Shuku leaned in, both ears raised as he listened to John with full attention. The man they were talking about was known as the strongest manhunter alive in the entire kingdom, a monster of a man whose blade of death had never allowed anyone to escape.
"His magic ability," John said, "is pyrokinesis."
"…Fire?" Shuku asked, trying to confirm.
"Yeah." John nodded. "He can summon flames at will. Burn his opponents alive. Or cut them down with a blade enchanted by his own fire magic."
John paused for a moment, as if even he disliked imagining it too clearly.
"I've never met him before, and honestly, I don't want to. But from all the rumors I've heard, the corpses he brings back after his hunts are usually burned almost black. Their blood is nearly evaporated, and their bodies are sliced into clean, separate pieces. The cuts are so perfect they look like they were made in a single swing."
Shuku said nothing.
"And despite using that much fire," John continued, "no one has ever seen him with burns on his body. His clothes, sure. But his skin? Nothing. No major injuries either. No visible exhaustion. Every story makes him sound energetic, hungry, like he's always craving the next hunt."
John leaned back slightly.
"That's all I know about his magic. Since I've never seen him myself, that's all I can say for certain. But when you combine that magic with his skill, knowledge, strength, and mind, you get one of the strongest killers in history. Nearly unstoppable. Almost impossible to kill. Almost impossible to defeat."
Then John's expression darkened.
"But that's not all of it."
Shuku continued listening, even more focused than before.
"He's not just untouchable physically," John said. "He's untouchable politically too."
John took a sip from his drink, wetting his throat before continuing.
"I told you before, right? He's the eldest son of the Ferno House. That alone should already tell you what I mean."
"Ummm…" Shuku hesitated. "No."
John stared at him.
"What?"
"Yeah. I don't know anything about those Houses and stuff." Shuku scratched his cheek awkwardly. "I'm… illiterate. I came from a remote village in the jungle, so I don't know much. Sorry."
It was a lie, but a useful one. It gave him a simple excuse for his lack of knowledge while hiding his identity at the same time.
John let out a long sigh.
"This is why you should always research everything before accepting this career. Fine. I'll explain it to you."
He tapped his fingers against the table.
"There are many Houses across the continent. Each House is an aristocratic family tied together by bloodline. Basically, nobles. Most of them maintain their wealth by controlling some part of society. Some control trade routes. Others control crops, food supply, mining, weapons, information, whatever keeps money moving."
Shuku nodded slowly.
"But in South Apomis, there are four major powers you must always watch out for," John continued. "The Harper House, the Folk House, the Fang Gang, and finally, the Ferno House."
John raised one finger.
"The Harper House controls the Merchant Association. They move goods and valuables across the country, collecting fees from merchants who use their routes and networks. They used to hire manhunters like Greyhound to protect their caravans, but recently they've started using their own men instead. Some of those men are even professional manhunters."
He raised a second finger.
"The Folk House controls the Guild Association. That's the organization that manages hunters like me and you."
John gestured between them, and Shuku nodded.
"Then there's the Fang Gang. It belongs to Greyhound. From the name, you'd think they were just a gang of horrible people doing horrible things, but believe it or not, they control the biggest bank in the country."
Shuku frowned.
"…What do you mean?"
"Yeah, that's the normal reaction." John nodded. "But it actually makes sense. Greyhound used his fame and connections to build a bank. He was already known as the second strongest manhunter on the continent, and on top of that, he had a reputation for being modest and reliable. So he created a bank that was supposed to be so secure no one would dare rob it."
John took another sip.
"He named it Silver Vault. At first, people were skeptical. They thought, 'If we can't kill him, then what stops him from stealing all our money?' And Greyhound knew that too. So in the first year, he used his own money to raise the interest return rate up to twenty percent. After that, people swarmed in."
Shuku's eyes widened slightly.
"After two or three years, Silver Vault became the biggest bank in the entire country. It now holds around forty percent of the kingdom's wealth."
John gave a dry smile.
