Wraith of Iwanai (2)
Ren remained completely still.
The last invader stood by the fire, staring into the flames, his body tense. He hadn't seen the last kill, but something was off. He knew it. The air around him was different.
Ren could feel his unease growing. The man shifted on his feet, fingers flexing against the hilt of his sword. His eyes darted toward the shadows, scanning, searching.
Then, his posture changed.
The unease turned to decision.
Ren's breath slowed.
He's going to call for the others.
The invader turned toward the main camp, opening his mouth to shout—
Ren moved.
He didn't charge. He vanished.
A flicker of movement—a handful of dirt and ash kicked into the fire.
The flames exploded.
A violent rush of heat and smoke surged upward as the embers scattered into the air. Sparks flew wildly, and for a brief, blinding moment, the fire became a wall of light.
The invader staggered back, cursing as he threw an arm over his face. The sudden burst had stolen his vision, his senses thrown into chaos.
That was all Ren needed.
Before the invader could recover, Ren was behind him.
A single, sharp movement—
His katana slammed into the back of the invader's knee, the edge biting deep through cloth, skin, and tendon.
A scream tore through the air.
The invader collapsed onto one knee, his leg no longer able to support him.
Ren didn't hesitate.
He was on him in an instant, wrapping an arm around the man's throat.
The invader thrashed, clawing at Ren's forearm, but his grip was becoming more unsteady with each passing moment. The man struggled violently, his body twisting, his boots kicking against the dirt—
Ren drove his knee into his lower back, forcing his head forward.
His sword flashed—
And a moment later, it plunged into the invader's exposed neck.
The blade slid in at an angle, severing through the soft tissue of the throat. Not a clean beheading—no elegance, no style—just pure, lethal precision.
The invader choked, blood spilling from his mouth, body twitching violently. His grip on his sword weakened. His legs spasmed.
And then, he went still.
Ren exhaled slowly. He yanked the blade free, wiping it against the dead man's tunic before standing.
The hunt was over.
Ren's eyes flickered toward the distant main camp.
Silence.
The fire crackled. The wind howled.
No one had heard.
He crouched, grabbing the dead man's arms and dragging the body toward the fire.
The heat bit at his skin as he shoved the corpse into the flames, letting the fire consume the evidence. The flames hissed violently, engulfing the fallen soldier, the smell of burning flesh thickening in the air.
Ren took a step back, watching the flames consume the last remnants of his work.
Only for a second.
Then, he moved.
By the time the embers settled, there was nothing left to suggest what had happened.
Only eerie emptiness.
He slipped into the ruins once more, making his way toward the next campsite. It wasn't far—he could already hear faint voices in the distance, the low murmur of men speaking in their foreign tongue.
As he crept through the shadows, his mind churned with the weight of what he had done.
He had won.
But at what cost?
His body felt cold, despite the lingering heat of the fire. The vivid, gruesome images of the fight replayed in his mind—the wet gurgling of a slit throat, the dying spasms of a man choking on his own blood, the way his blade had sunk through flesh as if it were nothing.
He wasn't meant to be a killer.
Yet, tonight, he had killed without hesitation.
A shiver ran down his spine. Not from fear of the enemies, but from fear of himself.
Ren clenched his jaw.
It didn't matter.
He didn't have the luxury of guilt.
For all he knew, one of these men had taken Hikaru.
And if that was the case, they deserved far worse than a quick death.
He didn't want to kill. But if he didn't, they would kill him first.
There was no room for mercy.
His mind drifted back to the fight, analyzing every detail. The pivotal moment had been his mistake. The stone he had slipped on. The noise that had exposed him.
Yet, ironically, it had also created an opportunity.
The reaction had been immediate. The moment the sound broke the silence, the enemy had shifted, distracted, turning their attention exactly where he wanted them to.
Ren's gaze darkened.
Sound was more than just a risk—it was a weapon.
If he could learn to control it, to use it, it could become the foundation of his attacks.
He kept this thought in mind as he approached the next site.
The layout was similar.
As he climbed the remains of a broken wall, his eyes flickered to a rooftop above—the same rooftop where he had almost died the night before.
The spot where an arrow had barely missed him.
