"Long live the Emperor!"

The soldiers shouted with pride as Emperor Zhao Li appeared, draped in a golden and white hanfu. The Capital of the Empire was alive with celebration, its streets adorned with decorations to welcome back the soldiers from yet another victorious war against the outer lands, which had threatened the territories of the Moon Emperor.

Zhao Li, the Emperor who had survived the deadliest illness of his time and become a living legend, stood tall, radiating a presence so powerful it felt as though the Sun itself was shining down on him, blessing him with the cheers of his people.

"Today, we celebrate another victory," his calm yet authoritative voice echoed from the grand balcony. His dark eyes fixated on a particular unit kneeling at the entrance of the palace. "You continue to uphold your legend, my special unit."

The soldiers remained stoic, as if performing a well-rehearsed routine. They stood, their heavy steel armor clanking as they unwrapped the braces on their arms and lifted the chainmail, proudly revealing deep scars.

For every successful raid, conquest, or battle, these elite warriors, under the direct command of the Emperor, would offer their blood, which was ceremonially gathered by the ancient mages who served him.

"The perfect unit," the Emperor remarked, his gaze filled with satisfaction as the soldiers drew their swords and cut their arms, allowing the mages to collect the blood. "You are truly the result of the Moon's blessing."

"Long live the Empire!"

The soldiers felt something every time they'd do that sort of ritual the Emperor imposed them when he closed the recruitment. It was something that would bring them ecstasy, happiness whenever they'd draw their swords in the name of their beloved Emperor.

It was something dark and light twisting deep in their souls they couldn't really control, or give an explanation. Maybe it was just their devotion to the Emperor, who was seen close as the Gods.

The soldiers felt something stir within them each time they performed the ritual their Emperor had imposed upon them after closing recruitment. It was a sensation that brought both ecstasy and joy whenever they drew their swords in the name of their beloved ruler. A strange, twisting feeling—both light and dark—rooted deep in their souls. They couldn't explain it, nor could they control it. Perhaps it was simply their devotion to the Emperor, who was revered as almost god-like...

"Whew! I'm going to drink everything in this tavern tonight—I don't want to think about anything!" the youngest member of the unit exclaimed cheerfully, causing his companions to chuckle and ruffle his hair in their usual teasing manner.

"Famir, you'd better not get drunk. Captain won't save you this time from the endless torment Daerion can dish out in just one night!" Sahon taunted with a grin.

"Shut up, Sahon! I don't need saving! Haven't you seen me protecting your backs from those goblins' arrows? Hah! I'm a true warrior—I'm going to be the most famous one from our village! Right, Arthur?" Famir slapped another soldier's arm, his eyes gleaming with confidence.

Arthur met his gaze, his green eyes twinkling with amusement as a smirk curled on his lips. "We were all chosen by the Great Emperor from the same village. Do you really think you can outshine the Captain's deeds?" The soldier grabbed the jade pendant hanging from the youngest unit's neck and pushed it to his lips, teasing him, making the others laugh a little.

"Yeah, right? The kid's always good for a laugh," Varan chimed in, smirking.

"Oh, shut up, Varan!" Famir muttered, his gaze shifting to their captain, who was quietly chuckling at the familiar teasing. Famir tilted his head. "Captain, did you notice this time we weren't even invited inside the Palace?"

The captain sighed softly, swirling the beer in his cup absentmindedly. "The Emperor's court has changed a lot during our absence. More ancient mages surround him now, and the Palace seems almost deserted," he replied with a shrug. "As long as he's protected, it's not our place to question why he keeps everyone out of his inner circle."

The others nodded, drinking deeply, content with the captain's calm response.

"Maybe he finally found his Empress?" Varan whispered, sparking a round of chuckles from the group.

"Let's not talk about such things—we have our little Youngie here, and he won't grow up if he hears about that!"

"It's Famir! I am NOT a child!" Famir protested, but the unit only laughed harder, enjoying their time together in the tavern.

Though he was smiling, the captain suddenly flinched as a strange ringing echoed in his ears. His scars, earned from countless battles, began to burn. He frowned and unwrapped his bandaged arm, revealing a network of old wounds—more numerous and severe than those of his comrades.

