**Darkness… darkness… darkness…**

What is happening here…?

Hmm…

Drowning in absolute darkness, I can hear the faint ringing of clashing swords.

I don’t know what’s happening or who the person wielding those swords is.

When I open my eyes, I find myself standing, gripping a bloodstained sword in my hand—as if I’ve been fighting. But how? How could I have been in battle when I remember nothing of it? And more importantly, who am I even fighting?

Before me stands a figure. I instinctively recognize him as my enemy.

But something is wrong…

I can’t see his face clearly.

It’s as if his features have been completely erased, leaving behind a blurred, distorted visage.

He is right in front of me, and yet, his face remains shrouded in an unnatural fog.

Even so, I feel nothing toward him.

Indifference.

Gradually, my hearing returns.

At first, everything is muffled, distant—like echoes from a dream.

Then, little by little, the sounds sharpen, and I hear it.

The chanting.

A roar of voices from all around me—voices I hadn’t even noticed before.

It’s as if they’ve been here all along, yet I only now realize their presence.

It must be like this for someone waking from unconsciousness, disoriented and unaware of their surroundings.

The voices grow clearer.

*"Do it…!"*

*"Finish him off!"*

*"End this, now!"*

I don’t know who they’re cheering for, which side they stand on.

To my right, I see a young boy clenching his fists.

*"You must defeat him! You are our only hope!"*

To my left, an elderly man watches me intently.

*"You are our savior. We have suffered for years under his tyranny!"*

Then, another voice rises from the crowd—a man calling out to me.

*"You are a miracle, boy. The hero of this land!"*

A… miracle?

What nonsense are they speaking?

They speak to me as if I am their champion, and they speak of the man before me as if he is the enemy.

All of them—every single one of them—is on my side.

Suddenly, the enemy before me raises his sword.

He’s coming for me.

I instinctively move into a defensive stance.

When his blade comes crashing down, I parry without thinking, my movements swift and precise.

How…?

How do I know how to fight like this?

I don’t recall ever learning these techniques, yet my body moves on its own.

The battle is fierce.

Blades clash, sparks fly.

Strike, parry, counter.

I fight, but it feels as though I am merely a vessel—my subconscious guiding my every move.

I am fast.

Skilled.

To an observer, the duel would seem nothing short of extraordinary, every clash reverberating with sheer force.

Then, amidst the chaos, I hear a voice behind me.

*"This is it… He will end this nightmare!"*

Another voice follows.

*"That monster has slaughtered, tormented, and spilled innocent blood for years! Today is the day of justice!"*

Their words weigh on me.

This man… the one I am fighting… he must have done something truly terrible to these people.

Then, a child’s voice pierces through the commotion.

A girl.

Unlike the others, her voice does not carry anger or vengeance.

It carries sorrow.

Her words are quiet, yet they thunder in my ears.

*"He killed my mother… and he… he violated her corpse."*

The world stops.

The weight of her words crashes down upon me like an avalanche.

*"He did the same to my siblings… to my entire family."*

A chill grips my spine.

*"My father didn’t escape either…"* she continues, her voice trembling.

Tears fall from her eyes.

*"He burned my father alive… then fed his body to wild dogs."*

I feel the air leave my lungs.

What kind of monster—

No… this cannot be human.

This is… pure evil.

*"Damn it…"*

*"Damn it all…!"*

*"DAMN YOU!!"*

Now I understand.

Now I know why I am here.

Why I must fight.

This man is not just an enemy.

He is a criminal, a butcher.

A beast that must be put down.

I tighten my grip on my sword.

Fury ignites within me.

The people’s desperation, their cries for vengeance—I finally understand it.

I finally know my purpose.

To rid this world of him.

I charge forward.

My strikes grow stronger, faster, sharper.

I am no longer fighting.

I am executing judgment.

Every strike I land weakens him.

Every clash of steel shatters his defenses.

Now he is nothing but a pathetic wretch before me.

A ragdoll in my hands.

I will make him suffer.

He will know true pain.

He will understand what it means to be powerless.

I will end this.

With one final, devastating blow, I send him flying across the battlefield.

He crashes into the ground, coughing, bleeding—his body barely able to move.

*"Do you feel that?"* I sneer, stepping toward him.

*"Do you feel what it's like to be powerless?"*

He tries to rise.

Fails.

Tries again.

Fails again.

Finally, he slumps to his knees.

His head bows, his body broken.

This is it.

This is the moment.

I raise my sword high above him, ready to deliver the final strike.

The people around me cheer in anticipation.

This nightmare is about to end.

Victory is mine.

And then—

Then, I feel it.

A sharp, searing pain.

My body freezes.

I look down.

Blood.

Not his.

Mine.

A sword—his sword—piercing my abdomen.

How…?

How did he strike first?

How did he move before me?

I was supposed to be faster.

I was supposed to be first.

I stagger, my vision blurring.

The world spins.

Then, I hear it—

A sound that sends a chill through my bones.

Laughter.

A low, sinister chuckle.

Not from the crowd.

Not from the heavens.

From him.

For the first time, his face is clear.

And in that moment, the battlefield falls silent.

Then, in a voice laced with eerie amusement, he speaks:

*"Oh, my dear boy…"*

*"You are the victor here."*

What…?

I am… the victor?

Darkness creeps into my vision.

The world tilts.

And before I can comprehend his words—

I collapse.