Chapter 5 : The Bloodless Incident
The arena was vast, yet the number of spectators was not large. Only selected guests sat around the circular stands, their eyes focused on the stage below. At the center of the arena stood a wide fighting platform, its surface engraved with ancient patterns and mysterious runes that seemed to carry the aura of forgotten ages.
Low murmurs spread through the crowd.
Above the stands, seated slightly apart from the others, was Shen Hua Lan. His seat was elevated, giving him a clear view of the entire arena. Several servants stood silently behind him, their expressions respectful and motionless.
Shen Hua Lan leaned lazily against the armrest of his seat, his right leg resting over his left. His left hand supported his chin as he watched the arena with calm interest.
He wore flowing crimson robes, the fabric deep as fresh blood. His boots were dark red, polished and elegant. His brownish-red hair flowed down his back, tied neatly with a crimson crown that matched the color of his robes. The wide sleeves of his outer robe moved gently in the breeze, while the inner sleeves were tightly bound around his wrists.
At that moment, a figure emerged from one corner of the arena.
It was LanFa.
He stepped forward calmly, his yellow robes fluttering lightly as he walked. The robes were embroidered with fine golden threads that shimmered faintly under the light. His boots were golden as well, giving him an almost radiant appearance.
LanFa's long brown hair was tied into a neat ponytail, secured with a dark yellow crown resting upon his head. His expression was composed, yet his eyes carried a sharp and confident light.
Soon after, movement appeared in the opposite corner.
A tall silhouette slowly stepped into the arena.
The man wore slightly loose black trousers and long black boots. Over them flowed red robes that swayed gently with each step he took toward the center of the stage.
The back of his robe flowed long and elegant, while the front was shorter, curving sharply to the sides with each step he took.
Black vambraces covered both of his forearms, worn over the sleeves of his robes. His void-like hair flowed freely down his back, dark as the night itself. A few strands rested across his chest, while others fell over his abdomen.
He walked calmly into the arena with his hands clasped behind his back.
With every step he took, his long hair swayed gently. A few loose strands brushed across his face, giving him a mysterious and untamed aura.
At that moment, nearly every pair of eyes in the arena turned toward him.
Silence slowly spread through the audience.
Soon, the two figures stood facing each other at the very center of the stage.
LanFa wore a faint grin on his face, confidence shining within his eyes. In contrast, Arata's expression remained completely calm and emotionless, like an unmoving lake beneath a moonlit sky.
Their gazes met.
It was not merely two warriors looking at one another—it felt as though their very souls were colliding.
Then—
"Bang!"
A faint sound echoed through the arena.
In the blink of an eye, both figures had vanished from the center, reappearing several meters apart on opposite sides of the stage.
At that moment, a drum resounded across the arena.
LanFa suddenly leaped high into the air. Sharp blades flashed in both of his hands like streaks of silver light. With a swift motion, he hurled them all toward Arata.
The blades tore through the air like deadly comets.
Arata did not move.
He slowly closed his eyes and stood there quietly.
The audience gasped.
The blades were already inches away from his body.
Then—
His eyes suddenly opened.
In that instant, Arata's body moved like a phantom. With calm and precise steps, he avoided every single blade. The weapons passed by him one after another, none even grazing the edge of his robes.
Not a single scratch touched him.
LanFa landed lightly on the ground, a smile spreading across his face.
"Shadow Controller," LanFa said with a mocking tone, "don't think that was everything."
"I'm only warming up."
The moment his words ended, LanFa dashed forward like a streak of lightning.
His hand moved to his waist.
A sword appeared in his grasp, as though it had manifested from thin air itself.
The blade gleamed coldly under the arena lights as he raised it high, preparing to strike.
This attack—
There was no way it would miss.
The sword was less than a finger's width from Arata's face—but it struck only empty air.
Arata was nowhere to be seen.
LanFa's eyes widened. "Impossible…" he muttered, looking up.
Arata had leapt into the air, rising above the stage with a grace and speed that defied comprehension.
