Morro stared at the body nailed to the clan headquarters wall, several meters above the ground. Captain Aris—the Third Division Captain—his lifeless form hung there like a macabre banner, visible to everyone who passed through the main square. Blood had dried in dark streaks down the stone, and the morning sun cast long shadows that made the display even more grotesque.
A crowd had gathered, their whispers creating a low hum of fear and shock. Some looked away, unable to bear the sight. Others stared with morbid fascination.
A few wept openly—those who had known Captain Aris, who had been touched by his kindness.
Captain Aris had been known throughout the Monogan territory for his compassion. He'd helped residents, protected the weak, shown mercy where others showed none. And now he was dead, his body displayed as a message.
Morro's expression remained neutral as he observed the scene. While others showed emotion—horror, sadness, anger—he felt nothing. Not because he was heartless, but because he was thinking.
Who had killed the Third Division Captain? Why? Was this an internal clan conflict—someone eliminating a rival? Or was it an external threat, someone powerful enough to kill a captain and display the body as a message?
His eyes scanned the crowd, noting the dozen or so swordsmen gathered near the wall. Division members, some in full uniform, others in casual attire. All watching, all analyzing, all drawing their own conclusions.
Morro spotted a woman in Third Division uniform—Lieutenant Plater, he'd heard her name before. She was known throughout the territory for her kindness, always helping residents, always quick with a smile or a helping hand.
Now she stood rigid near the body, her hand hovering near her sword hilt. Her face was pale with rage and grief, tears streaming down her cheeks that she made no effort to hide. Her eyes were fixed on something across the square.
---
Two captains stood out among the gathered swordsmen, their presence commanding attention even in the chaos.
The first was Captain Stenar of SOCOM, Special Operations Command. He stood near the base of the wall, looking up at Captain Aris's body with a wide smile plastered across his face. It wasn't hidden or subtle—he was smiling openly, for everyone to see, as if the entire situation was nothing more than entertainment.
Even as others around him showed genuine emotion, Captain Stenar's smile never wavered. That same, unsettling smile remained fixed, visible to anyone who looked his way. People gave him a wide berth, their eyes darting away whenever his gaze swept over them.
The second captain was a different kind entirely. Captain Valen of the Fourth Division, focused on swordsmanship theory and instruction. Morro had heard his name whispered in the crowd with respect, even reverence. Captain Valen was known throughout the clan as a man of principle, someone who treated everyone fairly, who taught without judgment, who believed in justice above all else. Where Captain Stenar smiled, Captain Valen stood with his fists clenched, his face a mask of genuine anger and sorrow. His eyes burned with determination, and when he spoke, his voice carried across the square with authority and conviction.
"We will find who did this," he declared, his words cutting through the whispers. "Captain Aris was a good man. Justice will be served. I swear it."
The crowd murmured in agreement, some nodding, others looking to him with hope and trust. People moved closer to him, as if his presence offered some comfort in the face of such horror.
Lieutenant Plater took a step forward, her hand moving toward her sword. Her eyes were locked on Captain Stenar, and there was no mistaking the aggression in her posture. The Third Division's lieutenant—Captain Aris's lieutenant. Emily Plater. She'd served under Captain Aris for years, had learned from him, had been like a daughter to him. Everyone knew how close they were, how much she'd looked up to him. Now her mentor was dead, and her grief had turned to fury.
"Something funny, Captain?" she called out, her voice sharp but breaking slightly. "He's dead. The best man I've ever known, and you're standing there smiling like it's a joke."
Captain Stenar finally turned, his smile never wavering. But when his eyes met hers, even from a distance, Morro could see the effect. Many in the crowd looked away, unable to meet Captain Stenar's gaze. Even Lieutenant Plater's hand faltered slightly.
"Lieutenant Plater," Captain Stenar's voice was calm, almost conversational, but it carried across the square. "I'm just wondering who could have done this. Captain Aris was truly one of the strongest in our clan. This was really unexpected. To kill someone of his caliber and display the body so publicly... it makes you think, doesn't it? Who would have both the power and the audacity?"
"You've always been like this," Lieutenant Plater's voice trembled with rage. "Even before today. You've always looked at us with that look. You knew something, didn't you? You knew this would happen."
"Knew?" Captain Stenar's smile widened. "I know many things, Lieutenant. But knowing and doing are very different things. Perhaps you should ask yourself—who benefits from Captain Aris's death? Who gains power? Who loses an obstacle?"
Lieutenant Plater's face went pale, then red with fury. "You're suggesting—"
"I'm suggesting nothing," Captain Stenar cut her off smoothly. "I'm merely... observing. As I always do. But if you're looking for answers, perhaps you should look closer to home. The Third Division had its share of ambitious members, didn't it?"
