Red Devil

"Third bro! Over here!" Buttface, a underling of the Zerith mountain bandits, called out as he opened a sack.

The Zerith mountain bandits were infamous for their dominance and vicious rule over the dangerous terrain of the Zerith mountains, a lawless region that served as a border between the Arth Kingdom and the Yul Republic.

The massacre of a passing merchant caravan left a scene of devastation in its wake. Corpses littered the ground, blood pooling beneath them. Vultures circled above, eager for the bandits to leave so they could feast. The bandits looted the remains for anything of value.

Third-eye, the raid leader, glanced toward Buttface's call. He walked toward him, but not before pausing to kick over the body of a young woman. The corpse flopped to its back, lifeless eyes staring at the sky.

"What a waste," Third-eye grunted, frustration seeping into his voice. "Only woman in the whole lot."

He continued toward Buttface, who grinned as he wildly opened the sack.

"You won't believe what I found, Third bro. We hit the jackpot!" Buttface boasted, his excitement barely contained.

Third-eye peered into the bag. His eyes widened, and he couldn't stop a gleeful laugh from escaping his throat. Without hesitation, he dipped his fingers into the sack's contents, taking it to his tongue. It was sharp and dissolved like salt, leaving behind a dizzying sensation.

"It's real," he muttered before shouting out, "This small bag alone will keep us fed for months!"

The rest of the bandits, sensing the excitement, turned their attention toward the commotion.

"Is that white dust?" one of the bandits asked, his voice tinged with surprise.

"You bet it is," Buttface replied, his smirk growing wider.

"Damn, then all this trouble was worth it," another bandit said, visibly relieved.

"To think these bastards were hiding it for themselves," one spat, glancing at the dead bodies with disgust.

"Yeah, they got what they deserve," another added, as the rest of the bandits began to celebrate.

Third-eye silenced them with a single throat-clearing.

"Now that we've got the dust, only take what's useful and dump the rest. We leave in half an hour."

Suddenly, a voice caught the bandits attention.

"All this fuss over some sand."

Third-eye spun around. His eyes landed on a figure in a black hooded cloak, crouched over a corpse, calmly searching its pockets.

"Who the hell are you?" Third-eye demanded, his shock momentarily freezing him in place.

The man didn't bother to look up. Instead, a faint smile formed beneath his hood as he extracted a small object from the dead body's clothing.

"Found it," the man muttered to himself, holding the object up to the light. He kept the object in his cloak and stood up to leave completely ignoring the senior bandit.

Third-eye clenched his teeth, his jaw tight with fury. He raised his chin slightly, signaling to his brothers. The bandits immediately moved to block the man's path. The stranger stopped in his tracks, surveying the scene with a calm indifference. They had him surrounded.

"Where do you think you are going? You've got balls of steel to ignore Third bro like that." one of the bandits stepped forward, his voice full of bravado.

"The boss mutts haven't had a fresh meal for a while, you'll make a nice snack." another sneered, the disgusting smirk curling his lips.

"What did you just take? You know what, never mind... we'll take it off your dead body." Another bandit laughed, and soon the rest joined in, the sound of their amusement echoing through the blood-soaked air.

The man sighed clearly annoyed, but not in the least afraid. "What a load of trash," he muttered loudly. Slowly, he raised his head, just enough for the hood to slip back slightly, revealing piercing amber eyes that glinted with cold menace. 

"Get lost" he commanded, with a menacing cold voice. The bandits froze on spot, unable to move or breathe as as if his words alone had paralyzed them. Without a second glance, the man strode past them.

Third-eye took a deep breath and shouted, sending a powerful wave of energy that released his brothers from the bind. They gasped, staggering back as control returned to their limbs.

The man paused, turning his head to glance back at Third-eye, a small, impressed smirk playing at his lips. "guess he's the boss for a reason huh." He chuckled and resumed walking.

Anger flared in one of the bandits as he gripped his blade, ready to strike the man from behind. But before he could move, Third-eye's voice cut through the air like a whip.

"Stop"

The bandit hesitated, disbelief and frustration written across his face. "What do you mean, stop? Third bro, did I hear you wrong?"

Third-eye's eyes narrowed. "Let him go. Don't bother him."

The other bandits exchanged glances, clearly dissatisfied.

"The hell are you thinking, bro? You're gonna let him walk after spitting on us like that?" one challenged.

"Yeah, there's twelve of us, and just one of him. We should at least take an arm," another added, anger simmering in their voices.

"Are you questioning my command?" Third-eye growled, his voice low, but the threat unmistakable.

Was he thinking? Of course he was, and he wasn't being cowardly either; he was the only one thinking. He had felt the man's strength and knew that engaging him would cost them dearly. If they fought, they would lose at least three of their own, and that's if he stayed to fight. They already had the white dust, they'd lose more than they can gain if they took him on.

But then Buttface leaned in, whispering something in Third-eye's ear.

"That thing he took was... a Loz"

Third-eye's eyes widened. "Are you sure?" he asked in a low voice. "You bet I am, you know my eyes are the best." Buttface clarified. 

His expression changed as he processed the information.