"All of that came from one man who couldn't be killed. Just by doing that, Greyhound placed himself among the strongest, wealthiest, and most politically powerful men in the kingdom. With his connections to aristocrats and even the king himself, he might be more dangerous than Hellfire in terms of social status."
"Damn…" Shuku muttered.
He could not hide his astonishment. This was completely different from what he had expected. He had assumed power came from strength, weapons, or magic, but Greyhound had turned fear itself into money.
John drank again, giving himself a short break.
After a moment, Shuku returned to the conversation.
"Yeah," John said. "That's a little more about the second guy. Then there's the Ferno House."
'Here we go,' Shuku thought.
"The Ferno House, also known as Ferno Weapons Company, or FWC, is the best weapons manufacturer in this kingdom. All the best manhunters buy weapons from them, and the rich ones even order custom-made weapons. Their prices are much higher than normal weapon shops, but the quality is unmatched."
John tilted his head downward, briefly indicating his own weapons.
"Even Greyhound's suit and claws were custom-made by FWC. Those weapons have killed hundreds of people since he bought them. My hammers are also from FWC, and I can tell you, the quality is incredible. Just holding them never gets old."
Shuku glanced at the hammers, then back at John.
"So, on the surface, that's what the Ferno House is. Weapon manufacturers and sellers. They even make kitchenware to earn extra money from normal people. Because of that, they're actually more popular among manhunters and commoners than most noble families."
John's voice lowered slightly.
"However…"
"However?" Shuku repeated.
John leaned closer.
"This might just be a rumor," he said, "but I heard they are also holding one of the Seven Cursed Blades."
Shuku's body jolted slightly before he quickly forced himself to calm down.
"…Really?" he asked, trying to sound ignorant. "What are those?"
He played dumb instinctively, but there was a reason for it. John was a rare source of information. If Shuku admitted that he already knew about the Cursed Blades, he might lose the chance to fill the gaps in his own knowledge.
John did not seem suspicious.
"Yeah. It's normal if you don't know. Common people aren't told about this, and even among manhunters, only a few truly know anything. Even the top ones probably don't know much. But from the information I've gathered and the powerful people I've spoken with, I learned that…"
John's voice dropped into a whisper.
"The Seven Cursed Blades belonged to the Demon Lord himself."
Shuku widened his eyes, pretending to be shocked.
It was information he already knew.
"Shocking, right?" John said, completely convinced by Shuku's reaction. "The information came from old books researchers managed to find, most of them written by elven writers who were supposedly close to the Demon Lord. Those writings eventually became rumors, and as I dug deeper, I found out something even stranger."
John paused.
"The Demon Lord was defeated."
This time, Shuku's shock was not fake.
"They never told me who killed him," John continued. "In fact, it feels like they were trying to hide that part. But after the Demon Lord died, his body split into seven blades with unimaginable power."
Shuku's throat tightened.
"The Bone Blade. The Power Blade. The Mind Blade. The Death Blade. The Blood Blade…"
Shuku's fingers twitched.
"The Meat Blade. And one final blade whose name is still unknown."
John watched him carefully.
"Do you notice something about those names?"
"Yeah…" Shuku said slowly. "They're all body parts. Or organs."
"Exactly." John nodded. "That probably means the blades are pieces of the Demon Lord's corpse. His body split apart after death, and those parts became weapons. Maybe it was a way to preserve his original power. Maybe it was something else. Nobody knows for sure."
John leaned back.
"But every rumor says the same thing. The Seven Cursed Blades are currently the strongest weapons in existence. At least until something stronger is discovered. Any one of them could probably destroy a country. They're said to be more powerful and more dangerous than all the manhunters combined."
Shuku remained still.
"That's why the nobles and the central church of North Apomis are so desperate to collect them," John said. "Maybe out of fear. Maybe out of greed. Since the blades are scattered across the continent, it takes a lot of effort to find even one. Right now, I heard they've found two blades, but I don't know which ones. That information is extremely classified, even from top manhunters."
Shuku fell silent.
He was shocked by how much he had just learned. The information was useful, but also dangerous. John was talking about the Cursed Blades while one of them was practically sitting right in front of him.
