumoto, trying to reconcile Jane's nightmarish description with the almost serene figure standing across from us. He looked like he might teach calligraphy at a mountain monastery, not slaughter trained warriors by the dozens.
Then he spoke, and his voice carried the weight of absolute certainty.
"Good morning." The greeting drifted across the distance with crystalline clarity, despite being barely above a whisper. Each word was perfectly enunciated, polite, almost warm. "I apologize for the theatrical arrival, but circumstances demand certain… precautions."
"Precautions?" Dmitri's logistics training apparently included diplomatic protocols, though his voice carried the tension of a wire about to snap.
"You carry something that predates the petty squabbles of current politics." Kaguro's tone remained conversational, as if discussing the weather rather than ancient power. "Artifacts of that magnitude require handling by those who comprehend their true significance."
"We're under contract," Jane said, his voice shaking but determined. Professional duty warring with primal terror. "Guild obligations are legally binding regardless of… external complications."
"Ah." Kaguro's attention shifted to Jane with what looked disturbingly like approval, his gaze taking in the official forms clutched in trembling hands. "I see someone values proper procedure. However, the artifact you protect predates your legal frameworks by centuries. Some authorities supersede paperwork."
"How do you know about the scroll?" Hiroshi's voice cracked like breaking glass.
"Because I have been tracking its movements for six months," Kaguro replied with the casual honesty of someone beyond deception. "Summoning scrolls of that caliber do not change hands without attracting the attention of those who understand what they truly represent."
"And what do they represent?" I asked, though every instinct screamed that I didn't want to know.
Kaguro's lips curved in what might have been a smile, if smiles could carry the promise of damnation.
"Power to summon beings from the Ancient Arts classification. Dragons whose breath can level mountains. Spirit wolves that hunt across dimensional boundaries. Creatures of such magnitude that their awakening could reshape the balance between regions." His voice remained perfectly level, as if he were discussing crop yields. "In the wrong hands, that scroll could ignite wars that would consume millions."
The words hit like physical blows. Dragons. Ancient powers. Regional warfare.
"The buyer in Riverside Town maintains connections to organizations that view the current era of cooperation as… inconvenient," Kaguro continued. "Political revolutionaries who prefer the chaos of conflict to the stability of peace. They would use such power to return to an age where strength alone determined survival."
"You're here to stop them," I said, grasping for hope.
"I am here to prevent weapons of mass destruction from reaching the hands of fanatics," Kaguro corrected, and for the first time, genuine emotion flickered in his voice. "Your client's financial difficulties are regrettable, but secondary to preventing potential genocide."
Hiroshi made a sound like a wounded animal. "But my family… we'll lose everything."
"Your family losing property is preferable to thousands of families losing their lives." Kaguro's voice carried gentle finality, the tone of someone delivering an unalterable verdict. "I am prepared to compensate you fairly for the scroll, but it cannot reach its intended destination."
"How fairly?" Hiroshi whispered.
"Enough to solve your immediate crisis without funding future ones," Kaguro replied. "A reasonable resolution that serves all parties."
I looked at my teammates. Dmitri was calculating impossible odds, his tactical mind working through scenarios that all ended in our destruction. Jane was wrestling with legal obligations that warred against mathematical certainty of death.
"Guild contracts are binding," Jane said finally, his voice carrying the weight of unshakeable conviction. "We accepted responsibility for protecting Mr. Tanaka's property and ensuring its safe delivery. Personal opinions about cargo significance don't supersede professional obligations."
Kaguro studied Jane with something that looked disturbingly like respect. "Even when honoring that obligation means facing an opponent you know you cannot defeat?"
"Especially then." Jane's reply carried steel wrapped in velvet. "Anyone can fulfill easy contracts. Guild reputations are forged completing impossible ones."
"And you?" Kaguro's attention turned to Dmitri. "Your tactical assessment must indicate catastrophic casualty probability."
"Mission success often requires accepting unfavorable odds," Dmitri said with the calm of someone who had made peace with death. "Broken Chain Guild specializes in handling situations other organizations consider impossible."
Those pale eyes shifted to me, and I felt like a mouse being studied by a hawk.
"And you?" His gaze assessed me with uncomfortable thoroughness. "You seem quite young for this line of work. How long have you been facing mortal danger for money?"
I met his gaze, surprised by my own steadiness. "Long enough to know that we don't abandon clients just because the job gets dangerous."
"Admirable loyalty," Kaguro said, and the approval in his voice was somehow more terrifying than threats would have been. "Tragically misguided, but admirable nonetheless."
He took a single step backward, and the very air seemed to crystallize with tension.
"Standard containment protocols," he called to his team, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question. "Minimal necessary force. Priority is securing the scroll with acceptable casualties."
"Acceptable casualties?" one of his subordinates asked.
"Professional courtesy toward fellow guild members," Kaguro replied, as if discussing proper etiquette rather than impending slaughter. "Kill only if absolutely necessary."
"How reassuring," Jane muttered, pulling out what looked like last will and testament forms.
Kaguro's hand moved to his sword hilt with fluid grace, and the world changed.
The air grew heavy, charged with potential energy that made my skin crawl and my teeth ache. Shadows seemed deeper, sunlight seemed dimmer, and every sound felt muffled by the weight of approaching violence.
"Final opportunity for rational resolution," Kaguro said, his politeness now edged with something that made my soul want to flee my body. "Surrender the scroll, accept fair compensation, and all parties leave this encounter breathing."
"Counter-proposal," Jane replied with bureaucratic precision that masked bone-deep terror. "Honor the existing contract, acknowledge our legal obligations, and find a solution that doesn't involve professional organizations killing each other over paperwork."
"I'm afraid that option no longer exists," Kaguro said, and for the first time, something like regret colored his tone. "The scroll's destination cannot be permitted under any circumstances."
His blade began to emerge from its sheath with the kind of liquid motion that suggested movements too swift for mortal perception. The steel caught the morning light and threw it back in patterns that hurt to look at directly.
"Very well," he continued in that same conversational tone, as if he were declining an invitation to dinner rather than beginning a massacre. "Let us discover what Broken Chain Guild is truly capable of."
The forest held its breath.
And I realized that my first guild mission was about to become the stuff of legends.
Assuming anyone survived to tell the tale.