He took a deep breath, unsheathing his blade, "Hey, if you drop what you took, I'll let you leave unscratched." he called out to the man, who had stopped to watch the bandit's drama. 

"I'll pressure him with numbers, if he's a wuss he'll heed, and if he's not and tries to run I'll let him go, Loz is worth a lot but trying to catching him while he runs will definitely cost us more." were Third-eye's thoughts, which he soon came to regret.

The man chuckled, turning his head slightly. "And if I don't?" The smirk on his face widened.

Before Third-eye could answer, the man moved. In a blink, three of the bandits were cut down, their bodies hitting the ground before the others had time to react.

The bandits were slow to reacting as the man moved to his fourth target, cutting him down as he raised his axe. Another bandit swung wildly, but the man dodged with ease, driving his blade through his back

His hood slipped off revealing his face and his red hair. "Seven more. Who's next?" he smiled as he flicked the blood from his sword.

By now the bandits were over the initial shock, fully on guard, but half of them were already dead. 

"You bastard!" Third-eye shouted, his voice full of rage and regret. It was too late to turn back now.

"No way, you are..." Buttface stammered, pale with realization.

"Recognize him?" Third-eye asked, confusion mixing with dread.

"Yeah..." Buttface began, but was cut off when the man used the moment of distraction to strike again, but, his blade was blocked by the furious senior bandit, sparks flying between them.

"Do you think the same trick will work twice?" Third-eye roared.

The man laughed, his amber eyes gleaming "You've honestly exceeded my expectations."

 "You won't be laughing for long" Third-eye shouted as the remaining bandits, except Buttface, charged in to support their leader.

Third-eye could feel his advantage and was going to use this chance to take the man down, but was shocked as a surge of thick red-amber est aura erupted from the man's body, swirling around his sword. The air buzzed with a strange, eerie hum, and the bandits faltered as they felt the pressure.

 The man pushed him back with ease, and swung his blade. A wave of est shot forward, smooth and precise, cutting through everything in its path. Trees groaned and toppled, severed cleanly in half, and the bandits were ripped apart, their bodies falling to the ground like ragdolls.

When the dust settled, Third-eye was left, he had survived, but at a heavy cost. He looked down at where his arm had been, blood pouring from the fresh stump. "A weaver?" He muttered. Pain flooded his senses, and he grabbed on his bleeding arm.

"Third bro!" Buttface cried, rushing to his side, desperately pressing his hand against the wound to stop the bleeding. "I tried to warn you... That guy... he's the one behind the ghoul incident two years ago. He's the Red devil of Hounds!"

Third-eye's mind spun as the words cut through the haze of pain. "Two years ago... the Red Devil." The realization hit him like a blow to the gut. He knew the stories, but to face the legend himself? They were doomed.

Desperate, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the sack of white dust. His one remaining hand shook as he extended it to the man. "I know this isn't enough, but please, accept it. Spare us," he begged, his voice trembling with fear and pain.

The devil chuckled "I killed your brothers but rather than fighting to the end you are begging for your life. Pathetic." Disappointed, he stepped closer, his shadow looming over his prey. "And you call this compensation that was mine the moment you unsheathed your blade."

As the devil's words sank in, Third-eye felt the cold, bitter truth. The man was right. He could take whatever he wanted from their corpses, just as they had always done to others. How many times had he, Third-eye, looted the bodies of the dead without a single shred of remorse? How many lives had he taken in the name of survival and power? Now, facing his own end, it was far more bitter than he had ever imagined. Perhaps he had been wrong all along.

His pride shattered, Third-eye pushed Buttface aside and, despite the searing pain, forced himself to bow. He pressed his forehead to the ground, blood dripping into the dirt. "I would do anything you want, anything, just please... spare my life." he pleaded sincerely. 

Buttface, terrified and shaking, followed his brother's lead, throwing himself to the ground in submission. This wasn't the time to worry about pride or honor. They had to survive.

The Red Devil tilted his head, his amber eyes cold and amused. "Nah, that's too much trouble," he replied with a lazy smirk.

And with one swift, downward strike, his blade cut through the air ending the scene in silence.

The Red Devil exited the mountain ranges, quite satisfied. He had just completed his year-long mission and could finally return to Arth. He also gained some bonus, like something he could sell for some extra pocket money: the white dust.

After the incident two years ago, he had been sent to the Yul Republic branch to lie low until things cooled down.

"That weird-faced guy recognized me pretty fast, though. Guess my hair color's just too iconic." He smiled, amused. "Not that I care if they recognize me." His confidence was unshaken, bolstered by the immense power he had gained over the past two years.

Regardless of his exhaustion back then, he had almost lost his life during the encounter with Ryan, to someone barely awakened. That frustration had driven him to push himself harder, honing his skills and abilities far beyond what was expected. His natural talent had accelerated his growth to a level that took others decades to achieve.

But there was a problem.

He unsheathed his sword and raised it toward the sun, squinting at the light reflecting off the blade. Cracks spider-webbed across the steel. Ever since he had mastered aura visualization, any weapon he wielded with it would shatter after just two strikes; three, if he was careful.

"I'll have to make a stop at the blacksmith village after finalizing the mission."

Sheathing the sword again, he adjusted his cloak and moved on, leaving the mountains behind him.