Blades of the Future

The air was thick with the scent of iron and blood, the taste of battle lingering in Zhao Feng's mouth. His body felt like it had been through a wringer, each muscle burning with the effort of the fight, yet his mind remained sharp—so sharp, it almost felt like a curse. The dormant power within him stirred with every swing of his blade, as if teasing him, reminding him of what he had been, of what he could be again. But that power was still out of his reach. For now, he was human, flesh and bone—fragile and weak.

Zhao Feng glanced over at Raik, who was moving like a ghost in the shadows, his movements silent and efficient. The mercenaries swept in from behind, their cold precision cutting down the bandits one by one. It was over in minutes. The last of the attackers dropped to the ground, and the fight was won.

Zhao Feng stood in the middle of the carnage, his blade dripping with blood, his breath heavy and ragged. His body ached, but there was something more pressing than the pain: the realization that, despite the victory, he was still far from where he needed to be. The fight had been satisfying, a brief glimpse into the life he had once known, but it was not enough.

He wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.

Raik approached him, wiping the blood from his blade. His eyes met Zhao Feng's, and there was a flicker of something in them—respect, perhaps, but also wariness. Zhao Feng could tell that Raik was still assessing him, still unsure of whether he was an ally or a liability.

"We make a good team," Raik said, his voice low. "But don't get cocky. We've still got a lot of ground to cover."

Zhao Feng didn't respond immediately. He surveyed the fallen bandits, his mind still racing. The fight had been easy, but the real challenge lay ahead. He needed more—more strength, more allies, more power. The memories of his past life nagged at him like a phantom, urging him to regain what was lost. But it was clear that this wasn't going to be an easy journey.

"You're a lot faster than I expected," Raik continued, his gaze flicking over Zhao Feng's form. "What exactly are you?"

Zhao Feng met his eyes, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. "I'm a man who's survived."

Raik chuckled, though it was clear the man was still cautious. "Survived? Or are you just hiding something?" He studied Zhao Feng for a moment before speaking again. "We'll need to stick together if we're going to get out of here alive. This isn't over yet."

Zhao Feng nodded. He could feel the tension in the air, but he also felt something else—a spark of opportunity. Raik and the mercenaries were useful, no doubt, but they weren't his only path forward. As the last of the bandits were stripped of their weapons and their belongings, Zhao Feng's thoughts turned to what came next.

He needed to know more about the world he had been thrust into. And there was no better way to do that than by using the resources at his disposal.

"I need information," Zhao Feng said, his voice low but firm. "I need to know what's going on here. Who's in charge? What's your plan after this?"

Raik looked at him, his face unreadable. "Information is a luxury. We're just trying to survive, same as you."

"Survive?" Zhao Feng's voice hardened. "If all you're doing is surviving, you'll never get out of this alive."

Raik frowned, his eyes narrowing. "What are you implying?"

Zhao Feng took a step forward, his presence commanding attention. "I'm saying you need more than just survival. You need strength. You need power. And I can help you with that."

Raik hesitated, and for a moment, Zhao Feng thought he might brush him off. But then, to his surprise, Raik nodded slowly.

"We're not interested in charity," Raik said. "But if you can prove yourself useful, we might talk."

Zhao Feng's lips curled into a smile, but it was more predatory than friendly. "I can do more than prove myself useful," he said. "I can help you take back what you've lost."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with promise and potential danger. Zhao Feng could feel Raik studying him, weighing his words. The tension was thick, but it was exactly what he needed. He needed to be taken seriously, and this was how he'd get there.

The mercenaries began to move, securing the area and searching the bodies for anything of value. Raik signaled for Zhao Feng to follow, his gaze lingering on him just a moment longer before turning to survey the rest of the battlefield.

"Come on," Raik said. "We've got a camp to get to. We'll talk there."

Zhao Feng followed without a word, his mind already calculating the next move. He was getting closer. Closer to the power that would let him bend the world to his will again.

The air was still thick with the scent of blood as Zhao Feng and Raik made their way deeper into the woods. The mercenaries worked efficiently, securing their perimeter, and Zhao Feng could hear the occasional clink of armor and weapons as they moved about. They were a well-oiled machine, each one working in tandem with the others as if they had been through a hundred such battles together. But Zhao Feng wasn't like them. He was still a stranger here, trying to adapt to a world that seemed both familiar and alien at the same time.

As they walked, Raik kept a steady pace, his eyes scanning the surroundings with the precision of a predator. Zhao Feng couldn't help but admire the man's focus. Raik had the instincts of a warrior, honed by years of survival in a harsh world. But despite all that, there was something in his eyes that Zhao Feng couldn't quite place. A flicker of hesitation, maybe. Or perhaps it was just the weight of his past, a past that Zhao Feng couldn't help but relate to. They were both men who had been forced to rebuild, piece by piece, from the ground up.

