A Silent night

The moon hung high in the sky, cold and distant, casting a pale glow over the forest. Its silver light filtered through the tangled branches, leaving deep shadows clinging to the undergrowth. Tonight, something about the woods felt different—almost as if they were holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

A dull, rhythmic sound pulsed through the silence—a steady thud, faint but insistent, like a heartbeat. Dark figures moved through the trees, slipping between the trunks like ghosts. The only sign of their presence was the occasional glint of metal. Behind them, the lifeless bodies of mana beasts littered the ground, each kill precise and effortless. They moved like hunters, confident that nothing could stand in their way.

—Swoosh!

Suddenly, one of them jerked to a stop. A sharp hiss of air, then a choked gasp as he crumpled to the ground, blood spraying across the snow. The silence shattered with the dull thud of his body hitting the earth. A deep red stain spread across the pristine white.

"AHHH!"

The scream cut through the night, and every head turned toward the fallen man. The air grew tense, heavy with the weight of unseen danger.

"WHO'S THERE?!" someone shouted, their voice edged with panic.

No answer.

Then—

Whoosh!

A blur of movement.

A sudden gust of wind.

And then....

"AHHHHHHH!"

The leader barely had time to react before searing pain tore through him—his hand, severed at the wrist. Blood sprayed in the air as he stumbled back, clutching the wound, his scream echoing through the forest.

The spell concealing them flickered and broke, revealing a group of men in dark cloaks. A twisted emblem marked their chests—a cobra coiled around a dragon.

"Show yourself!" one of them shouted, gripping his weapon tightly. His knuckles turned white from the force of his grip.

"Senior… what do we do?" another whispered, glancing nervously at their injured leader, whose face had gone pale from blood loss.

The leader gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand. "Hold your ground," he growled. "Whoever it is… they can't hide forever. Find a weak spot."

His words barely left his lips before another man was yanked backward into the darkness. No scream. No struggle. One second he was there, and the next—gone.

The remaining men huddled closer together, gripping their weapons, their eyes darting from shadow to shadow. The forest felt smaller, as if the darkness was closing in around them.

Rustle… Rustle…

Leaves stirred above, and every head snapped upward. Something shifted in the branches. A figure? A shadow? They couldn't tell. The moonlight barely pierced the thick canopy, but then—

A soft laugh.

It drifted down, low and mocking, sending a chill through the group.

The leader's fear twisted into anger. "SHOW YOURSELF!" he roared, though his voice wavered.

"Do you really want to see me?" a voice murmured—too close. Right behind them.

They spun around, backs pressed together, weapons raised. One of them, barely able to contain his trembling, whispered, "It's like… he's everywhere."

"Calm down!" the leader barked. "It's just one man! We're stronger together!"

Snap!

A branch broke overhead. One of the men flinched, swinging his sword wildly into the air. The silence that followed was thick with tension.

Then—movement. A shape flickered past, faster than their eyes could follow.

A flash of metal.

Another scream.

A man collapsed, blood pooling beneath him, his throat slit cleanly. The others stood frozen, horror settling deep in their bones.

The leader clenched his jaw. "You'll pay for this!" he growled, but his voice lacked strength. It sounded more like desperation than a threat.

They stepped back, pressing into each other, but their formation was crumbling. They could feel it—the shift. The fear settling in their limbs. The helplessness creeping in.

Another rush of wind. Two more men vanished, dragged into the shadows without a sound. The ones who remained were breathing too fast, clutching their weapons like lifelines.

"SENIOR!" someone cried, but when the leader turned, there was only empty space where his men had stood.

He was losing them. One by one.

The leader's head spun. His knees buckled, dropping him into the snow. The cold seeped into his bones. He tried to focus, to make sense of what was happening, but panic clouded his thoughts.

Then he looked up.

His stomach twisted.

The branches above were lined with bodies—his men, their limbs hanging limp, their faces frozen in expressions of terror. Blood dripped from their wounds, staining the bark.

A soft chuckle floated down.

He forced his gaze higher and saw a figure perched in the trees, shrouded in darkness. A cold, knowing smile glinted in the moonlight.

"So," the voice murmured, calm and laced with amusement. "You finally see the coward you were hunting." A pause. "Pity you won't live to tell the tale."

The leader's vision blurred. His strength slipped away, his body crumpling under the weight of exhaustion. The last thing he saw was that terrible smile—watching, waiting, as he fell into the dark.

Above, the figure swayed slightly, pressing a hand to his side. Blood leaked between his fingers. His breath came ragged, uneven.

"Hah… hah…" he murmured, tilting his head to the sky. His voice was barely a whisper. "If there's another chance… don't let them suffer, Lumiea…"

Then, his form shimmered, dissolving like mist in the morning light.

The moon remained overhead, cold and distant, watching the blood-soaked ground below. As dawn approached, a soft wind stirred the air, carrying a single feather—a deep red plume—drifting gently onto the snow. A quiet promise of vengeance yet to come.