From his seat, Shen Hua Lan leaned forward slightly, a faint smile on his lips. "Well… this is going to be interesting," he murmured. "Just as I thought."
LanFa's grin returned, though tinged with caution. "Not bad," he said, voice calm but carrying respect. "You're better than I expected, Shadow Controller."
Arata's eyes gleamed like polished obsidian. His deep voice resonated across the arena. "And yet… you're far worse than I imagined. Truly… disappointing."
A flash of anger crossed LanFa's face. "Oh! So that's what you think?"
Before anyone could react, LanFa's hands moved with lightning speed.
Dark storm clouds crackled above the arena, and bolts of raw lightning began to coil around his fists.
"Then take this!"
But before the spell could even form, a piercing scream erupted from the crowd.
Shen Hua Lan had stood up.
The very ground beneath them seemed to tremble as the battle halted instantly. Both Arata and LanFa froze mid-motion, their powers suspended in the air.
All three figures moved toward the source of the disturbance.
What they saw made even seasoned fighters shiver.
A man lay sprawled on the ground—a grotesque ruin of flesh and bone.
His body was shattered, a pool of blood surrounding him. His eyes had rolled away, staring blankly at the earth rather than from their sockets. His abdomen was torn open, entrails spilling onto the floor.
His jaw was broken, crooked and hanging loosely. Fingers were bent backward unnaturally, clearly crushed. His legs were twisted in impossible angles, a horrifying testament to sheer brutality.
The sight was unbearable.
Even LanFa's lips paled. He turned away, unable to bear it.
Arata's and Shen Hua Lan's faces were etched with disgust and disbelief.
The air was thick with the stench of blood. The spectators—some of them hardened warriors—vomited at the sheer horror.
Even LanFa could not hold back. He coughed violently, retching, his face pale as he stumbled back a step.
It was a scene no one would forget—an image of death so grotesque, so shocking, that it would haunt anyone who laid eyes upon it.
The witnesses were still shaken, their voices trembling as they tried to describe what had happened.
One young man spoke up, struggling to keep his composure. "I… I didn't see him here, behind me. But before the match started, there was a faint… Bang sound. It wasn't loud. I was too engrossed in the battle to notice at first. That's when Master Lan summoned his lightning strikes. I… I stepped back, two or three steps, just like everyone else, staring at the sky. And then… I felt something wet splash against my shoes. When I turned… I saw…"
He choked, unable to finish. His gaze turned away from the corpse, as though even looking was unbearable.
Shen Hua Lan, calm as ever, tilted his head slightly. "I heard a faint sound, perhaps. Hard to be certain," he remarked, his voice low and measured.
LanFa, however, could not hide his revulsion. He glared at Arata, crouched down beside the corpse, examining it with an unnerving calm.
"You… you're disgusting! Ugh… I can't even look! I'm going to vomit!"
Arata's dark eyes flicked toward him, an edge of annoyance in his voice. "How do you think I should observe it?"
LanFa shook his head, still pale, unable to hide his disgust.
"Alright… but why so close?"
Shen Hua Lan's calm gaze swept over the scene. "LanFa, I think you should step away. You don't look well… and neither does anyone else. Everyone should withdraw before the stench of death overcomes them."
LanFa exhaled sharply, nodding.
"Fine, Shadow Controller. We'll continue this another time. But… he just had to die now, right when I was about to win," he muttered, his voice tight with a mix of anger and revulsion. With that, he turned and left, disappearing from the arena.
Arata's lips curved into a faint smirk as he mimicked him quietly. "Yeah… why die now, right when he was about to win?"
He then glanced toward Shen Hua Lan, who shrugged lightly, expression unreadable.
The arena remained eerily silent for a moment. Only the dripping of blood echoed faintly, a grim reminder of the carnage that had just unfolded.
Arata remained crouched by the corpse, his black eyes cold and calculating, as if dissecting not just the man before him but the very nature of life and death itself.
Arata slowly rose from beside the corpse and turned his gaze toward Shen Hua Lan.
He did not avert his eyes.
His dark stare was steady and cold, as if trying to see through the other man.