The camp wasn't far off, a small, makeshift settlement hidden away in the forest. It was basic—more of a collection of tents and campfires than an actual stronghold—but it had what they needed: shelter, warmth, and a place to regroup. Zhao Feng's body ached from the fight, and the exhaustion was starting to take its toll. He hadn't had time to fully recover since his resurrection, and the strain of battle only exacerbated the weakness that still clung to him.

Raik led them to the center of the camp, where a fire crackled in the middle of a large, open space. The other mercenaries were already gathering around, cleaning their weapons, sharpening blades, and checking the supplies. Zhao Feng's eyes flicked over the group, noting the variety of people who made up Raik's crew—men and women of all shapes, sizes, and backgrounds, each with their own story. Some were hardened veterans, others more like Raik—a man who had learned to survive through sheer will.

"Settle in," Raik said, gesturing to an empty patch near the fire. "We'll talk after everyone's done. You look like you could use a rest."

Zhao Feng didn't argue. He lowered himself to the ground, taking a moment to stretch his limbs, wincing at the stiffness in his body. His strength was still a far cry from what it had been, and the weakness gnawed at him. But he wouldn't show it. He couldn't. Not yet.

The firelight flickered across the faces of the mercenaries as they continued their work, but Zhao Feng's focus was elsewhere. His mind was a whirlwind, swirling with thoughts of his next move. He needed information. The world he had been reborn into was unfamiliar, its rules and players different from what he remembered. He had no allies, no resources—nothing but his will to survive and the faint stirrings of the power he once wielded. But that wasn't enough. He needed more.

Raik eventually returned, his eyes sharp as ever. He sat down across from Zhao Feng, the firelight dancing in his gaze. "You said you could help us. How?"

Zhao Feng studied Raik for a moment, his eyes narrowing. The man's words weren't a challenge—they were an invitation. An invitation to prove himself. Zhao Feng could see the flicker of hope in Raik's eyes, the unspoken question: Can you really deliver?

"I'm not interested in making empty promises," Zhao Feng said, his voice low and measured. "But I can help you take down your enemies. I can show you how to win, how to rebuild. But first, I need to know more about what's going on here. I need to understand who the true enemy is."

Raik raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You want to take down the big players, huh? You're thinking too big for this little camp."

Zhao Feng leaned forward, his gaze intense. "I'm not thinking small. I'm thinking long-term. You're not going to survive in this world if you keep thinking like that. The world is changing, Raik. You need to adapt, or you'll be left behind. I've seen it happen before."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Raik didn't speak immediately. Instead, he looked over at the other mercenaries, his eyes lingering on them before returning to Zhao Feng. It was clear that he was weighing the offer, trying to figure out if this stranger was a valuable ally or a dangerous liability.

Finally, Raik spoke, his voice low but steady. "Fine. I'll bite. We'll tell you what we know. But know this: If you're not useful, you won't last long here. And if you try anything funny, I won't hesitate to put you down."

Zhao Feng's lips curled into a slight smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Raik nodded, signaling for the others to gather around. As the mercenaries assembled, Zhao Feng took a mental note of each one—studying their expressions, their body language, trying to get a sense of who they were and how they fit into the puzzle.

Raik stood up and addressed the group, his voice commanding attention. "Listen up, everyone. We've got a new member in our ranks—Zhao Feng. He says he can help us, so let's hear him out. Zhao, tell them what you know."

Zhao Feng stood, his body still sore but his mind sharp. He glanced at the gathered mercenaries, each one staring at him with varying degrees of curiosity, suspicion, and interest. But Zhao Feng wasn't concerned with their gaze. He was here to set the tone, to show them that he was not just another pawn in their game.

"I know you're struggling," he began, his voice steady. "You're trying to survive in a world that's tearing itself apart. But you're not going to get anywhere if you keep playing small. You need to think bigger. You need to take control."

The group was silent as Zhao Feng spoke, his words hanging in the air. For a moment, there was nothing but the crackle of the fire and the weight of his gaze.

"I can help you take control," he continued, his voice becoming more forceful. "But first, you need to trust me. You need to believe that I can lead you to a better future. A future where you're not just scraping by. A future where you're the ones in charge."

Raik studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Alright, Zhao. We'll give you a chance. But don't think you're in charge yet. You'll need to prove yourself first."

Zhao Feng nodded in return, his eyes gleaming with determination. This was it—the moment he had been waiting for. He had his foot in the door, and he wasn't about to let it close.

The mercenaries might not trust him yet, but they would. They would come to see his value. And when they did, they would follow him. He would build his power, piece by piece, until he was untouchable.

For now, though, he would bide his time. Let them underestimate him. Let them think he was just another survivor.

He would show them just how wrong they were.