As Shin moved through the manor, searching for his target, that strange sensation gnawed at him again. It was stronger this time, closer, pressing against the edges of his awareness like an unseen force guiding him.
His instincts screamed at him to follow it. His steps quickened, carrying him deeper into the manor toward the main servants' quarters.
He halted for a brief moment, lifting his gaze to the night sky through a shattered window. The moon loomed above, pale and watchful.
Taking a steady breath, he reached for his orb, the familiar weight of it resting in his palm.
"Silver goddess above, bear witness to the justice I deliver this night. Guide my blade so that it strikes true. Let the wicked find no shelter beneath your light."
As he whispered the words, the orb shimmered, pulsating with a soft glow before elongating into his katana, Yoshimatsu. The polished steel gleamed under the moonlight, as if eager for battle.
Gripping the hilt tightly, Shin moved forward, prepared for whatever lay ahead. The chaos around him triggered an old memory, a moment carved into his soul.
A past raid, long ago, in his homeland. The crackling of burning wood. The scent of scorched earth. The cries of the dying.
He had led a small band of warriors into an enemy camp under the cover of darkness. Silent as ghosts, they moved through the tents, striking down sentries before an alarm could be raised.
He recalled the weight of his blade as it cleaved through armor, the resistance of flesh and bone. The look in his enemies' eyes—fear, confusion, disbelief.
That night, he had learned a painful truth. No matter how righteous the cause, death was still death.
And those who died rarely saw themselves as villains. A guard's scream yanked him back to the present.
Servants attempting to flee were seized by guards, their terrified wails piercing through the madness. Without hesitation, Shin cut them down, his blade moving with ruthless efficiency as it glowed red into the night.
Blood painted the floors as bodies crumpled, their cries of pain drowned beneath the distant clamor of the rebellion. A guard, realizing the futility of fighting Shin directly, grabbed a frail servant and pressed a dagger to her throat.
"Stay back!" he barked, his voice shaking. "You think you're a hero? Then act like one! Let me go, or she dies."
Shin's expression didn't waver. His grip on his sword remained steady as he took a slow step forward.
"You're already dead. You just don't know it yet." The words echoed in his mind, overlapping with a memory of the past.
A different enemy, a different hostage. A boy, barely older than Shin himself at the time, clutching a wounded friend while holding a rusted sword with trembling hands.
"You kill me, and it won't change anything!" the boy had spat. Shin had struck him down anyway.
Now, just as then, hesitation had no place in battle. He moved.
In a flash, his blade sliced through the guard's forearm, severing muscle and bone in one precise stroke. The man howled, his grip loosening just enough for the servant to stumble away.
Without hesitation, Shin drove his sword into the guard's chest, silencing him instantly. With a controlled breath, Shin flicked his wrist.
The blood clinging to Yoshimatsu sprayed through the air in a mesmerizing arc, vanishing into the shadows as if the blade itself rejected the impurity. In a seamless motion, he turned the sword, guiding it back into its sheath with practiced grace.
The metallic whisper of the blade locking into place was the only sound that followed, a chilling contrast to the chaos around him. The rescued servant fell to her knees, gasping for breath, staring at Shin in disbelief.
The captives, moments from being dragged back into submission, now looked at him in shock and awe. "You have two choices," he told them.
"Fight and take back what is yours, or flee to the town. Spread the rumor that an unknown force has attacked the Lichtensteins. Let their enemies know what has happened here." Some chose vengeance, gripping weapons and armor looted from the fallen guards.
Others ran, disappearing into the shadows, their footsteps lost in the ever-growing uproar of battle. "Rendezvous at the main guardhouse. Salene will lead you from there," Shin instructed.
The rebels nodded, knowing who she was, and hurried off, leaving him to continue his search. He moved through the servants' quarters, throwing open doors one by one.
Fear clung to the air, thick and suffocating. Many of the occupants cowered in the corners of their rooms, eyes wide with terror.
"The guards are dead," Shin assured them. "You are free. But you must choose. Fight or flee."
Some hesitated, then nodded, emboldened by his words. They took up arms and followed the path he had marked for escape.
Others, still paralyzed by fear, could do nothing but watch as their fate slipped through their fingers. Finally, he reached the last door.
He froze. The feeling was stronger than ever, an undeniable force thrumming beneath his skin.
His heart pounded. His subconscious screamed at him. Something was behind this door. Something important.
Something he had been searching for without even knowing it. For a moment, he hesitated. His fingers curled into a fist.
He took a slow, steadying breath. The sounds of distant battle pressed against the walls, the echoes of conflict growing louder.
The manor had become a warzone, but here, at this threshold, the world seemed to hold its breath. Another memory surfaced, one of the last doors he had opened in that distant raid.
A general's chamber. The man had been waiting for him, seated, drinking tea, resigned to his fate. "Tell me, boy, do you even know why you fight? Or are you just a blade seeking a hand to wield it?"
Shin had not answered. He had simply done what he came to do. As the deed was done, his katana shimmered and began to shift, morphing back into the smooth, gleaming orb.
With an almost sentient grace, it floated toward him before tucking itself into his pocket, nestling in place like a loyal hound returning to its den. "Alright. You can do this."
His hand wrapped around the handle, but for the first time in years, doubt clawed at the edges of his mind. A foreign, unwelcome feeling.
Fate had never guided his path before. He had carved it himself, through steel and blood. Yet now, as he stood before this door, something deep within whispered that this moment was different.
Memories of the past clashed with the present. He had stormed through enemy strongholds before, cutting down warlords, mercenaries, and traitors alike.
But never had he felt this... pull. It was as if unseen hands were threading his fate together with whoever lay beyond this door. His breath was steady, but his heartbeat thundered in his chest.
Had he been led here, or had he chosen this path all along? With one final exhale, he tightened his grip and pushed the door open.
Beyond it lay something that would change everything. In the dim light, his keen eyes caught a flicker of movement, a pair of amber eyes glowing softly in the darkness.
His breath hitched for the briefest moment. There was something about those eyes, something that resonated deep within him. In that instant, he knew their fates had intertwined.