Sin Holder

On the Other Side of the Crack...

An old man lay in the tall grass, unmoving. The wind blew over the plains. Pale sunlight filtered through drifting clouds, casting a faint glow across his weathered face. A blade of grass danced lazily from his mouth. He looked like he hadn't moved in hours.

But he was awake.

His eyes were half-closed, watching the sky in silence. It was hard to tell. The deep lines on his face hinted at long years, long regrets. And though time had marked him rough, the handsomeness of his youth still lingered in the bones beneath. Even now, lying there like a man half-asleep, he radiated a dangerous aura.

He was called Black Hair, one of the Seven Sin Holders. A living legend, feared even among empires.

No one knew where mana came from. Maybe it had always been there—part of the universe's first breath. But when mana flowed, the Seven Sins appeared. Each Sin manifested as a tattoo-like rune, burned into the soul, flesh, or even an object. They were scattered across the entire universe.

They couldn't be created. They couldn't be destroyed.

They could only be held.

And each bearer was never the same.

Lust. Gluttony. Greed. Sloth. Wrath. Envy. Pride.

Seven fragments of madness. Seven thrones without kings. They said that if anyone gathered all seven, they could wish for anything they desired.

But right now, one of them was lying in the grass, smiling at the clouds like an old farmer. And the rune like tattoo of Sloth glowed faintly around his neck.

In the distance, the soft jingle of armor and boots broke the plains' silence. A small squad approached—five men on horseback, their tattered banners half-tied to crooked spears. Their clothes were ragged, and their voices carried loudly on the wind. They were mercenaries, their mood already foul. They'd just failed a critical task: escorting an animal to a client's location. An accident on the road had allowed their escort object to escape, leaving them with nothing but anger and frustration.

"Old man, what are you doing over there?" one of them called out, spotting Black Hair.

The old man didn't reply, didn't even spare a glance. He simply whistled a tuneless melody into the vast sky.

The one who seemed to be their leader bristled, his temper flaring. "Don't you hear we're talking to you, motherfucker?!"

His anger, already simmering from their failed mission, boiled over. They did not call out just because they are curious but because they wanted to rest at the old man's house. The nearest settlement was still miles away, and they were exhausted. They'd seen someone who looked like a local, hoping for a convenient stop, but this old man's blatant disregard was an insult.

The leader decided. He'd vent his fury. They had done this countless times before. Returning from trips, they often encountered defenseless villagers, bullying them, taking over their homes, eating their food without a word of thanks. The last time, they'd not only terrorized a villager and stayed in his house, but they'd also gotten lucky. The man had daughters, and while none were beauties, they made for agreeable playthings. Afterward, they'd simply killed the family and burned the house to the ground before leaving.

At first, seeing the old man, they hadn't cared much, just wanted a place to rest and move on. But now, his attitude had made an already bad mood even worse.

"Stop bothering this old bones, I got nothing you want. Let me waste the time and laze around peacefully" Black Hair reply without even looking at them.

The Leader among completely piss now after seeing the attitude of old man.

"Good!, you ask for this fucker! I originally plan to leave after taking a rest but you successfully make me angry old man. I will let you know how to respect the one who have bigger fist you fucker!" 

The leader don't even bother to order his suborite anymore but climb down from the horse and take the spear in his hand. He walk toward the old man

The old man didn't move.

Didn't even blink.

The grass swayed gently around him.

The mercenary stomped closer, spear in hand, his boots crunching the earth. He jabbed the butt end of his weapon to the old man's balls.

DING!

A hollow, metallic note echoed in the air. The mercenary blinked.

Black Hair's eyebrow twitched.

He let out a shaky breath 

"Really? You had to go there?"

"Such a special hobby you've got... Damn. Thank the heavens I've got strong balls."

He rolled slightly, grimacing with exaggerated relief.

"That could've been a disaster."

The mercenary looked confused. Then annoyed and become furious.

"You think this is a joke?!"

He lifted his spear again—

And that's when Black Hair's hand moved.

Just one finger.

Pointing lazily at the mercenary's knee. The leg disappeared out of thin air.

Just... gone — vanished cleanly from mid-thigh down, as if it had never existed.

The mercenary leader didn't even scream at first. He looked down, stunned, as blood sprayed from the sudden absence. Then the pain caught up.

He collapsed to the ground, shrieking, clutching at nothing. Grass stained red. Dirt turned slick.

"AHHHHHHHH" The leader remember to scream only now. His voice fill with pain ripple through out the surrounding and strike fear to onlookers.

The others froze.

Panic hit hard. They fumbled for weapons, fear rising in their throats.

Black Hair just sighed, brushing some dust off his robe.

"I was going to nap here for another hour."

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"But now I've got to relocate because some ball-obsessed clown couldn't mind his business."

He stood up.

And even the wind moving around him paused for a moment before continue.

The four remaining mercenaries pointed their weapons at him, hands trembling. Their arrogant had evaporated like piss on hot stone.

They knew they had kick an iron plate today

"W-Who the fuck are you, old man?! We don't got business with you! Why the hell did you attack our leader?!"

The old man didn't flinch.

"People call me Black Hair."

He tilted his head, lazily.

"Also… wasn't it your 'leader' who jabbed my balls first?"

The mercenaries stiffened.

"Black Hair?! That Black Hair?!""No way! Black Hair's supposed to be a young man! You look like someone's drunk uncle—don't fuck with us!"

One of them stepped forward, panic making his voice crack.

"I might mistake my mom for someone else, but I wouldn't mistake Black Hair! Stop spouting crap, you old ba—"

He didn't finish the sentence.

Right before their eyes, the slouching old man shimmered — his skin smoothing, back straightening, hair turning jet black. A second later, standing there in the grass, was a smug-looking young man in loose robes, looking maybe mid-twenties.

He grinned.

"Surprise, motherfuckers."

Then he made a face like a drunk monkey, stuck out his tongue, and flipped them off.

Middle finger, right between the eyes.

If any Earthling saw it, they'd wonder how the hell someone from another world knew that gesture.

But as it turns out…

The middle finger is universal.

The mercenaries went pale.

For one second, two seconds—

Then chaos.

"RUN!!"

One of them screamed, throwing down his sword and bolting like his ass was on fire. The other three followed without hesitation, trampling each other, kicking dust, screaming apologies no one was listening to.

"SORRY SIR!! WE DIDN'T KNOW!!"

"PLEASE DON'T KILL US!"

"I'LL JOIN A BLACK HAIR TEMPLE—JUST SPARE ME!"

Black Hair didn't chase.

He just sighed, dusted imaginary dirt off his robes, and muttered:

"Ah... youth these days. No commitment."

The wind picked up again. The tall grass swayed around him like waves.

The only one who didn't run was the guy missing a leg.

He was still there, lying in the grass, clutching the bleeding wound, eyes wide with terror and fear

Black Hair walked over and crouched beside him. His eye fill with sadness as if he is not the one who did it

"I wasn't really planning to beat anyone today, y'know," he said. "But your aim was off. If you'd poked my thigh or shoulder, I'd have let it go."

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper.

"But the balls, man. The balls."

The mercenary whimpered.

Black Hair clicked his tongue, reached into his coat, and pulled out... a boiled egg.

"Here. Protein. Helps with blood loss."

He gently tucked it into the man's shaking hand, then stood.

"Anyway, thanks for waking me up. I was about to oversleep. Can't miss the start of a war, right?"

He looked up toward the sky.

Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon.

Black Hair stretched like a man getting out of bed, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck with a loud pop.

Then yawned.

"Time to move my ass and find some good place to laze around…"

He turned, walking off into the direction of the crack

"…in another world."