Confucius did not speak of strange phenomena, brute strength, rebellion, or ghosts.
[The Master did not speak of strange occurrences, brute strength, disorder, or spirits.]
– The Analects, Book 7 (Shu Er)
—Fwoooosh!
The heat was scorching.
Before my eyes, a building was ablaze.
Inside and out, it was utter chaos.
"Arghhh!"
"Help me!"
People, engulfed in flames, flailed madly in the fiery inferno.
In my hand was a sickle, slick and damp with something—blood.
The sickle, meant for harvesting herbs, was now soaked in red. A grotesque sight.
"Uwaaaagh!"
"P-please help!"
Those who escaped the flames rolled on the ground in a frenzy, trying to smother the fire consuming their bodies.
But flames that had already swallowed them whole would not die so easily.
In the agony of burning flesh, they perished.
Despite the gruesome spectacle, I felt not even a shred of guilt.
No—perhaps I do not even know what guilt is.
[Cough... Cough... Promise me.]
[Promise you what?]
[That you will never... show your true nature...]
[...Grandfather.]
[Did I raise you like this?!]
[...I understand.]
The vow I made with my grandfather before he passed echoes in my mind.
But that vow was not kept.
No, perhaps it was a promise that could never be kept.
I'm sorry, Grandfather.
Until I find that man, the one who drove Grandfather to such horror, I cannot stop.
Even if the end turns out exactly as my grandfather feared.
The more blood I see, the harder it is to control myself.
What kind of expression do I have on my face right now?
Even amidst this hellish scene of burning flesh and blood, I could feel the corners of my lips twitching upward.
This was unmistakably the feeling of pleasure.
My true nature...
Is evil my true nature?
At the very least, it feels more liberating than the version of me my grandfather tried to teach.
Like being unshackled from chains.
"Hoo..."
None of it matters now.
Thanks to the smell of blood, I feel invigorated—and closer to a clue about him.
Now I just need to take care of the remaining survivors and move on.
With my sickle in hand, I stepped toward those who had survived.
One step. Two steps.
They looked at me with eyes filled with terror.
Their fear... wasn't unpleasant.
Rather, it stoked the murderous urge inside me even more.
—Step!
As I moved again, one of them, trembling in fear, shouted at me.
"Y-you're the Sickle Demon!"
Sickle Demon (Gyeomsalgwi, 鎌殺鬼)...
A name I'd picked up while chasing traces of him.
Anyone remotely connected to him, I slaughtered.
Eventually, people started calling me by that name.
They say it's because of the distinctive marks my sickle leaves on the corpses. Whether I meant to or not, I had become infamous.
All in just one month.
It must be because I started targeting bigger villages, unlike the remote mountain hamlets before.
Still, it taught me a valuable lesson.
I need to burn it all.
To avoid leaving unnecessary traces on the corpses.
No.
Would it be better to stop using the sickle altogether?
Screw it. I'll think about it later. For now, I'll just kill them all.
—Whoosh!
I raised my sickle toward a survivor crawling on the ground.
"Eek!"
The survivor flinched in terror, their face drained of color.
But I didn't care. I swung the sickle—
—Thud!
"Gah!"
Something struck my abdomen with incredible force, and my body was thrown backward.
I tumbled across the ground several times, the impact so intense that it still hadn't worn off.
Only after rolling a considerable distance did I finally come to a stop—and then immediately retched, overwhelmed by a strange internal force that seemed to twist my insides.
"Urgh..."
—Waaaaaahhh!
While I was vomiting, I heard a cheer.
It seemed to come from the very survivors who had been paralyzed by fear just moments ago.
Even though I still felt nauseous and my body was too weak to muster any strength, I managed to lift my head.
What the hell...?
Puzzled, I saw someone raising their hand.
That person stood tall, soaking in the cheers of the people as if they were some kind of hero.
Then, boldly, he shouted:
"Truly, you are the Sickle Demon. To endure my Three-Star Strike—impressive!"
Three-Star Strike?
What kind of nonsense is he babbling?
The only thing I understood from his rant was the name Sickle Demon.
"Cough... cough..."
I barely managed to hold back another wave of nausea.
I didn't know who this person was, but one thing was clear—he was dangerous.
I tried to stand, but my legs refused to obey. I had no strength left in them.
"Your reign of evil ends here, Sickle Demon!"
He began walking toward me slowly.
Danger.
I clenched my teeth.
If I couldn't move, my life might truly be in danger—
—Shff!
!?
What?
He had seemed to approach slowly, but suddenly—he was standing right in front of me.
Fast.
How can a human move that quickly?
It was absurd. Unreal.
"Hmph."
The man let out a grunt.
I hadn't noticed from a distance, but now I could see a long scar above his left eyebrow.
In his right hand, he held a jet-black sword, as if it had been scorched by fire. Its edge looked unnaturally sharp.
I have to escape.
Every sense in my body screamed at me.
Telling me that no matter how hard I struggled, I couldn't beat this man.
At that moment, the middle-aged man spoke in a low, chilling voice, his expression now far colder than before.
"I was wondering who was sniffing around behind me... and it turns out to be a snot-nosed teenager who hasn't even lost the scent of milk yet."
He felt like a completely different person now.
But more than that, one particular word caught my attention.
"Sniffing around behind me?"
Then this man...
—Clench!
"Guh!"
Before I could even finish the thought, the man grabbed me by the throat.
Even at seventeen, my physique was comparable to that of a full-grown adult male.
And yet, he lifted me effortlessly.
I glanced at his hand and wrist—there was no visible flexing of muscle.
How is he lifting me like I weigh nothing?
As confusion flooded me, the man scowled.
"You... haven't learned martial arts."
"Mar...tial arts?"
"You don't even know what martial arts is? Ha!"
He looked genuinely surprised.
What kind of power is this "martial arts" that it warrants such a reaction?
"Interesting. A boy with no martial training survives an attack from me... and is still alive."
"Guh... what are you talking abou—"
—Stab!
"Urgh!"
A searing pain shot through my abdomen.
At some point, the man's blackened sword had pierced straight through my gut.
He smirked with a cruel glint in his eyes and said coldly:
"It's best to kill you now—to prevent any trouble later."
—Shlk! Stab!
"Gah!"
As soon as he pulled the sword from my stomach, he plunged it straight into my left chest.
The blade burst through, and with unbearable pain, blood gushed up my throat.
"You could've just lived quietly. Why draw attention and hasten your own death?"
"H-hgh... hhk..."
As I gasped, barely able to speak, he tossed me to the ground like trash.
Then he turned his back to me, raised his dark sword high, and shouted:
"The Sickle Demon's reign of terror ends here! You may all rest easy now!"
Once again, he played the part of the heroic warrior.
The survivors, unaware of his true nature, erupted into cheers of joy.
The pain from my pierced chest was unbearable—but worse was the rage boiling inside me as I watched his smug performance.
I had finally found someone who might be connected to my grandfather's killer—only to be defeated so easily.
I never stood a chance.
Grandfather...
My vision was beginning to blur.
Am I going to die and join you, without ever exacting revenge?
If I break my promise, you're going to scold me like never before...