Shuku needed to steer the conversation back before John talked too much.
"Wow," he said carefully. "That's all great information, but can you get back to the main point?"
"Oh. Yeah." John blinked, then gave a small laugh. "I got carried away."
He took another gulp of beer and continued.
"As I was saying, the Ferno House seems to possess one of the Seven Cursed Blades. Again, that's only a rumor. I don't know which one it is or how they acquired it, because something like that would be hidden deeper than any royal secret. But my guess is the Power Blade."
Shuku listened closely.
"From what was written," John said, "the Power Blade can create enormous energy. Fire, explosions, heat powerful enough to burn or even evaporate almost any material known to exist."
John scratched his chin.
"Now, you might think my guess is stupid because the Ferno family uses fire magic and the Power Blade is also related to fire or raw energy. And honestly, yes, that's exactly why I think it might be theirs. It sounds amateur, but sometimes obvious connections exist for a reason."
He then leaned forward again.
"So, what does this have to do with our number-one manhunter being nearly impossible to kill?"
Shuku said nothing, waiting for him to continue.
"Put simply, if the Ferno House truly controls one of the Seven Cursed Blades, and Hellfire is the eldest son of that House, then the moment his father dies, he inherits everything. The company, the wealth, the family property, and possibly the blade itself."
John's eyes narrowed.
"And if one blade is enough to wipe out a country, then Hellfire is practically untouchable. Maybe he could take the blade right now if he wanted. But from what I understand, his ego probably tells him he doesn't need it yet."
"…"
Shuku was speechless.
He had believed, naively, that his Blood Blade was unique. He had thought that no matter how strong other people were, the blade would always give him an advantage. It was the one thing that placed him ahead.
But now he knew the truth.
There were other Cursed Blades out there. Other weapons equal to his, or maybe even stronger. Some were already in the hands of kingdoms, nobles, or people who would likely see him as an enemy. If those blades granted powers as terrifying as his own, then his advantage was not absolute.
His delusion shattered quietly.
He inhaled slowly, forcing himself to accept the weight of it. Worrying would not change anything. The only thing he could do was train, prepare, and hope he did not accidentally step on the feet of someone holding another cursed weapon.
"Damn…" he muttered.
"Yeah," John said. "Terrifying, right?"
"Yeah. I understand why he's number one now. Just imagining what you said gives me goosebumps." Shuku paused, then looked up. "But I need to know something."
John raised an eyebrow.
"About the Cursed Blades."
"Yeah?"
"You said the Ferno House holds one, and the North Apomis kingdom holds two more, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"Do you know where the rest are? Like the Blood Blade or Meat Blade, if they haven't been found yet?"
John laughed softly.
"Kid, if I knew that, they would already be found. All the best information goes to the central church or the royal families of both kingdoms. If I know where one is today, that means they probably knew about it a month ago."
Shuku almost sighed in disappointment.
"But…" John said. "I do know one thing."
Shuku raised his head.
"There is one place," John said, lowering his voice. "North Apomis territory. Near the western border. A cave. No—calling it a cave would be wrong. It's closer to a dungeon."
Shuku's fingers tightened slightly around his cup.
John did not notice.
"They call it the Blood Dungeon."
For a moment, the noise of the tavern seemed to fade.
Shuku felt his skin turn cold.
Blood Dungeon.
He knew that name too well.
That was the place where he had found it.
The place where he had crawled through the dark. Where the walls seemed to breathe like flesh, and blood flowed through the cracks between stones. The place where the Blood Blade had chosen him.
John leaned closer.
"The church believes the Blood Blade is buried somewhere deep inside that dungeon," he said. "Mostly because of the name, I guess. The nobles and the central church of North Apomis have been sending soldiers, hired men, and slaves down there for almost a year."
"A year…" Shuku repeated quietly.
"Yeah," John said. "And they're still searching."
Shuku's eyes moved slightly.
"Still?"
"Of course. It's not that they gave up, and it's not like they proved the blade isn't there. The problem is simple." John leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers against the cup. "Nobody can reach the bottom."
He let the words sit for a moment.
