"Your mother," Kazel said suddenly.
Durandal blinked, confused. "What?"
"You hate her," Kazel said. "And you hate yourself for it."
"…I didn't at first," Durandal finally said, his voice cracking. "She was all I had. But when that fat bastard said it… that she sold me… and smiled while doing it…"
His hands curled into fists.
"She still thinks I don't know."
Kazel turned away, pacing slowly.
"There's a kind of cruelty," he said, "that digs deeper than blades. A cruelty that smiles while it betrays, then begs you to be grateful for it."
Durandal's eyes widened slightly.
"That cruelty," Kazel continued, "is what rules this world. And that's why I won't let it stand."
He looked over his shoulder at Durandal. "But you… I need to know if you've broken yet. Because if you haven't, I'll temper you into something strong. But if you have... then I'll put you down before you rot my house from within."
Durandal's breath caught. He slowly lowered himself to one knee.
"I haven't broken," he said, voice hoarse. "Not yet. And if you'll let me… I'll break others before they break me again."
Kazel smiled—thin and cold.
"Good," he said. "Then soon, you and I will pay your dear mother a visit."
---
The scent of morning tea hadn't yet settled when the bell above the Duskwind Inn's door rang softly.
A hush followed.
A slim figure stepped through, her walk languid, almost floating, a flower petal lazily dancing between her lips. Her robe was light and lilac, embroidered with sleepy orchids, trailing just above the polished wooden floor. Every step she took seemed dipped in silence.
Madam Yi—who rarely bowed to anyone—straightened sharply behind the counter and lowered her head.
"Good morning, Lady Yasha," she said with restrained formality.
A wave of murmurs spread like ripples through the early patrons. Some leaned from their tables, others whispered:
"That's her…!"
"One of the Five…"
"The Five Ladies Sect…"
"No way, she's younger than me…"
"She's supposed to be lazy, but they say she once—"
"Shh!"
Lady Yasha's gaze drifted across the room. Her beauty was not loud—it was the kind that made hearts ache. Youthful cheeks, mischievous eyes beneath heavy lashes, and a dangerous smile that promised either kindness or poison.
Still chewing the petal, she spoke, voice soft, yet everyone heard it.
"Is the young master of yesterday's little performance still here?"
Again, the crowd stirred. A private visit? From a Lady of the Five? To him?
Madam Yi's eyes flickered, but she kept her poise.
"I apologize, Lady Yasha," she said. "The young master and his… companion left early. Before sunrise."
Lady Yasha let out a long sigh and tilted her head up toward the ceiling as if hoping the answer might change.
"How boring…" she murmured.
She twirled the petal with her tongue, sighed again, then gave a lazy smile and walked toward a window seat.
"Then I'll wait," she said simply.
Her voice was gentle, but none dared to challenge it. Even Madam Yi hesitated—unsure if she was serious, or just whimsically passing time.
Either way, Lady Yasha was here.
And the eyes of the Duskwind Inn could think only one thing:
(Just what kind of person is that Kazel…?)
---
In the weave of winding alleys where shadows slept even in daylight, a cloaked figure halted.
Her snow-white robe was hidden beneath a frayed and muddied traveler's cloak. Strands of icy silver hair peeked out from beneath her hood as she stood motionless in the narrow corridor between broken walls and hanging cloth.
A familiar silhouette had just crossed the next intersection.
(That's him…)
Kazel.
He moved without fear, without urgency—just a steady, calm gait like the world owed him every step.
Behind him trailed the boy—Durandal.
(What is he doing in the slums…?) she thought, narrowing her eyes.
Around them, the slum dwellers parted like the sea. Ragged beggars who had once clawed at strangers for crusts now lowered their heads, too afraid to raise their voices. No child reached out, no drunk dared mutter.
The aftermath of yesterday's massacre still clung to the streets like a warning.
Kazel walked as if he strolled through a garden of his own making.
It wasn't arrogance—it was dominion.
And she watched.
The woman from the Heavenless Bow Sect—one of the six faction observers who had seen blood spray and heads roll—lowered her frame and slinked along the alley's edges, blending into the grime and rot. She wrapped the cloak tighter and tucked her robes beneath it, suppressing her presence with expert control.
Not even a dog barked at her.
(He hasn't noticed me…) she thought. (Good.)
She kept her distance, her breath slow, her body moving like the windless flake of snow her sect was known for. Silent, precise, and vanishing when unneeded.
But in her chest, curiosity stirred. Not the shallow interest of a martial artist watching spectacle. This was deeper.
A monster didn't wander into slums.
Unless he was hunting something.
Or someone.
And so, she followed.
Durandal stopped in his tracks, eyes shadowed under the morning light.
"Here," he said quietly.
They stood before a doorway—or what passed for one. A crooked wooden frame draped with a tattered curtain, its holes letting the dim light inside pour out in scattered shafts. The stench of smoke, mold, and sweat hung in the air.
Durandal stepped forward, but a hand gripped his shoulder firmly.