Shen Hua Lan noticed immediately. His brows lifted slightly before a faint, innocent expression appeared on his face.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked lightly. "Could it be… you think I'm the one who did… this?"
He gestured toward the mangled corpse.
Then he sighed theatrically.
"Alright, I know I'm not exactly a saint," he admitted, spreading his hands slightly. "But this?" He shook his head with visible disgust. "This is far too grotesque, even for me. I would never do something so… distasteful."
As he spoke, Shen Hua Lan folded his arms and gave Arata a warm, polite smile—the kind that seemed sincere on the surface yet impossible to fully trust.
Arata looked at him for a moment before sighing softly.
"You're hopeless."
Shen Hua Lan only chuckled in response, spreading his hands in a teasing manner.
Arata's gaze drifted back to the corpse.
"It's kind of…" he began.
Shen Hua Lan's eyes sharpened slightly.
"Kind of similar to the killings that have been happening lately," he finished for him. "But this one… he was killed here, in my presence—"
"I'm fairly certain he wasn't killed here," Arata interrupted calmly.
Shen Hua Lan blinked once.
Then his expression brightened as though he had discovered something amusing.
"Oh! Then that means the killer didn't dare to kill him in my presence," he said proudly, clearly more focused on his own intimidating reputation than the mystery itself.
Arata rubbed his temple.
"Same as ever," he muttered.
Shen Hua Lan ignored the remark and leaned slightly closer to the body, his tone finally turning serious.
"But how…?" he asked quietly.
Arata remained silent for a moment before shrugging.
"I don't know."
He glanced once more at the corpse, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Still… it's strange," he continued slowly. "A body in this condition… and yet no one saw how it happened."
A brief silence fell between them.
Then Shen Hua Lan suddenly spoke.
"Could it be… Aoba?"
Arata turned to look at him again.
"What makes you think that?" he asked flatly. "And why are you asking me all this? Don't you hate me?"
Shen Hua Lan smiled again, that same relaxed, almost playful smile.
"Of course I do," he replied calmly.
Then he tilted his head slightly.
"But you're still talking with me."
The two men stared at each other in silence, the blood-soaked corpse lying between them like a grim reminder that something far more sinister was lurking in the shadows.
After a brief silence, Arata responded lazily, stretching slightly.
"Yeah… I'm bored."
Shen Hua Lan's eyelid twitched.
"You—" He stopped himself, then flicked his sleeves sharply. The movement carried both elegance and irritation. Without another word, he turned to leave.
Arata glanced at the corpse once more before speaking casually.
"Well, looks like this corpse is going to stay here."
Shen Hua Lan halted mid-step.
Slowly, he turned back.
"What do you mean, 'stay here'?" he asked. "Aren't you going to observe it? That's what you always do."
Arata tilted his head slightly, a faint smile forming.
"Huh? Nah. Not my problem." He waved his hand dismissively. "Your place, your problem. B-bye."
Without hesitation, Arata actually walked away.
He did not look back even once.
Shen Hua Lan stared at his retreating figure.
"He didn't even glance back…" he muttered.
His expression darkened.
"Argh! Hurry up! Clean this!"
His voice echoed across the arena, filled with restrained anger.
Yet no servant responded.
Not a single figure appeared.
All the attendants had fled earlier in fear.
Shen Hua Lan's brows furrowed deeply.
With a cold snort, he turned and left the arena, heading toward his mansion to summon someone to deal with the scene.
The corpse remained alone beneath the silent sky.
Blood still pooled around the shattered body.
Then—
Footsteps echoed softly across the empty arena.
Step.
Step.
Black boots came into view beside the corpse's head.
A tall figure stood there in silence.
The air suddenly grew heavy.
The blood on the ground began to move.
Slowly… silently…
It started to disappear.
Not evaporate.
Not spill.
It was being absorbed.
From the ground.
From the corpse.
From the air itself.
A black butterfly fluttered down and landed on the corpse's nose.
Its wings shimmered with a dark sheen, almost like ink under moonlight.
It lowered its tiny mouthparts and began drinking.