"The Blood Dungeon isn't like a normal cave. It goes down and down, deeper than most people can imagine. The deeper you go, the worse it gets. The air grows thick. The walls are always wet. Even the ground smells like old iron. And the creatures inside…"
John paused.
"They aren't monsters. Not like fairy tales. They're animals. Real animals. But they're the kind that should never exist anywhere near humans."
Shuku remained silent.
"Triple-clawed bears. Blood hounds. Cave beasts that live only on blood and raw flesh. They don't hunt like normal animals. They don't just kill to eat." John's voice lowered. "They tear their prey apart and drink whatever spills out. The knights and slave controllers have been sending people down there for months, but most of them never make it far."
Shuku's hand slowly tightened beneath the table.
He remembered.
Seven days.
Seven days without sleep. Seven days without peace. Seven days of running, crawling, bleeding, killing, and being killed in return.
His wounds had closed again and again, but the pain had never left. His body regenerated, but his fear did not. Every step deeper into the dungeon had felt like stepping farther into the throat of something ancient.
John continued, not noticing the change in Shuku's face.
"The church is behind the whole search, but they don't go down there themselves. Of course not. They send knights, hired fighters, and slave controllers. And the slaves are forced to walk first. If something attacks, the slaves die before the knights do."
Shuku's breathing became very quiet.
"And then came the incident."
John's voice lowered even further.
"I don't know the details. Nobody outside North Apomis really does. But from what I heard, something happened inside the dungeon. Almost every slave they sent down was killed. The whole operation fell apart. The knights sealed the entrance for a while, and the church tried to hide the number of dead."
Shuku stared at the cup in front of him.
Almost every slave.
Not all.
One survived.
One boy, covered in blood and buried beneath corpses, forgotten by knights who were too busy counting the dead and saving themselves to notice him.
That was how he had gone deeper.
Not because he was brave.
Not because fate had opened a glorious path for him.
Because no one realized he was still alive.
Because everyone who was supposed to watch him had either died or fled.
For one week after the incident, Shuku had crawled alone through the dungeon. He fought through every beast that came for his flesh, following the strange pull inside his blood until he finally reached the bottom.
Until he found the blade.
No.
Until the blade found him.
Shuku's fingers moved slightly toward his chest.
The Blood Blade was not hanging at his waist. It was not wrapped in cloth. It was not hidden under the table where John might accidentally see it.
It was inside him.
Melted into his blood.
Sleeping in every vein.
A weapon that had become part of his own body.
John let out a dry laugh.
"Honestly, I don't even know why they keep trying. But nobles and priests don't think like normal people. They probably believe that if they throw enough slaves and knights into the dungeon, one of them will eventually reach the bottom."
Shuku lowered his gaze.
They were too late.
The bottom had already been reached.
The Blood Blade had already been taken.
And those fools were still digging through the dark, searching for a treasure that was flowing inside his body.
A small, silent laugh almost escaped his throat.
He held it back.
It was funny.
But it was also terrifying.
Because if the church ever discovered that one slave had survived the incident, if even one knight remembered his face, if even one record still carried his name, then their search would no longer remain inside the dungeon.
It would turn toward him.
John finished his drink and wiped his mouth.
"So that's all I know about the Blood Blade," he said. "Rumors, mostly. The church wants it. The nobles want it. The dungeon probably has it. And everyone who goes too deep usually dies."
Shuku nodded slowly.
"Yeah," he said. "That sounds… dangerous."
John snorted.
"Dangerous is an understatement, kid."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The tavern noise slowly returned around them. Drunken laughter. Wooden cups hitting tables. Boots scraping across the floor. The world continued as if nothing important had been said.
Shuku forced his shoulders to loosen.
John had told him enough.
Too much, maybe.
But the conversation was not over.
John placed his cup down and returned to the subject from before.
"So, back to Hellfire."
Shuku looked up.
John's expression became serious again.
"He has everything the other two have, and everything they lack," John said. "He hunts like Greyhound. He fights like Nobody. And on top of that, he has overwhelming magic."
Shuku exhaled slowly.