He looked back to see Kazel's eyes, blue and icy, locking onto his.
Kazel raised a finger to his lips. "I'll go first. Listen. Enter only if you feel it's right."
Durandal hesitated, then nodded.
Kazel drew back the cloth.
"Do excuse me," he said, stepping inside.
There was a shuffle.
A woman emerged from the dimness.
Her cheeks were sunken, her hair dry and uncombed. But her body—slim, curved, maintained—spoke of someone who still clung to survival through means she hated but knew best. Her eyes were tired, hollowed from sleepless nights, yet trained to feign delight.
"Y-Yes…?" she said, blinking at the unfamiliar presence.
Her gaze traveled over the expensive folds of Kazel's dark robe, the immaculate halberd-shaped insignia on his belt.
"A young master," she breathed. Then her lips curled into a practiced smile. "What can I do for you? I'm afraid there's no chair, but… we can talk more comfortably on the bed."
Kazel let out a soft chuckle.
"It seems you've served many young masters."
She tilted her head, shrugging slightly, seductive in motion. "I won't say I'm unfamiliar."
"But unfortunately," Kazel said, stepping into the center of the room and letting the curtain fall shut behind him, "I'm not here for that."
The woman's expression didn't falter at first.
She only let her robe slip down from her shoulder, revealing pale, slightly bruised skin. "Are you sure…?" she said, voice softer now. "The body can still serve many things. I can be—"
"No," Kazel cut in, lifting his chin. His eyes turned razor-sharp.
For a moment, silence ruled the tiny shack.
Then the woman pulled her robe back up with shaky hands. Her eyes wavered.
"I-I'm sorry… I misjudged…"
Kazel folded his arms. "I'm here for your son."
Her breath caught.
Outside, Durandal's brows furrowed. His jaw clenched.
(He said it.)
Inside, the woman stood frozen, then let out a nervous laugh—thin and dry.
"I see…" she said quietly. "That boy… he's already sold, young master. He belongs to someone else now."
"But if the price is right," Kazel said, voice steady.
She looked up. Her pupils flickered with a glint of greed and shame. Her lips parted.
"I… might be able to pull some strings. After all, that fat bastard only visits once every few weeks… You offer enough spirit stones, and perhaps that boy can vanish before he shows up again."
Kazel didn't move. He simply stared at her.
And for a fleeting second, her soul felt cold.
Outside, rage had replaced the hollow silence in Durandal's chest. His breath, once trembling, now hissed through clenched teeth. His hands quivered—not from weakness, but from something molten, something vile, rising up from his very soul.
(You begged for her.)
(You defended her.)
(You threw away your pride, your pain, everything… for her.)
He punched the wall beside him, drawing blood.
Then—
"Hey, you," a raspy voice called out. A beggar, crooked and with a patchy beard, pointed with a shaking hand. "Aren't you Mata?"
The name cracked like thunder.
Inside the shack, the woman froze. The blood drained from her face.
Durandal heard it.
He felt it.
She knew.
And she had always known.
He shot to his feet.
Kazel, still facing the woman, didn't even glance back as he flicked a small dagger over his shoulder. Durandal snatched it mid-air like a starving wolf catching a bone.
His footsteps pounded into the floorboards as he stormed in. His mother—no, that woman—backed away in sheer terror.
"M-Mata! Wait—!"
"WHY!!!" he roared.
His tears streamed freely now, the kind born not from sorrow, but fury. Years of pain, of shame, of loneliness—all erupting like a volcano.
"WHY DID YOU DO IT?!"
He charged, no hesitation.
She tried to stumble back, knocking over a stool, but he was already upon her. The dagger trembled in his grasp—
Then plunged.
Straight into her chest.
"WHY!!!!"
The blade buried itself up to the hilt, his voice breaking as he screamed again, stabbing again.
"WHY DID YOU SELL ME!!!?"
Blood stained her robe. Her mouth opened, but no words came—just a weak, shocked gurgle.
"WHY DID I STILL WAIT FOR YOU!?"
Tears and blood mixed on his face. His body shook.
And Kazel…
Kazel watched without flinching, eyes cold but not uncaring. He understood. He had given the boy a blade, not just of steel—but of liberation.
The woman collapsed.
Durandal stood over her, chest heaving. The dagger slipped from his fingers. His body swayed. He didn't look at Kazel. Couldn't.
He just whispered through clenched teeth.
"I hate her."
He fell to his knees again, no strength left. Not even the strength to cry.
"Did you enjoy the show," Kazel said as he turned around, his voice calm, yet laced with something ominous. His blue eyes locked onto the woman standing just outside the broken cloth of the doorway.
The snow-robed woman froze.
She had followed quietly, masked herself in a beggar's cloak, hidden her presence like a shadow.
But he had known.
Her eyes were wide—not from fear, but from what she had witnessed. The rawness of it. The brutality. The truth.
She said nothing.
And Kazel… simply smiled.