Chapter 5

The wolf lays motionless at my feet, its form eerily against the forest floor. Had I really just taken a life? But was it truly a life in the first place? That was no ordinary wolf. Its appearance was shadowy and abnormal, as though it had been conjured from the darkest corners of a nightmare.

When I stabbed it, black goo flowed out instead of red blood, thick and viscous like tar. It seemed more akin to a shadowy puppet driven by an insatiable rage rather than just a living creature.

I push the thoughts away and force myself to scan the surroundings. The trees loom under cold moonlight. In the distance, villagers’ screams echo as they try to flee from whatever is hunting them. Smoke drifts across the pale sky, and the mist thickens to the point where I can scarcely discern anything a few feet in front of me.

The boy, where had he disappeared to? Damn it, what should I do? Should I chase after him? I can’t; I barely survived this whole ordeal, and whatever strength I have left, barely keeps me upright, forget having enough energy to move.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. My eyes flick to the house where I slept last night. If he was smart, that’s where he went… I pray he was. My stomach twists with guilt. No matter what, at least I tried, at least his end isn’t set in stone. I inhale shakily, still gripping the bloodied knife, my fingers refusing to unclench.

A faint whimper cuts through the chaos. I turn sharply toward the sound and see Leron. He stood nearby, panting, his axe buried in the mangled neck of another shadowy wolf before dissolving away into the night. Blood streaked his face, glowing dark under the moonlight. Relief floods me, at least he’s alive. But a ripple of movement behind him steals my breath. A familiar shape glides across the ground, darker than the shadows, rippling similarly to spilled ink, coalescing into the figure I wanted to avoid the most.

The Shadow Reaper.

The same towering figure, cloaked in folds of pitch-black fabric that seemed to swallow all light, came to my view, its hood hanging low where a face should be, but instead offering only an endless void. With no eyes and mouth to be seen, it was as if I was staring into the mouth of a collapsing star. Its silhouette wavered at the edges, not quite solid, as if it were stitched together from dark smoke.

I knew that nightmare very well, the same suffocating presence that appeared in the dream that warned me all about this. That same paralyzing dread, the creature that I stabbed endlessly only to find out I did nothing to it, and in the end before I realized, my life had been taken by its hand. Literally. Seeing it again, now that I knew what was capable of, heading towards Leron with the intent of kill, made me feel nothing but despair.

“Leron!” I try to shout, but nothing comes out as I try to move towards him. Pain erupts through every nerve in my body and I collapse to my knees, gasping, utterly locked in place from the anguish. My limbs refuse to move, not out of hesitation, but because they’re simply unable to. It's as if my throat is sealed shout, something invisible lodged deep inside, choking the scream before it can rise. I shriek inside my head, desperate to warn him. I do not know if it's due to my injuries that I suddenly collapsed, or the ancient primal fear I've never felt until now.

Leron's gaze locks onto mine, confusion flickering into concern as he watches me collapse. Without a second thought, he instinctively moves towards me, oblivious to the silent predator creeping up behind him.

No, you idiot. Look behind you!

The dark figure looms over Leron, his hand raising a sharp, deadly shadowy blade. Time seems to slow down as I battle to move, any movement, any intervention that might stop this unfolding tragedy that's about to take before my very eyes. I writhe in agony and muster all the strength I have left, yet my useless weak body doesn't move an inch.

Please anyone, help me. Help him.

Yet in the end no one comes. Powerless, I watch as Leron's eyes finally flick toward the threat, just a heartbeat too late.

The blade descends, in slow, agonizing moments, I see it the way it cleanly slices through Leron's neck, as if I was watching a hot knife cut through smooth butter. Blood bursts all over the place... and across my face, as his head separates, and his lifeless body crumples to the ground. Moments later, so does his head with a dull, final thud. Nausea seizes me, I feel as if I might vomit from the shock and despair.

Terror overtakes me.

I'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadie

Time stops. Then I realize Leron is dead.

IwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodie

The person who first found me when I first awoke in this strange world. The same one who, despite our language barrier, offered me his dried jerky without hesitation and carefully checked for any injuries. Despite me clearly being intimidated, he still tried his best to appear harmless and even guided me through the vast forest, knowing full well the danger a stranger could bring. The one who shielded me from the villagers' wary, nosy stares.

HesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdead

Leron.

BecauseofmeBecauseofmeBecauseofmeBecauseofmeBecauseofmeBecauseofmeBecauseofmeBecauseofmeBecauseofmeBecauseofmeBecauseofmeBecauseofmeBecauseofmeBecauseofme

The one who defended me when the angry scary man tried to drag me out. He gave me a bed, a safe place to breathe. He could’ve abandoned me, he really should’ve. But against all reason, he didn’t.

HesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdeadHesdead

He showed me nothing but undeserved kindness.

LeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeronLeron

And now he was dead.

Something inside my skull cracked open, no more like ruptured, as if my own thoughts were devouring me whole. A high-pitched ringing in my ears accompanied the awful migraine, drowning out the whole word.

Because of me.

Because I chased after that wolf like an idiot, thinking I was the protagonist. Because I thought a kitchen knife would be enough to stand against whatever monster was out there. Because I was too slow, too weak, too ordinary to protect anyone, despite me knowing full well what was about to happen.

IshouldjustIshouldjustIshouldjustIshouldjustIshouldjustIshouldjustIshouldjustIshouldjustIshouldjustIshouldjustIshouldjust

If only he’d stumbled upon someone else at that time, someone worthy, an actual main character. One of those overpowered ones, who show up in stories like these that could’ve actually save him.

Die.

That should’ve been the end. His end.

But it wasn’t.

Because I blink and I'm suddenly taken back to the moment where the blade should’ve struck. A blinding flash streaks past me, scattering wind and leaves in its wake, splitting the darkness open. In a single blink, the figure’s shadowy arm was severed, the shadowy blade dissolving into smoke. The thing howled, stumbling backward, then vanished into the gloom, only to reappear several meters away in a silent blink, slipping through space itself.

I opened my eyes, gasping, certain I was hallucinating, only to see Leron still standing, still alive and beside him stood a man I had never seen before.

He stood at the edge of the battlefield, eyes still on the target, unfazed like he didn't just cut its limb. His tattered hakama clung to a body built not for grace but for relentless violence, broad-shouldered, thick-armed. Dark, just shy of shoulder-length hair framed a stern looking worn with scars face. One eye, half-shadowed, glinted pure hatred, while the other seemed lost in a thought that never quite left.

The sword at his side was no polished relic either. Its sheath cracked, the wrappings lose, the handle clearly worn by years of use. Yet there was also something strange about the sword itself, it seemed to illuminate some kind of white aura around it, that clearly did some damage to the shadowy man. If I had to guess, he would be the type of character that lets his sword do the talking, no grand speeches or fancy techniques either, just raw, relentless skill forget through countless hours of brutal training.

He glanced at Leron —still frozen, wide-eyed from the chaos that had just unfolded— then turned his focus back to the shadowy man. He said something low and short in their language, voice flat. I might've not understood the language but even I could tell the situation was extremely dangerous and dire. Then, he shifted his stance into a more appropriate one, clearly getting ready to face the common enemy in front of us.

The Shadow Reaper conjured a fresh limb from swirling blackness, darkness knitting bone and flesh in an instant. As if that weren’t enough, shadows clones bloomed from beneath his cloak, each one launching towards the swordsman. Then he was gone, the real one, vanishing into the mist and darkness, only to reappear behind the swordsman with his blade mid-swing.

But the swordsman was faster.

Without so much as a grunt, he sidestepped the slash and struck. In the blink of an eye, two shadow clones were cut down, reduced to nothingness. It all happened too fast for me to follow. One moment they were there, the next gone. My eyes couldn’t keep up. The mist only made it worse, curling around them, turning every movement into a blur of motion and silhouettes. I could only perceive the occasional light that the sword emitted, whenever it would make contact at whatever it was slashing.

I tried to keep watching, but my vision was starting to pulse. The ringing although briefly stopped, I could feel it slowly come back. Crap. My head throbbed with every heartbeat, my chest felt heavy like something massive sat on it. My knees buckled before I even realized I was falling. The ground rushed up. Leron shouted something, probably directed at me, but it felt like it came from underwater.

The last thing I saw was the swordsman slashing through the mist like it was paper and the Shadow Reaper stumbling back. Good, it seemed like he was winning.

Then, once again, the familiar darkness.

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Leron dropped beside the fallen boy, turning him onto his back. Blood clung to his shirt, smeared along his side and down his arm. His breathing was shallow, his pulse faint.

Leron pressed two fingers gently to the boy’s neck, muttered something under his breath, then clenched his jaw.

“A pulse…” he whispered. “Barely.”

The swordsman didn’t look back. His blade gleamed faintly in the mist, held in a loose, precise grip. Eyes sharp. Focused. The shadow across from him stirred again.

“Go,” the swordsman said, voice flat and steady.

Leron hesitated for a moment, but only a moment. Then he nodded, swung the boy with ease over his shoulder, and turned, breaking into a run toward the village, still burning, still under siege. Somewhere, someone had to be able to stop the bleeding. He didn’t look back.

The mist shifted.

The Shadow Reaper’s voice oozed through the mist, layered and hollow,

“█ ... frag...ment.”

The swordsman’s stance didn’t change.

He didn’t answer with words.

He moved blade raised, as he charged, silent and swift.