And now, below that very place…
Another campfire burned.
Ren lowered himself, studying the area.
Five enemies.
Two sat by the fire, their weapons resting against a log beside them, their conversation low and casual.
Two more patrolled the perimeter, slow-moving but methodical, their torches flickering as they walked their set paths.
The final one stood further out, watching the flank.
Ren exhaled through his nose.
He had time.
His fingers brushed against the hilt of his katana as he carefully began forming a plan.
The first move was obvious.
He would bait the lone soldier.
Create a sound—a whisper of movement just loud enough to draw his attention.
Once he was isolated, he would strike.
Then, he would disappear.
Reposition.
And wait for the next mistake.
Ren's grip tightened then he began his attack.
Ren crouched low on the rooftop, his eyes flickering to the wooden shaft protruding from the tiles a few feet away. The arrow—the one that had nearly killed him the night before.
He crawled forward, careful not to disturb the weakened structure beneath him, and wrapped his fingers around the shaft. He pulled it free with a slow, steady motion, testing its weight.
It was still intact.
Ren tucked it into his belt. He had no bow, but an arrow wasn't just for shooting. A sharpened tip could be used in a dozen ways, and he knew better than to discard something that might save his life later.
With that done, he shifted his focus back to the camp below.
The five men remained exactly where they had been.
Two at the fire, their backs relaxed, weapons resting nearby.
Two patrolling the perimeter, their torches casting elongated shadows against the broken walls.
And one—his first target—standing alone near the outskirts, watching the empty streets with a vacant, disinterested stare.
Ren moved.
Silent as death, he slipped from the rooftop, his body a shadow blending into the crumbling remains of the building beside the camp. He crouched low, inching his way closer. The only sound was the faint crackle of the campfire and the distant murmurs of the invaders.
He positioned himself near a broken section of the wall, peering through the jagged gap.
The lone soldier was just a few strides away. Close enough to hear the sound of a footstep. Close enough to die before he could make a noise.
But Ren didn't attack. Not yet.
Instead, he reached down, fingers brushing against the dirt until they closed around a smooth stone.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent it flying.
The rock clattered against the ruins across the street, bouncing with just enough noise to pull attention. The sharp sound cut through the quiet like a warning bell.
The lone soldier stiffened, immediately turning toward the noise. He barked something in his foreign tongue, expecting an answer.
Silence.
Ren crouched deeper into the shadows, his breath steady, eyes fixed on the man.
The faint rustling of the wind stirred nearby branches—nothing out of place. And yet, tension hung in the air like a drawn bowstring.
The soldier adjusted his grip on his weapon, his posture now rigid with suspicion. He began to step away from his post, drawn toward the source of the sound.
That was the mistake Ren needed.
Like a shadow given form, he slipped from cover. Silent. Purposeful. His footsteps never faltered, his movement smooth and deliberate.
The soldier's gaze remained fixed on the underbrush.
He began to turn, realizing the true threat was behind him.
Ren struck.
His hand clamped over the man's mouth, cutting off the startled gasp before it could rise. In the same motion, he drove his blade up and into the exposed seam beneath the ribs, angling for the heart.
A muffled grunt vibrated against his palm. The soldier's body bucked violently, arms twitching in instinctual protest. But Ren held fast, muscles taut, unflinching.
Seconds passed.
The man's resistance weakened. His weight began to sag.
Ren exhaled slowly, lowering the body to the ground easing him down without a sound.
He remained crouched, eyes scanning the darkened perimeter, listening.
No response.
No alarm.
Ren exhaled again, more sharply this time, the fatigue suddenly catching up to him. His limbs trembled faintly, but he forced himself still.
He wiped the blade against the soldier's sleeve, then rose to his feet, senses sharpening once more. Now that he was sure no one had noticed he decided to hide the body.
Carefully, he dragged the body to the nearest darkened corner, pressing it into the shadows of a ruined wall. It wasn't a perfect hiding spot. If someone looked closely, they would find it. But for now, it was enough.
One down.
Four left.
Ren expected the camp to react.
He waited for the others to notice their missing comrade, for the shift in their routine, for something that would give him an opening.
But nothing changed.
The two at the fire kept eating, kept talking. The patrolling guards continued their slow, lazy pace.