Morro watched, his mind working. Through the three months he'd lived here, he'd learned to read the dynamics. The tension between these two wasn't new. Lieutenant Plater had been suspicious of Captain Stenar for a long time. And now, with her captain dead, that suspicion had turned to rage.
She's going to attack. Not a full attack, but something. A lunge, a strike. She can't help herself.
Lieutenant Plater's hand moved to her sword hilt. Captain Stenar didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't even shift his stance. He simply stood there, that same smile on his face, as if he knew exactly what would happen next.
The attack came fast—a blur of motion as Lieutenant Plater drew her sword and lunged forward. Her blade was beautiful, looking as if it had been carved from ice itself, crystalline and perfect. As she struck, the Core responded automatically—the ice-like surface stayed the same, though it became slightly lighter, and liquid nitrogen began to flow from it—streaming down the blade in deadly rivulets, the air around it freezing instantly.
Frost Core. She must have used a Frost Core on that sword.
But Captain Stenar didn't move. Didn't even twitch. He remained perfectly still, that same smile on his face, as if the blade meant nothing to him.
Before Lieutenant Plater's sword could reach him, Captain Valen moved. Not fast, not flashy—just precise. A single, calculated strike to the lieutenant's sword arm, hitting exactly the right point. Her arm went limp, the sword clattering to the ground. Pure physical skill—perfect timing, perfect placement, perfect understanding of anatomy.
True swordsmanship. Mastery of the body itself.
Lieutenant Plater gasped, clutching her paralyzed arm. Captain Valen's hand was already on her shoulder, holding her in place, but his grip was gentle, almost protective.
"That's enough, Lieutenant," Captain Valen's voice was firm but not harsh. There was understanding in his eyes, compassion. "I know you're grieving. We all are. But this is not how we honor Captain Aris's memory. He would not want this."
Lieutenant Plater's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. She looked up at Captain Valen, and for a moment, Morro saw something pass between them—understanding, respect. She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry, Captain Valen. He provoked me. I just... I couldn't help myself."
"I know," Captain Valen said softly. "But we will find justice. The right way. I promise you that."
Captain Stenar's smile never wavered. "Thank you, Captain Valen. You always do the right thing."
Morro watched the exchange, analyzing every detail. Captain Stenar was intelligent, respected, feared. Many couldn't even look him in the eyes. And he'd just manipulated the situation perfectly—provoked Lieutenant Plater, let her attack, and let someone else handle the consequences. All without moving a muscle.
But Captain Valen... Morro had seen how people looked at him. Not with fear, but with respect. With trust. He'd handled Lieutenant Plater with compassion, not just authority. That was the kind of leader people followed willingly, not out of fear but out of genuine respect.
Morro turned his attention back to the body. Captain Aris, the Third Division Captain, killed and displayed like this. It changed things.
Morro took one last glance at Aris's body.
Morro had seen enough. He turned away from the scene and began the walk back to the old man's house. Captain Aris had been a powerful swordsman, a symbol of kindness, with many allies and connections outside the clan. His death was unfortunate for the Monogan clan—it could weaken their position on the continent.
The old man's house was a small, wooden structure on the outskirts of the Monogan settlement. Morro had been living there for three months, playing the role of a grateful, helpful young man who had lost his family and needed a place to stay.
He pushed open the door and immediately noticed something was wrong.
The old man—Elder Kael, as he'd introduced himself—sat by the fireplace, but he wasn't the calm, gentle figure Morro had come to know. His hands trembled as they clutched a cup of tea that had long gone cold. His face was pale, his eyes wide with terror. When he looked up at Morro, there was something in his expression that Morro had never seen before.
Fear. Real, genuine fear.
Why is he so terrified? What does he know?
Morro felt a rare sensation—surprise. In three months, he'd never seen the old man like this. Even when discussing the harsh realities of life under the clan, Elder Kael had maintained a quiet acceptance, a philosophical calm. This was different.
"They killed him," the old man whispered, his voice shaking. "They killed Captain Aris. The Third Division Captain. He was... he was a good man. The best of them."
Morro moved closer, his expression carefully arranged to show concern. "I saw. The body on the wall. I'm sorry, Elder."
The old man's eyes darted to the door, then back to Morro. "You don't understand. If they killed him... if they could kill someone like him..."
He trailed off, but Morro understood. The old man wasn't just mourning. He was terrified because if someone as good and powerful as Captain Aris could be killed so publicly, so brutally, then no one was safe.
Why is he so terrified. Does he know something hes not saying? Sure Captain died, but this level of fear suggests something more.
Morro sat across from the old man, maintaining his facade of concern. "Elder, are you all right? You seem..."
"I'm fine," the old man said quickly, too quickly. "Just... just shaken. That's all."
But Morro could see it wasn't that simple. The old man knew something, or suspected something, that filled him with terror. And Morro needed to understand what it was.
I'd never seen him like this. In this world, it's sometimes better not to know something.