Soon—
More black butterflies appeared from the shadows.
Dozens.
Then hundreds.
They circled the body quietly, feeding on the blood that was vanishing without a trace.
The sight was unnatural.
Eerie.
As the final drop of blood disappeared completely—
The arena floor was spotless.
No stain remained.
No scent lingered.
Only the lifeless corpse remained behind.
The black butterflies dispersed into the darkness, vanishing as if they had never existed.
The boots took two slow steps backward.
Then—
The figure faded into the shadows.
Silence returned.
No blood.
No butterflies.
No stranger.
Nothing.
Only the corpse remained in the center of the empty arena.
An unnatural stillness blanketed the surroundings.
The night air felt colder than before.
As if something unseen had just awakened.
Shen Hua Lan's eyes widened, and his hand froze mid-air.
"WHAT! Stop spouting nonsense…! How could this be?" His voice echoed across the hall, sharp and disbelieving.
"M-master… it's true! What I said is true! I dare not lie!" The young servant, Fei Ling, stammered, his voice trembling as sweat glistened on his forehead.
Shen Hua Lan rubbed his temples wearily, trying to calm the surge of disbelief threatening to overwhelm him.
"Tell me… in detail. Every single thing that happened," he said, voice low but tinged with exhaustion.
Fei Ling swallowed hard, his body shivering. "Master… when you ordered me to clean that place… no one was ready. It was midnight when I managed to gather a few servants who were willing. They said they wanted rewards—I… I agreed, since you had already promised extra pay."
"When we finally arrived… it was almost morning. And there… we saw…" His voice faltered. He clenched his fists, staring at the floor. "The corpse… it had no blood. Not a single drop. At first, I couldn't believe my own eyes… but there was nothing. The corpse… it's still there, Master. You can check for yourself… but there isn't a single trace of blood. Not on the ground. Not on the corpse."
Shen Hua Lan's gaze sharpened. His brows furrowed, and his tone turned stern, like a blade cutting through the tension.
"Fei Ling… if you are deceiving me—"
The servant trembled violently, almost unable to stand. His voice shook like dry leaves in a storm.
"N-No, M-master! I… I swear, I speak the truth! There was no one there! I even asked the others around the arena, but none of them saw anyone coming or leaving. It… it's like…" His teeth chattered. "It's like a ghost. A ghost that killed him… and drank every drop of his blood—"
"Enough!"
Shen Hua Lan's patience finally reached its limit. His voice echoed sharply through the hall, cutting off Fei Ling's trembling words.
His expression turned cold and decisive.
"Remember, this matter must not spread. No one is to know about it—especially that Shadow Controller… Arata Kurogami."
His gaze darkened slightly as he continued issuing orders.
"You. Prepare a list of everyone who attended my party that night. I want every name. Let us see if there is anyone suspicious."
Fei Ling lowered his head quickly.
"Meanwhile, I will personally check the corpse. Understood? Now go!"
"Yes, Master!" Fei Ling bowed deeply before retreating in haste.
In the arena, Shen Hua Lan stood before the corpse once more.
He looked down in silence.
"No blood… just as Fei Ling said," he murmured. "Not even a single drop."
His brows tightened.
"Weird…"
His eyes swept across the ground, scanning every inch of the arena floor, searching for traces—footprints, stains, residue—anything that might reveal how the blood had vanished.
But the world seemed to mock him.
There was nothing.
Not a single clue.
Luck was not on his side.
Shen Hua Lan exhaled slowly.
"Take the body to the medical hall," he ordered calmly. "Tell the physician to examine him. He has four hours."
His voice turned cold.
"If I do not receive an answer within four hours… inform him that I will be very displeased."
The servants trembled at the tone behind those words.
"Yes, Young Master!" they responded immediately, carefully lifting the corpse.
Guards remained stationed around Shen Hua Lan, their expressions serious and alert.
Shen Hua Lan stood still in the center of the arena, watching the sky.
The horizon had begun to darken.
Clouds gathered slowly above, heavy and oppressive.
A strong wind swept across the arena.