"Hm...?" For a brief moment, he noticed a faint blue light flickering around the scars, as though pure energy was pulsing through them. "What is this...?"

The rest of the unit glanced at him, bewildered. To them, the scars looked just as they always had.

"What are you talking about, Captain?" Daerion teased. "Are you seeing things? Already drunk, are we?"

The captain blinked, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. "Maybe I am... getting old. But I can still kick all your asses." He shot them a mock glare, causing the soldiers to erupt in laughter once again. The warm, familial atmosphere quickly returned.

The captain of the Moon's Unit was indeed a cheerful man, one who would have gladly sacrificed his life for his comrades—the only family he had left. Beneath his fearsome exterior and unmatched skill with a sword lay a gentle heart. It was this very prowess in battle that had caught the Emperor's attention, earning him the position of the first to lead the elite Moon's Unit.

He had been the first—personally chosen by the Emperor for special missions—a man who had become a legend.

Just... not the kind of legend people spoke of with admiration or glory...

"Ugh, how boring..."

A soft giggle echoed through a place that seemed to defy existence—a space where nothing came, nothing stayed, and yet, it somehow began to breathe with life. Some humans might call it Hell, Purgatory, or even Heaven, but it was none of those things. It was just a temple. A temple surrounded by nothing but golden strings, suspended in an endless void.

An entity lounged within the temple, its chin resting lazily in the palm of its hand, dark eyes locked on the fragile, shimmering threads that floated before it. These eyes were like vast, star-filled voids, as if the entity gazed out from the depths of pure space—stunning, mysterious, and deadly. With a light touch, its fingers danced across the golden strings, plucking at them like they were part of a cosmic music sheet, the melody known only to the entity.

"Out of all the stories... I wonder... I've always wondered..." Its voice was soft, thoughtful, as the stars within its eyes twinkled. "Who's the villain, and who's the hero, when the roles shift depending on whose story you're reading?" A smile curled on its lips as it wrapped a golden string around its finger. "Living beings... always making choices: to save someone, to ignore someone, to kill someone, to embrace someone." The entity sighed. "We're all villains, we're all heroes... it just depends on the angle you're looking from, hm?" It tilted its head amused.

The golden string continued to wrap itself around the entity's finger, coiling up to its wrist, then to its arm, eventually encircling its neck. The entity, dressed simply in a white hanfu, chuckled softly, unbothered by the string tightening around its throat.

"Well, well, well... how lively you are," it mused, rising gracefully from its zabuton cushion and gliding through the sea of floating threads, still humming its melancholy tune. "These creatures... so full of life." Another sigh followed, almost wistful, as golden light played upon its face. "I suppose it will start... in this universe... How tragic, how amusing...."

The golden strings shimmered brighter, responding to the entity's presence. That one string, in particular, tightened around its neck, pulling taut with a pulse of energy.

"Oh, you..." The entity laughed, its fingers lightly tracing the string as it smiled, eyes closing in quiet delight. "It's your time as well. You can't miss this train." With a gentle tug at the string, the energy pulsed once more, vibrating through the temple like the pluck of a celestial harp.

"My Herald..." the entity whispered, and the golden strings began to glow, their light expanding into an endless symphony of fate.

"Villains or heroes
All the stories come to an end
Let those cursed and blessed ones live their present as their past has been twisted too many times...
So has their future.
The only certain moment of one's life is the present.
Cheer for the instant you're living as you're the real God of your Universe just in that little frame of your lifetime.
The Author has been awakened.
Let the stage of this bittersweet comedy begin."

************

A crazy laugh was echoing in the dark forest. The sound was getting interrupted by the thunders aggressively roaring in the rainy night.

"Is that all?" the man with black hair tipped in red muttered as he wiped his blade clean on a corpse. He kicked the body aside, then fixed his fiery, glowing red eyes on the trembling men before him...

"W-who are you?" asked one of the men trying to keep the hold on his sword without trembling, but the smile and those eyes a bit covered by the wet hair of the swordsman were making it hard to do so.

The swordsman looked at the tent where the men were staying for the night, away from the village near the forest and noticed a little girl, who had her face covered and just a brown robe to cover her naked body. Her feet were full of cuts and that made the swordsman laugh even more.

