Jiyul walked through the streets, his voice fading into a low mutter as he argued with his own thoughts. Suddenly, a strange figure appeared in the crowd ahead of him. A masked man shuffled through the press of bodies, shoulders hunched and eyes darting around like a rat too used to hiding.
"Oh? A masked freak?" Jiyul thought. "Suspicious."
His eyes sharpened as he slowed his pace. The man reeked of fear. Jiyul's boots scraped against the stone as he approached.
"Hey. Who are you?"
The man flinched violently. "Why you askin' me this?"
"You look like someone I saw earlier."
"Eh? What do you mean?"
Jiyul narrowed his eyes. "Take off the mask."
"Why should I?"
There was no further conversation. Just steel. Jiyul's blade flashed in a blur.
Shhk!
The wooden mask split in half, falling like cracked bark into the mud. The man gasped, his face pale and terrified. "The fuck?!"
He turned instantly, bolting into the street to escape.
"Gotcha, idiot."
Jiyul didn't even flinch. He grabbed the smaller sword strapped to his back and hurled it with casual precision.
Thunk.
Steel bit deep into flesh. The man screamed and crashed to the ground, clutching his leg as blood pooled around him.
"AHHHHH!"
"Shut up," Jiyul said coldly, walking toward him. "You're loud."
The man squirmed, pain twisting his face into a mask of agony. "Why are you chasing me?! You ain't even a guard!"
"I don't need to be." Jiyul reached down and yanked the sword from the man's leg. Blood sprayed across the stones. "You're worth 1200 copper. That's all that matters."
"Please... my daughter... she's in the hospital. I needed food, herbs..."
"Cry to someone who gives a shit."
Jiyul tied the man's hands with a torn cord from the thief's own bag, then hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of garbage. "This weight better be worth the coin."
People watched from the edges of the street. No one helped. Some turned their faces away in disgust, while others smirked.
"Filthy beggar got caught," a noblewoman whispered to her partner.
"Good," the man replied. "Let the street rats eat each other."
Jiyul ignored them and arrived at the local guard post. The building was crumbling, bricks missing from the facade and the door barely hanging on its hinges. He shoved it open with a kick and tossed the bleeding man inside.
Thud.
"Got your little bounty freak."
The guards blinked, stunned. One of them stood up, jaw dropping. "Holy hell. You caught him! That's the guy!"
"Where's my money?"
The guards scrambled. "We, uh... need to call the one who posted the bounty. Give us a moment."
Moments later, the client arrived.
He wore silken robes and had greased hair, with rings glittering on every finger. His belly was fat enough to knock over a child, and his breath stank of wine and rot. Sir Mashle strutted in like the floor should kneel for him.
"So," Mashle said, glaring down at the bleeding thief. "You're the worm who touched my plants and stole my fruits?"
Jiyul crossed his arms, staring. This man put 1200 copper on a thief just for fruits?
Mashle turned to Jiyul, sensing the judgment. "You don't understand. Those weren't just fruits. They were my pride. My identity. Now peasants whisper about me. They say I'm weak. That my estate is open to rats."
He pressed his heavy boot against the thief's throat. The man choked, his hands clawing uselessly at the floor.
Mashle leaned in close. "So I'll kill you right here. And hang your body at the gates with a sign that says: 'This is what happens to thieves.'"
Jiyul didn't flinch. All this over grapes, pears, and apples.
The thief gasped, reaching for air, his body twitching. "Please... please..."
Mashle pushed harder. Bones cracked.
Then silence. The man lay still. Dead.
"Now," Jiyul said, his voice flat. "My 1200 copper."
Mashle turned, his face scrunched in mock surprise. "Who are you again?"
One of the guards piped up nervously. "Sir, he's the one who brought the thief."
Mashle looked at Jiyul with open disgust. "You're a bounty hunter?"
"No."
"Then why bring him?"
"For the copper."
Mashle scoffed. He waved lazily at a guard. "Give him something. I don't care."
Then he turned back to the corpse. "Carve my name into his chest. Deep. Let every bastard in this city know it was me."
A guard stepped forward, pulled out a dagger, and knelt beside the fresh corpse. Jiyul watched without blinking. They were really going to do it. They were writing a name into a corpse like it was a notice board.
The knife dug into flesh. Letters formed, one by one.
M A S H L E
Blood seeped through the cuts. The guard stood back, satisfied with his gruesome work. "Done, sir."
"Good," Mashle said. "Let the peasants remember that I'm not weak, and I don't forgive."
He walked out like a king who had just conquered a nation. Jiyul waited until the door closed.
"Where's my coin?" he asked the guard.
The man tossed him a tiny, light pouch. "Here. 100 copper."
Jiyul opened it and eyed the coins. "...You serious?"
"Be grateful. You're just a street rat. You don't even deserve that."
"You people..." Jiyul said coldly. "And you wonder why your walls keep burning."
He tossed the pouch into the corner but pocketed the loose coins. "Where's the rest of it?"
"That's all you're getting, freak."
Jiyul walked toward the corpse. "Mind if I take a look?"
A guard shrugged. "Do what you want. Just don't try anything stupid. You'll end up next."
Jiyul knelt, placing his hand on the dead man's carved chest. The Blood Ember pulsed instantly. Power surged into him, rushing through his bones, his skin, and his eyes.
Then came the memory.
A little girl. She was bald from illness, clutching a tiny wooden horse. "Father... I don't want fruits anymore... I just want you back..."
Jiyul blinked, the vision fading. He stood up.
"Tch. Stupid girl."
He looked down at the dead thief.
"He ain't coming back. He died because he picked the wrong tree."
Jiyul turned away, his face hardening. "This place is rotten. No cure for it. The only thing worth anything is death."
But something stayed with him. Just confirmation. This world deserved everything it was getting.