Shadow Sword of Vengeance

Both men walked toward the town gate. The young man, experienced and highly perceptive, was fully aware of his follower. Yet, the shadowy figure trailing him believed he remained unseen. 

Once they had left the town, The Young Man continued walking, leading them toward an isolated place where no one else was around. 

Before long, they stood in a vast snowy field, surrounded by towering mountains. The air was silent, the cold biting. It was here that the shadowy figure finally stepped forward, revealing himself. 

"Ohhh! So you're his best friend?" The voice belonged to a young mercenary, his face marked with scars. Dressed entirely in green, he wielded two daggers instead of a sword. 

The Young Man narrowed his eyes. "Who are you? And who are you talking about?" 

The mercenary grinned. "You haven't figured it out yet? What a pity, Mr. Lucien..." 

He knows my name… huh, Lucien thought, unfazed. 

"You see, Mr. Lucien," the mercenary continued mockingly, "he thought you'd remember your one and only friend. But, unfortunately, you don't. So As a punishment, I'll kill you… and take your place as his best friend." 

With that, the mercenary lunged, drawing his daggers. 

Lucien unsheathed his sword in an instant, blocking the attack head-on. The force of their clash sent both men pushing against each other before breaking apart. 

The mercenary staggered back, trying to regain his balance—but before he could, Lucien moved. 

A hand flashed before the mercenary's eyes, gripping his face in a crushing hold. Lucien's fingers pressed against his eyelids, his cold stare piercing through him. 

"Even if you kill me," the mercenary muttered through gritted teeth, "it won't make your life any easier." 

Lucien's voice was calm, almost indifferent. "This life means nothing to me. I live for revenge. I don't care if I die after fulfilling my purpose." 

His grip tightened. "As for you… a man without purpose is no more than an animal. The worst kind of animal—one that should be slaughtered on sight. And that's exactly what I'll do." 

Before the mercenary could react, Lucien pressed his fingers deep into his eyes. A bloodcurdling scream tore through the cold air. 

No one came. 

The mercenary collapsed onto the snow, blind and helpless, his breaths ragged with terror. 

The next second— 

A blade pierced his throat. 

Blood seeped into the snow, painting it crimson in a smooth, swift motion. 

Lucien thought to himself.

"No king would give his authority to "them", unless... He's a part of that organization or he's threatened by them... 

In that case, I can not talk to the king or ask for help..." 

Lucien now knew that these mercenaries are indeed "THEM" sided by the king. This was a big information and also a threat. 

But He had to search a way around it, Fighting All of them alone was next to impossible. But Trusting someone was a harder task. 

"TRUST? HUH. A ridiculous notion to hide one's lack of ability to fight alone. A Lucrative concept of fools to validate their weakness...They justify their flaws with this absurd idea of "Trust" and "Friends", hence even lying to themselves for their inability and then they are rendered unable to identify truth. Their perceived strength is far lower than what they thought, A betrayal when opens their eyes. It's too late." 

SIGHHH... 

"I will do no such thing, for repeating the same mistake is the act of a buffoon." 

Lucien set out toward a town he was familiar with—though he had never actually been there. Without hesitation, he began the long journey. 

This town was one of the largest in the kingdom, home to knights and the wealthy elite. 

"Master told me to seek out an old man in this town when I was strong enough to fight. I don't know what he looks like, but I must find him. This was one of Master's final wishes… I cannot neglect it." 

The road to the town was well-traveled, but that also meant danger. The more people he encountered, the higher the risk. 

Instead of taking the main path, Lucien chose a route through the mountains—a breathtaking path with towering peaks on both sides and a pristine river flowing beside him. It was a sight so beautiful, one could live there forever. 

But as he pressed on, stronger mercenaries began appearing in his way. Three days passed, and the effects of hunger weighed on him. Since leaving the previous town's inn, he hadn't eaten a single meal. His movements were sluggish—fighting in this condition was nearly impossible. 

With the heavy snowfall, finding natural food was out of the question. He had to survive on water alone. 

Two more days passed. The town was closer than ever, but his body was at its limit. Five days without food—his legs barely carried him forward. 

Hoping to avoid conflict, he moved under the cover of trees. 

But then— 

More than eight mercenaries appeared in front of him. 

And judging by the shifting sounds in the snow behind him, there were more coming. 

Seeing the mercenaries closing in, Lucien unsheathed his sword. His body trembled from the severe cold and hunger, but he stood his ground. 

The attackers increased in number—fifteen now surrounded him, all striking at once. 

His movements were slow, painfully so. A stark contrast to his usual speed—a difference as vast as heaven and earth. 

Still, he fought. He fought with every ounce of strength left in him. But after a few minutes, a powerful kick landed against his neck, sending him stumbling. More followed, closing in like wolves on a wounded prey. 

One mercenary raised his dagger, ready to end him— 

But before he could strike, a blade pierced his throat. 

Not a dagger—a kerambit. 

The mercenary collapsed, blood pooling around him. 

Yet, Lucien wasn't safe. Several others had already lunged, their weapons sinking into his legs. Blood poured from the wounds, staining the snow and flowing alongside the river. 

Before they could finish him, more blades sliced through the air— 

Daggers. Kerambits. Arrows.

Each one hit its mark with deadly precision. 

Two figures stood in the distance, their throws unerring, cutting down the mercenaries one by one. But Lucien's vision blurred, his body weakening from hunger and blood loss, and he couldn't see them clearly. 

The figures approached. 

And just as they reached him— 

Lucien's world faded into darkness