"You're so disgusting I feel ashamed to make my sword taste your skin," he laughed "But I am glad I met you after all" he walked, letting his sword tracing a line with its blood on the ground "I have been asked to look for a little child for the village chief and to bring her home" he started laughing again as his free hand was keeping his own face

"What's... with this laugh?" one of the kidnappers said as he stepped back.

"I thought it was boring, I didn't expect that I had to deal with kidnappers" he smiled as he pointed the sword at them with a maniac smile "Please, let's play a little more"

"W-wait!" one out of the four men, stepped further "You're a mercenary, right? I can pay you double! It's about money, right?"

The swordsman tilted his head, keeping his blade aimed at the man, who gulped anxiously, as if the mere sight of him made it hard to breathe...

"Pay the double?" he asked, and the men nodded.

"We... We sell slaves most of the time, we do have a lot of money! More than that chief whose village is already in a poor state has!" The man smiled as he noticed the swordsman's stare being neutral after his speech.

"Pay double... and you think I'll just let you go?" he asked, running his blade across his free hand, drawing a small cut beneath the gaze of the men, who had no idea what kind of being stood before them.

"Yes! Yes!" the man said but, in a moment, he had in front of his eyes, the blade of the swordsman piercing his shoulder. The long black tailcoat of the swordsman was soaking wet, just like the owner, no matter how heavy the soaked clothes were, his movements were just so fast.

The men stepped back, and they could swear they saw the red garment under the tailcoat, the red tips of his hair and his eyes almost shining, emanating something that could truly resemble a malicious fire swallowing them down... The aura he was having around was almost making them feel under the influence of a spell that couldn't make them move.

"I never change clients during the contract I establish." he giggled amused "Did you think I was a pig like you?" he kept laughing and holding his head out of the burst of laughs he was having again. He was literally in a pure state of adrenaline and pleasure.

"D-DIE!" The men surrounded him and the swordsman elegantly dodged an attack, and in a slash, he made a man fall to the ground with his chest pierced with a strength that was inhuman.

The three men trembled as they noticed their companion fall to the ground, bleeding with the aggressive rain beating his body mercilessly.

"You will soon meet him."

The men shouted as they saw the swordsman jumping high, while holding his sword that looked like it was shining along with the eyes; the only thing those lost and unlucky souls could see in that dark night.

Two red eyes, a flaming blade, slashing them and ending their shouts and begging for their lives.

"You all should be glad, not everyone is blessed with death" he smiled as his foot touched the part of skin of a man who was still exhaling his last breath "I am Ayren," he pointed his sword to the throat of the man who was already dying "Thank you for the fun." he said before slashing again and again the same part of the body. He was almost getting a dark satisfaction from the blood spilling and dirtying his clothes.

He could hear someone crying. He gripped his sword and held himself from slashing the corpses once he noticed a little girl crying, terrified by what was happening even by just the sounds of it since she was blindfolded.

"I am not here to kill you," Ayren said as he crouched down in front of the little girl "I did get paid to bring you alive back to the village." he continued. He did untie the ribbons that were covering her mouth and eyes.

As soon as the little girl could see, she stopped trembling as she saw Ayren's red eyes, but then shouted as soon as she saw the corpses of the men shattered.

Ayren sighed annoyed as he stood up "Do you want to come back to your village? If you don't collaborate, I will bring you back dead, telling them I came too late. I will get my payment anyway." he smiled as he pointed the sword at the little girl.

The little girl stood up and kept crying as probably the cuts on her feet at the contact with the soaked ground wasn't doing any good.

Ayren glanced at her, and then he began walking. "Follow me, and don't try to run." There was no response—probably because the little girl was even more terrified now than when she was with the kidnappers.

After an hour of walking through the rain, Ayren and the girl finally reached the village. One of the guards, a simple man sitting under a small wooden shelter with a torch, spotted the demon-like figure and the little girl beside him. Immediately, he rang the bell.

The village chief came running, followed by the other poor villagers. "Meredith!" the chief cried when he saw his daughter standing rigid like a statue beside the swordsman. But the moment she saw her father, she burst into tears, louder than ever, and ran to throw herself into his arms.

"Oh, my... thank you, thank you!" the chief wept, looking gratefully at the swordsman, who stood there with his arms crossed.

