Time stood still.Night loomed over the world, dark and thick like the blood spilled into a silent abyss. Fog blanketed the clearings, paths, and slopes, devouring every whisper, every cry. But in this noiseless world, at its darkest core, a storm was already brewing.
Yeon Woo stood at the edge of the forest, eyes fixed on the camp sprawling at the base of a rocky ledge. Where lazy campfires had smoldered an hour ago, now order reigned: armored sentries, doubled patrols, mercenaries clustering by tents with drawn bows and spears at the ready. The Hydra Clan wasn't about to underestimate the threat. They knew: their target was no ordinary fugitive.
But did they know that the hunter was already in their shadows?
Yeon Woo dropped to one knee, fingers sifting through dark stones in his palm. The binding threads he had seen earlier stretched from each of them to every living being in the camp — captains, sentries, leaders. An invisible web, taut and singing at the slightest movement. He could feel their breath. Their fear. Their arrogance.
And every mistake they made.
He returned the stones to a cloth pouch, leaving only one in his hand — black, cracked with glowing red veins. It pulsed with the rhythm of his heartbeat.The time had come.
He moved forward, gliding between trees, skirting open spaces, hiding in the folds of the land. He carried no heavy sword or long spear. Only a short dagger — and resolve. Every motion was precise, every breath measured. Yeon Woo was no hero. He was no warrior of honor.He was someone who survived — at any cost.
The first to fall was a sentry on the western edge of the camp.A soft gasp — and nothing more. No sound. No cry.The shadows took him.
Then the second.And the third.
Yeon Woo didn't fight in the open. He unraveled the formation. He shattered their rhythm. He made them twitch, squint into the dark, glance away from each other. He sowed seeds of doubt in their hearts.
By the time one of the captains realized his men were missing, it was already too late.Five were gone without a trace.And though the camp snapped to motion, panic could not be quelled.The warriors whispered among themselves.Some kept hands on their sword hilts even while sitting by the fires.A few shot arrows into the dark at the slightest noise.
Yeon Woo watched.
He waited.
And when the clan's forces split up, sending patrols to sweep the forest—
He struck.
Right into the heart of the camp.
His blade flashed, slitting the throat of a captain standing over a map in a tent.Guards burst in at the noise, but found only a torn tent flap and blood stains leading to the forest.Beyond that — nothing.
A scream rang out, echoing off the cliffs.
The chase began.
Yeon Woo dashed through the undergrowth, each step tearing into the earth like claws. The pursuit was furious but disorganized. Mercenaries shouted to each other, veered off course, fired blindly into the shadows. Yeon Woo lured them farther from camp, deep into the wildest part of the forest — where the ground was slick, the trees gnarled, and the branches clawed at clothes like ghostly fingers.
There, he waited for them.
The first trap snapped shut when a five-man group stumbled into a clearing rigged with fine threads stretched between trees.Tiny stones with magical seals exploded the moment they brushed a boot — blinding flashes and thunderous noise ripped through the air.Dazed, deafened, confused — they were easy prey.
Yeon Woo was merciless.No mercy.No words.Only strikes.
By the time the others realized what had happened, they were already half a dozen fighters short.
But this—This was only the first blood.
Yeon Woo kept drawing them out, forcing their leaders to divide further, whispering promises of escape, planting rustles that hinted at danger where none existed.And every time they thought they had him cornered, the trap sprang shut.
By dawn, the Hydra Clan's camp had ceased to exist as an organized force.
Among smoldering fires lay bodies — some with slit throats, others with broken necks.The survivors cowered in tents, trembling in fear, while their leaders argued about who was to blame.
And Yeon Woo stood atop a cliff, gazing down upon the harvest of his work.
This was only the first battle.
He knew: a war would follow.
The clan would not forgive.They would send their best.And then — blood would flow in rivers.
But Yeon Woo was ready.
He was beyond their reach.
A shadow.A blade.Death.
He turned, slipping the cracked stone into his pocket, and stepped into the gray, chill dawn.
And beyond, somewhere over the horizon,a new wind was howling.
The wind of change.