His crimson sleeves fluttered violently in the breeze, and his long hair swayed behind him.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"…The storm is coming."
The words were spoken softly, yet they carried weight.
The sky deepened in color as if responding to his statement.
After a moment of silence, Shen Hua Lan turned and departed the arena.
Some guards followed closely behind him, while others remained to guard the corpse until it was removed.
The arena grew emptier.
The sky grew darker.
And above it all, thick storm clouds rolled forward, concealing the sun.
An unseen tension lingered in the air.
Whether it was the storm…
Or something else entirely…
No one could yet tell.
* * *
Far away, deep within the shadowed forest, a lone figure rested in the crook of an ancient tree.
He sat perfectly still, as if carved from the branches themselves. The cool breeze whispered through the leaves, stirring his long hair, which cascaded down like ink flowing over silk.
A mask concealed his face, hiding all expression, yet somehow his presence radiated a serene calm.
A flute hung at his waist, swaying gently with the wind, and in his hands he held a black folding fan—closed, resting lightly against his lap.
The forest was alive with the gentle chirping of birds. The figure's fingers twitched in perfect rhythm with the birds' song, moving the folding fan ever so slightly, like a conductor guiding a silent symphony.
This was Aoba.
His head swayed slowly, side to side, in harmony with the world around him. In this moment, he seemed harmless—an innocent child of the wild, a spirit unbound by the chains of men or morality. No one would imagine that this same figure was the one who had left death in his wake, that he had slaughtered entire families without a single trace.
He stopped. The motion of his head ceased. The fan rested quietly in his hands. The birds' song continued, but he no longer moved with it.
Then, without a sound, he leaped from the tree.
Landing lightly on the forest floor, he stood perfectly still, eyes lifting to the horizon where the sky was beginning to darken. Storm clouds rolled in slowly, painting the heavens with the promise of violence and chaos.
Aoba hung the folding fan at his waist and lifted the flute, brushing it lightly with his fingers, though no sound came forth. He simply held it, poised, as though ready to summon the storm itself.
Then he began to walk.
Step after step, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the darkening horizon.
He did not glance to the left or right. He did not falter, did not hesitate.
The forest seemed to part for him, the wind carrying his presence silently through the trees.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Until, finally, he vanished from sight, leaving only the rustle of leaves and the distant echo of the approaching storm.
And somewhere in the shadows, the forest seemed to hold its breath, as though aware that death walked within it.
* * *
An attendant approached Arata quietly.
He was standing alone on the balcony, gazing at the darkening sky. The clouds above were thick and heavy, swallowing the last traces of daylight. The wind carried a faint chill.
The attendant bowed respectfully and reported the news — the blood had completely vanished from the corpse.
Not a single drop remained.
Arata listened in silence. After a moment, he gave a slight nod.
"Understood."
The attendant withdrew immediately.
No further questions were asked.
Arata remained on the balcony.
He turned his body slightly and leaned against the cold wall, his crimson robes fluttering gently in the wind. His long hair hung loosely, swaying in rhythm with the breeze, strands brushing against his face.
He looked up at the sky and murmured in a low voice:
"No blood… huh? All gone. Weird."
That was all he said.
Nothing more.
To others, he might appear indifferent. But in truth, his mind was constantly calculating.
He believed everything happening was strange.
His eyes slowly closed.
The cool wind brushed across his face, lifting his hair and robes.
For a moment, he simply stood there — silent, motionless.
Memories replayed in his mind.
The killings.
The strange symbol.
The unusual tattoos.
The scattered shells.
The mutilated corpse.
The blood that had vanished without a trace.
One by one, he tried to connect them.
But nothing aligned.
No pattern emerged.
No thread tied them together.
It was as if someone had deliberately erased all traces.
Arata's brows tightened slightly beneath his closed eyelids.
He remained leaning against the wall.
Still.
Silent.
Unmoving.
Time passed.
The wind continued to blow.
The sky grew darker.
Yet Arata did not open his eyes.
He simply stood there the entire time, as though his consciousness had entered a deeper state of reflection — searching within silence for an answer that refused to reveal itself.