Ren frowned.
Had the lone soldier meant that little to them?
He would have to be patient.
A hasty move could expose him.
So he waited.
Seconds dragged into minutes.
Finally—movement.
One of the men at the fire set down his food, glancing over his shoulder. He exchanged a few words with his companion, gesturing toward the direction of the missing soldier.
The other shrugged. In the end they gave in to curiosity.
The two men stood.
Ren's fingers tightened around his sword hilt.
The patrolmen also reacted, but instead of splitting up, they grouped together, forming two pairs.
His brow furrowed.
They were more cautious than the last group.
The advantage of surprise was fading.
Ren exhaled slowly, watching them move.
Two of them checked the spot where the lone soldier had been standing, looking around, scanning the darkness. The other two waited near the fire, their hands now resting on their weapons.
Ren's mind worked fast.
The problem was clear—no one was alone.
He could take out one, but the other would immediately react.
And if one alerted the main camp…
No. That wasn't an option.
He needed to improvise.
Ren took a step back, melting deeper into the ruined buildings.
There were two solutions.
One: Find a way to split them up.
Two: Eliminate two at once.
The first was safer. But right now, it wasn't possible.
The second was riskier. But if done correctly, it could end this fight before it truly began.
Ren's eyes darted across the battlefield.
He needed a distraction.
Something that would force a reaction.
Something loud.
Something unexpected.
His fingers drifted toward the arrow at his belt.
Then—to the rooftops above.
His gaze sharpened.
He had an idea.
Slowly, he slipped through the ruins, positioning himself for his next strike.
The invaders were still searching. Still talking.
Unaware that the predator among them had just found his next move.
It was time to finish this.
Ren moved quickly, but not recklessly. Every step, every shift of his weight was calculated. The plan forming in his mind would only work if he executed it perfectly.
His grip tightened around the arrow he had taken from the rooftop. It wasn't just a weapon—it was a tool. A tool that, in the right hands, could turn the tide of a fight.
He needed to kill both invaders at once.
And he needed them to never see it coming.
Ren positioned himself on the edge of the ruined rooftop above them, the shattered beams creaking softly under his weight. Below, the two invaders stood close together, still searching for their missing comrade.
The fire cast long, flickering shadows across the ruins, distorting their figures. One held a torch, his light illuminating the broken walls around them.
The other had his sword drawn, his eyes darting through the darkness.
Ren exhaled, steadying his breath.
Then—he acted.
With a flick of his wrist, he threw the arrow.
It wasn't aimed at either of them.
Instead, it clattered loudly against the far side of the ruins.
Both invaders whipped their heads around, their bodies tensing.
With a simple dash to the edge he made his move.
Ren dropped from the rooftop like a phantom descending from the heavens, his katana flashing in the firelight.
Before either man could turn back, he was already upon them.
The first died instantly.
Ren's blade slashed cleanly across his throat, severing the arteries in a single stroke. Blood sprayed into the night, a crimson arc illuminated by the flames.
The second barely had time to react.
By the time he registered his companion's death, Ren had already lunged forward.
The katana plunged deep into his chest, slicing through muscle and bone. The invader gasped, his hands jerking toward his wound, his mouth forming silent words that would never be spoken.
Ren twisted the blade brutally.
The man spasmed. Then, he collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
Ren exhaled through his nose, his heart pounding against his ribs.
The kills had been quick. Efficient.
But there was still one final step.
Ren moved fast.
He pulled both bodies closer to the third, stacking them like discarded logs. Blood dripped onto the dirt, pooling in the flickering light.
Then, he reached for the torches one of the invaders had dropped.
Fire was destruction. Fire was chaos. And right now, chaos was his greatest weapon.
With one swift motion, Ren threw the torch into the wood of the building. The flames caught instantly. Within seconds, the fire began to grow, licking at the abandoned structure with greedy hunger.
Ren stepped back, his mask reflecting the glow of the inferno.
The final two invaders would see this. They would come running. And when they did—They would die.
Ren didn't have to wait long.
The fire roared to life, spreading rapidly through the broken remains of the building. The heat seared against his skin, his eyes watering behind the mask as black smoke billowed into the sky.