"The chief must have been desperate to ask for that swordsman's help," one of the villagers whispered.

"They say he's a demon in disguise..."

Ayren's cold, apathetic gaze swept over the villagers, silencing them in awe."Where's my payment?" he asked the chief, who was still clutching his daughter.

"Oh, of course, of course," the chief replied hurriedly, turning to a young man, likely the girl's older brother. The young man clenched his jaw, pulled out a pouch of silver coins, and tossed it onto the muddy ground. Ayren's red eyes fixed on the pouch, then shifted to the young man who had thrown it.

"Why did you do that, Leo?!" the chief shouted, panic in his voice as the other villagers recoiled, fearing Ayren's reaction.

"Why did YOU do this, father?!" Leo retorted angrily. "We're already struggling, barely able to feed our families, and you paid this swordsman an outrageous amount for a simple rescue!"

Ayren chuckled, drawing everyone's attention. "Then why didn't you do it yourself?" he asked, his hand casually resting on the hilt of his sword, making the little girl cry again.

"No, daddy! He killed all the men in that camp! Please, don't let him kill this one too!" she sobbed, and the villagers trembled.

"He wiped out an entire camp of soldiers by himself?" one villager whispered in disbelief, while others scrambled to retrieve the coins scattered on the ground.

"Please, don't kill us" begged a woman as she held, with her trembling hands, the pouch of silvers.

Ayren took the pouch of silver, casting a brief glance at the village chief. Without a word, he turned and began walking away, his back to them as the relentless rain soaked him. The villagers felt a renewed sense of fear when his figure suddenly halted, standing still under the pouring storm.

"The camp was full of slave merchants and soldiers... There are probably some treasures and resources if you are really that desperate to survive," he turned with an amused smile, like he was challenging them "But don't get heart attacks from my sword art masterpiece made with those pigs' blood."

The chief tried not to tremble as he walked closer to the swordsman who turned completely, to look at the old man, who looked at him and smiled.

"Thank you for your kindness, swordsman, but our situation is due to the commerce row controls... There's something the Emperor's guards have been guarding since the previous Emperor's era... The guards do not make us pass unless we pay them a..."

"I don't care. It's your problem, unless you want me to pay to get rid of them." he cut him off.

"I won't," the man looked at Ayren, who looked confused. "You're a mercenary, you look for treasure and fights to live... What I am saying is... The soldiers guard the entrance of something that it's said to be a sanctuary where the previous Emperor made his secret treasure room."

Ayren crossed his arms as he felt interested by the story. "Nobody knows why, but the Emperor died and he left a scroll where it was told to always guard that entrance for the next centuries, like a sort of holy duty of every Emperor, even though the actual Emperor probably doesn't even care since we have never seen him getting there to check."

"What does it make you think then... That there are treasures in those ruins?" Ayren asked and the old man coughed for a moment and looked into the red eyes of the swordsman.

"Everyone has eyes but not all can use them. If the Emperor wrote in his will to have guards there forever, there has to be a reason, don't you think?"

"The previous Emperor was a fool and most of the people and soldiers thought he was cursed and lost his mind." Ayren said as he closed his hands into fist.

The old man looked at Ayren and closed his eyes for a moment.

"I just wanted to repay your kindness for the camp with another possible quest for you as... As a mercenary you don't really have anywhere to go, I get you will do as you wish anyway-" he bowed and looked at Ayren, who wasn't even looking at him anymore "Thank you, farewell."

Ayren kept his gaze fixed on the dark sky, where the moon was hidden behind a thick veil of clouds.

"Treasure, huh?" he muttered with a wicked smile. "Well, if they won't let me check it out, I might as well have a little fun with the guards." His red eyes flicked down to his bandaged arm.

Though he no longer needed the bandages—his curse ensured he healed faster than most—he kept them as a reminder. A faint, desperate attempt to cling to some belief that he was still human, that he hadn't become a complete monster.

It was his way of preserving the memory of a manwho had died long ago, leaving behind nothing but a soulless body, wanderingendlessly, seeking an end that would reunite him with his family. Until then,he left chaos and blood in his wake, trying in vain to quench the insatiablehunger for revenge over something he knew he could never attain...