Every person in Yunara stared at the mark on his forehead.
Some had heard whispers.
Old stories passed down in fear.
But no one—
Had ever seen it on a living man.
One of the soldiers lay dead in the dirt.
His head separated cleanly from his body.
A warrior who had trained his entire life—
Ended in a single instant.
The remaining two soldiers froze.
Their minds struggled to understand what they had just witnessed.
One second—
Everything was normal.
The next—
Death.
"Damn you—!"
One of them shouted, rage breaking through fear.
He charged forward.
Katana raised high.
Raikaro inhaled slowly.
One breath.
Calm.
Steady.
Then—
Steel moved.
A flash.
Too fast.
Too clean.
The soldier's hands fell to the ground.
No one saw the strike.
No one saw the motion.
Only the result.
A scream tore through the street.
The soldier dropped to his knees, staring at the empty space where his hands had been. Blood poured endlessly, staining the dirt beneath him.
Shock.
Pain.
Disbelief.
Raikaro stepped forward.
No hesitation.
No emotion.
His blade pierced through the soldier's throat.
Clean.
Final.
Silence swallowed the street.
The last soldier trembled.
His katana slipped from his fingers, clattering uselessly against the ground.
He stepped back.
Once.
Twice.
Then turned—
And ran.
No one tried to stop him.
No one moved at all.
The street had changed.
Moments ago, it was noise, movement, survival.
Now—
Only fear remained.
Suddenly—
Voices echoed from the far end of the road.
Loud.
Urgent.
Boots pounded against stone.
More soldiers.
Dozens.
They flooded into the street in formation.
Among them—
Elite guards.
Their faces hidden behind carved masks, emotionless and cold.
Their presence alone shifted the air.
These were not ordinary men.
Raikaro noticed.
Of course he did.
But his expression didn't change.
Instead—
He turned.
Not toward the soldiers.
But toward the boy.
The child still stood frozen beside the stall.
Eyes wide.
Body shaking.
As if his mind hadn't caught up to what had happened.
Raikaro walked toward him.
Slowly.
Calmly.
The boy flinched slightly as he approached.
Not out of fear of Raikaro—
But from everything else.
Raikaro stopped in front of him.
For a brief second, he looked at the child.
Then—
He placed his hand gently on the boy's head.
A simple gesture.
Quiet.
Unexpected.
The boy froze again.
But this time—
Not from fear.
Raikaro pressed a few coins into his palm.
Enough.
More than enough.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Small.
Barely there.
Gone just as quickly.
Then—
He stepped back.
And disappeared.
No sound.
No movement.
No trace.
One moment he stood there—
The next—
Nothing.
The soldiers arrived seconds later.
Weapons ready.
Eyes scanning.
But all they found—
Was blood.
Bodies.
And silence.
The sun dipped below the horizon.
Shadows stretched across Yunara.
One by one—
Doors closed.
Windows shut.
Voices faded.
The city had seen something it could not understand.
Something it could not forget.
That day—
There was only one topic in Yunara.
The mark.
⸻
Inside a small, dimly lit house at the edge of the city—
A child sat beside his grandfather.
A single candle flickered between them.
"Grandfather…" the boy asked quietly, "who was that man?"
A pause.
"…Why are people afraid of the mark?"
The old man didn't answer immediately.
His gaze remained fixed on the flame.
Then—
He took a slow breath.
"Four hundred years ago," he began, "long before Yunara existed…"
"There was a clan."
The candlelight trembled.
"They ruled more than half the known world."
"Their warriors were unmatched."
"Their blades decided the fate of kingdoms."
The boy leaned forward slightly.
Listening.
"But then…"
The old man's voice lowered.
"A demon rose."
Silence filled the room.
"The greatest battle mankind has ever seen began."
"Cities burned."
"Lands shattered."
"Entire armies disappeared overnight."
The boy swallowed.
"In the end…"
The old man's eyes darkened slightly.
"The demon destroyed the clan."
"Every last one of them."
A long pause.
"Because…"
"They were the only ones who could stand against him."
The boy's voice trembled.
"…Did no one survive?"
The old man looked toward the window.
Darkness pressed against the glass.
"Some say…"
"…a few did."
"Hidden."
"Waiting."
Another pause.
"And now that the demon is dead…"
"…perhaps the last of them has returned."
The boy hesitated.
Then asked—
"…What was the clan's name?"
The candle flickered once more.
"The Ra Clan."
⸻
Night fully claimed Yunara.
Darkness settled over every street.
In a quiet, abandoned corner far from the main roads—
Raikaro sat alone.
No noise.
No movement.
No presence.
Just wind brushing lightly against stone.
His eyes were closed.
Still.
Calm.
For the first time that day—
There was peace.
Then—
A shift.
Barely noticeable.
But enough.
Steel whispered through the darkness.
Fast.
Precise.
A katana shot toward his throat.
To be continued…