Then—shouts.
The final two invaders had noticed.
He crouched low, pressing into the shadows as they came sprinting toward the blaze.
One of them shouted something, his voice filled with panic.
The other immediately began looking around, his grip tightening on his weapon.
They were searching.
Looking for the cause.
Ren's pulse steadied.
This was it.
The moment the first man stepped into range—
Ren struck.
He lunged forward, his katana thrusting deep into the invader's gut. The man's body jerked violently, his mouth opening in shock as blood poured from the wound.
But he wasn't dead.
Ren ripped the blade free and kicked him forward, sending him stumbling into the dirt.
The second invader reacted instantly. A flash of steel came for Ren's head. He barely twisted in time—the sword whistled past his ear, so close he felt the wind of its passing.
Ren countered, slashing across the enemy's chest. The invader dodged at the last second, twisting away from the strike. Ren's blade met empty air. Then—pain.
A fist slammed into Ren's ribs, knocking the wind from his lungs.
The injured invader—the one Ren had stabbed but not killed—had recovered enough to throw a punch.
Ren gasped, staggering back—just in time to see the second invader's sword descending toward him.
He dove backward, barely avoiding the slash.
But the enemy had anticipated this.
A heavy kick slammed into Ren's chest.
His body flew backward, crashing through the entrance of the burning building.
His breath left him in a sharp gasp as he slammed into the charred wooden floor, debris scattering around him.
His katana slipped from his grasp, landing several feet away.
For a moment, his mind blurred—the heat of the fire, the smoke, the pain in his ribs all blending together.
Then—he saw it.
The arrow.
The very same one he had thrown earlier.
It lay just inches from his hand, half-hidden beneath the rubble.
The second invader strode forward, sword raised for the kill.
The injured one followed behind, clutching his bleeding stomach, struggling to stay upright.
Ren forced himself to breathe.
Think.
As the first invader stepped inside, Ren moved. His hand snatched the arrow, concealing it behind his forearm as he pushed himself up onto his knees.
The invader smirked, stepping closer. Ren feigned weakness, swaying slightly. The invader took the bait. He raised his sword, preparing to finish Ren off. But before he could...
Ren lunged forward, driving the arrow straight through the invader's eye.
A wet, sickening crunch.
The invader's body seized, his scream cut short as he collapsed, twitching.
Ren wasted no time.
He rolled, grabbing his katana.
Ren barely had time to catch his breath before the final invader reacted.
The man let out a pained roar, clutching his bleeding stomach as he staggered forward.
Ren turned just in time to see a wild, desperate slash coming straight for him.
He ducked, the blade missing his head by inches.
The invader's movements were sloppy—weakened by blood loss—but he was still dangerous. A desperate, dying man was often the most lethal.
Ren stepped back, trying to regain his balance. His body ached. His ribs screamed from the earlier kick. His breath came ragged, his muscles burning.
But he couldn't stop.
The invader lunged again, this time aiming lower—Ren barely managed to parry. Their blades clashed, sparks flying in the firelight.
Ren gritted his teeth, feeling the impact in his arms. The force behind the attack was weaker than before, but still enough to rattle him.
He countered.
A quick step forward. A slash toward the enemy's open side. The invader twisted, catching the blade on his own sword. For a brief moment, they locked eyes.
The invader's face was pale, slick with sweat and blood. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling. There was a tinge of fear mixed with anger shown in his expression.
But he still fought. Ren respected that. It wouldn't change the outcome though.
The invader raised his weapon again, preparing for another attack—but Ren moved first. He stepped into the invader's guard, using his smaller size to his advantage. A swift elbow to the already wounded stomach.
The invader choked, his entire body recoiling in pain. His sword wavered.
Ren didn't hesitate.
He twisted his grip on the katana—then drove the blade clean through the enemy's chest. The invader's breath hitched. His sword slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground.
For a moment, he just stood there.
Ren watched as the light slowly faded from his eyes.
Then—he fell.
The last body hit the dirt, lifeless.
Ren exhaled, letting his muscles finally relax.
Looking out through the exposed ceiling he saw the first evidence of the sun rising out over the atmosphere. As he did, the final embers of the second campsite were dying out.