The temple was drowned in silence, broken only by the drip of blood from the slain bodies earlier. The air was heavy, the stench of iron thick enough to choke.
U Tun Hla finally moved. His hand trembled slightly as he reached into his pack, drawing out a single gold coin. He held it with both hands, offering it to Soe Gyi as if he were presenting an offering to a god.
"My life, my coin," he said, bowing low.
Soe Gyi's cold eyes flickered. He gave a small nod. "Good choice."
The other three martial artists exchanged nervous glances before fumbling into their bags.
One after another, three more gold coins clinked into Soe Gyi's hand. Their shoulders sagged with relief, though their eyes still darted toward the bloodstains on the ground.
But the rest—six men—remained stiff, unmoving. Their faces were pale, yet none of them reached for their packs. The silence thickened like smoke.
At that moment, Thurain's voice cracked through the air, desperate yet prideful.
"The one who gave you this mission—it was my brother, wasn't it? You must know him. He's the richest man in Golden Ox Town."
He straightened his spine, his noble arrogance flickering even through fear.
"Any of you who serve me—who take my burden—will not suffer. When we return, my brother will reward you with five gold coins each."
" And.... he will take you into our mansion. You will live as guards, with high salary and security."
His words hung in the air like bait thrown into a starving pond. But instead of hunger, it provoked rage.
The unmoving martial artists burst into bitter laughter. Their voices cracked, hoarse with both anger and despair.
"Five gold coins?"
one spat. "What do you think we are, brat? Dumb cattle to sell ourselves for your bones?"
Another slammed his fist against the wall, eyes blazing.
"We came here with hope for gold, but we did not come to crawl as your servants!"
A third man stepped forward, veins bulging on his neck.
"You insult us. Even one arm for our own lives is already a price too cruel. And you want us to pay with our remaining arm for your useless hide? What would we be then? A stick? A worm crawling in the dirt?"
The others growled in agreement, their voices rising into a chorus of scorn.
"You may be rich. Your brother may drown in gold. But don't spit on our pride!"
Thurain's face twisted in humiliation, his lips trembling. He tried to speak again, but no one listened.
Their glares turned away from him and fixed back upon Soe Gyi.
Finally, one man took a step forward, drawing his blade. His voice shook, but his resolve did not.
"We will pay the price. Our arms… for our lives."
Without waiting, he pressed the blade against his shoulder and with a grunt, cut deep.
His scream tore through the chamber, but he did not stop until the arm hit the ground.
One by one, the others followed. Some gritted their teeth until they bled from their mouths. Some howled like beasts in pain. But all obeyed.
The men dropped to their knees, pale as ghosts, their breaths ragged. "We… have paid. Can we leave now?"
Soe Gyi's expression did not change. His cold eyes swept over the bloody scene like winter over a graveyard.
Before Soe Gyi could speak, Thurain suddenly screamed, his voice cracking with despair.
"You martial artists are animals!"
he shouted, his eyes burning with rage. "You took my brother's money, but when I needed you—you did nothing! You call yourselves martial artists?"
" Liars! You take gold first, but never act. You have no dignity, no honor—nothing!"
The martial artists froze. None of them answered. Their jaws tightened, their fists clenched, but not one of them dared move. The shame in their silence only made Thurain's words cut deeper.
Thurain staggered to the fallen blade, hands shaking. He looked at the men—at their hollow eyes, their bandaged stumps—and a hard, desperate grin split his face.
"If none of you will save me,"
he whispered, voice raw, "I'll save myself."
He raised the blade and brought it down. The steel bit deep. Flesh and bone gave way with a wet sound.
Thurain collapsed onto his knees, blood flooding the floor. He forced a crooked smile through the pain and lifted his empty sleeve.
"There. I've paid. Can I go now?"
For the first time, Soe Gyi's face shifted. The cold mask he always wore cracked, revealing something darker—hungry excitement.
A low, rumbling chuckle slipped from his lips:
"Ha… ha…"
It grew louder, echoing through the stone chamber like rolling thunder. Then it exploded into full, savage laughter:
"Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha!"
The sound filled every corner of the hall, bouncing off walls and pillars, shaking the air itself. It was a laughter that promised death, that thrummed with power, that made every heart in the room pound with fear.
"You all can leave," he finally said, eyes gleaming.
The martial artists rushed out, dragging Thurain with them.
Soe Gyi turned, still chuckling, and walked into the forest, his figure swallowed by the mist.
Under the pale moonlight, a small group stumbled their way through the forest.
From afar, they looked like weary travelers, but a closer look revealed the truth — half of them bore only one arm, bandaged stumps dripping fresh blood.
Their steps dragged, every rustle of leaves making them flinch.What had happened in that cursed temple was burned into their souls.
The sight of headless corpses, the noble's screams, and above all, the laughter of that demon still echoed in their ears.
Even now, far from the ruined temple, that sound seemed to chase them, slithering through the trees, reminding them of their shame.
Suddenly, a young martial artist whispered, voice trembling,
"W-what if… what if he's following us?"
The words spread like wildfire, their fear swelling. Some froze in their tracks, eyes darting wildly into the dark undergrowth.
The wind creaked through the branches, and a few nearly collapsed from terror.
Another turned desperately toward the front. "Leader… old man, say something! Tell us he won't come!"
The old leader, his back hunched and face carved by years of battle, walked on without turning.
For the first time, his steps seemed heavy, as though the weight of death pressed against his shoulders.
He didn't raise his voice, didn't reassure them. He only muttered under his breath, almost like a prayer.
"I just want to get through this night quickly…"
And with those words, silence fell again. Even the forest seemed to be listening.
At last, Thurain broke the silence. His voice was hoarse but laced with arrogance.
"You call yourselves heroes?"
he sneered. "Hah! I don't even know where my brother dug up a bunch of cowards like you to rescue me."
The men stiffened, but none answered.
"Tell me," Thurain said suddenly,
"how many gold coins did my brother promise you if you brought me back?"
The men glanced at each other, hesitant to speak. Finally, one answered,
"Your brother promised us a hundred golds if we brought you back alive."
"A hundred?" Thurain repeated, then erupted into sharp laughter that rang bitterly through the forest.
He clutched his shoulder where his arm had been severed, but his scorn never wavered.
"You fools. Do you actually believe you'll see even one gold from him? Do you think you rescued me? Look at yourselves—crippled, shaking, half-dead.Do you truly believe you rescued me from that demon?"
Several of the martial artists stopped walking, their jaws tightening.
Thurain jabbed a finger at them, eyes burning with bitter pride.
"No. I saved myself. I cut my own arm to live. None of you lifted a hand. None of you faced him. You stood there"
His voice dropped into a cold whisper, laced with scorn.
"Understand this, cowards—you didn't rescue me. You only survived beside me. Nothing more."
The men clenched their fists, silent, their anger boiling beneath the shame.
Finally, U Tun Hla, their weathered leader, spoke in a soft, weary voice.
"Young master,"
he said, glancing at Thurain,
"we have all suffered heavily tonight. Some of us lost an arm. Even those who did not… we carry wounds that will never heal."
" If you cannot reward us all, at least spare a few coins for those who sacrificed their arms. A small token, to ease their misery."
Thurain stopped walking, his pale face turning toward the old man. For a moment, there was silence.
Then, a sharp, mocking laugh escaped his lips.
"Oh? Did I not also lose an arm?"
he sneered, lifting the empty sleeve of his torn robe.
"Tell me, old man, should you not be giving me a few gold coins for my suffering instead? After all, is my pain less than yours?"
"You speak as though your suffering makes you noble," he went on.
"But remember—each of you gave an arm because you were too weak to stand against that demon. I gave mine by choice, and I still live. You want gold? Hah!"
The old leader, U Tun Hla, closed his eyes, as if wishing the words away. But beside him, one of the one-armed men began to tremble—not from fear, but from rage.
Another muttered through gritted teeth, "Enough…"
Still, Thurain pressed on, smirking.
"Look at you! Broken, bleeding, pathetic. You couldn't protect me, you couldn't even protect yourselves. If my brother had sent real warriors, I wouldn't be walking with trash like you!"
That was the final spark.
A one-armed martial artist suddenly snapped. With a furious cry, he swung his blade straight toward Thurain's throat.
The strike would have ended the young noble's life in a heartbeat—but a tall woman stepped forward and intercepted the blow. Steel clashed against steel, sparks scattering into the dark forest.
For a moment, it felt as though time itself had stopped. The others just stood frozen, stunned, unable to even breathe.
"What are you doing, Ko Kyaw?!"
U Tun Hla shouted, his voice breaking in disbelief.
Thurain screamed, pointing at his attacker.
"He tried to kill me! Did you all see that? He tried to kill me!"
His voice was shrill, half fury, half fear.
U Tun Hla turned again, eyes fixed on the attacker. "Why, Ko Kyaw? Explain yourself!"
Ko Kyaw's face twisted with rage.
"Explain? What is there to explain? You all heard him! This spoiled brat has mocked us again and again, treating us like dogs!"
" We risked our lives to save him, and he dares to spit on our pride."
"I could bow my head before that demon in the temple. But why should I bow before this useless brat? Just because he's a noble? Just because he's the son of a wealthy family?"
Someone among the group growled in agreement.
"He's nothing but a spoiled parasite, living off his family's gold. Why should we endure his insults?"
Thurain's face turned red with fury.
"You… you dare?! You all are insane! Do you even know who my family is? You try to kill me and my brother will destroy every one of you!"
But U Tun Hla raised a hand, his tone calm but heavy.
"Enough. Even if he is a spoiled brat, the mission is clear. His family is the boss, and we are just the workers."
" Whether we like it or not, we must deliver him alive. That is the deal."
Thurain smirked triumphantly, laughing cruelly.
"Hah! Did you hear that? You have to send me back alive. That's the only way you'll ever see those gold coins! Idiots! A hundred gold! You rats couldn't dream of such wealth in your miserable lives!"
The group bristled, fists tightening.
Then, almost like a whisper carried by the wind, someone muttered—not too loudly, yet not too softly either:
"The mission… also pays half price for a dead body."
Thurain's laughter died in his throat. His eyes widened in horror, the words echoing in his mind like a death sentence.