"That's why he's number one," John continued. "Not only because of power, but because of choice."
"…Choice?" Shuku asked.
"He was born rich," John said. "Noble. Powerful. He could have lived his entire life in comfort. No danger. No blood. No need to risk his neck against criminals, killers, or monsters wearing human skin."
John's tone hardened.
"But he threw it all away. He chose to become an independent manhunter. No house protection. No backing. No leash."
Shuku's eyes narrowed.
"And he still reached number one," John finished, his voice lower than before. "That kind of determination… that kind of motivation… it isn't normal. A man born with everything usually has no reason to sharpen himself that far. Comfort makes people soft. Safety makes people careless. But Hellfire chose the opposite."
Silence settled between them for a moment.
Shuku did not answer immediately. He only stared at the table, quietly absorbing every word. The more John explained, the less Hellfire sounded like a mere strong manhunter. He sounded like something much harder to understand.
"His actions are unpredictable," John added. "Odd. Unreasonable, even. That's what makes him dangerous. A greedy man is easy to predict. A coward is easy to corner. Even a cruel man has patterns. But someone like him? Someone who already had power, money, status, and comfort, yet still walked into blood by choice?"
John shook his head.
"That kind of person doesn't move like normal people."
"…I see," Shuku murmured.
The two of them sat quietly for a while. The tavern noise continued around them, but their table felt strangely isolated from it. Shuku had first wanted information about rankings, about who stood above whom, and about who he should avoid. But now, the ranking no longer felt like a simple list of strong people.
It felt more like a warning carved into stone.
Then John suddenly tapped the table with two fingers.
"By the way," he said casually, "that information wasn't free."
Shuku slowly raised his head.
"…Huh?"
"One hundred dollars."
Shuku blinked. For a second, he thought he had misheard.
"What?"
"All that advice. All that warning. The noble houses, the Cursed Blades, Hellfire, Greyhound, Nobody, the Blood Dungeon." John leaned back with a completely serious face. "Worth at least a hundred."
Shuku stared at him in disbelief.
"…You're charging me?"
"Of course," John replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I don't run a charity. Information is also a weapon, kid. Sometimes it's more useful than a sword."
Shuku's mouth opened slightly, but no proper argument came out. After everything he had just learned, it was difficult to decide whether John was being shameless or reasonable.
Maybe both.
He sighed.
"…I'll pay later."
"Good."
John relaxed back into his chair, satisfied, as if the matter had already been settled. But the lightness in his tone did not last long. His expression slowly became serious again, and he looked at Shuku with the eyes of someone who had seen too many young fools die from overconfidence.
"But before you do anything stupid," John continued, "let me make one thing clear."
Shuku looked up.
"Killing someone ranked above you is nearly impossible."
"…Because they're stronger?" Shuku asked.
John shook his head.
"Not just that. Strength is only the most obvious part."
He raised one finger.
"Ranks nine through one are veterans. Every single one of them has survived years of killing, escaping, hunting, and being hunted. They have experience that new manhunters can't even imagine. Rare abilities, hidden techniques, backup weapons, multiple escape plans. They live every day knowing someone out there wants their head."
He raised a second finger.
"And they're protected. Not always openly, but they are. Bodyguards, informants, private soldiers, secret safehouses, hidden routes, contracts with nobles, merchants, and sometimes even royals. Most of their real work isn't even public Guild work. What you see on the surface is only the clean part."
John leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping.
"They don't walk alone unless they want people to think they're alone. They don't leave traces unless the trace is a trap. They don't sleep in random inns, don't trust random food, don't accept random challenges, and they definitely don't wait patiently for some ambitious idiot to come and cut their throat."
Shuku's eyes narrowed as the meaning became clear.
"…They counter-hunt."
John smiled faintly.
"Exactly. The moment you decide to hunt them, there's a good chance they already know. And if they know, then you're not the hunter anymore."
Shuku said nothing.
John tapped the table once.
"You're the bait."
John nodded slowly, satisfied that Shuku understood.
"So attacking one of them isn't a duel," he said. "It's suicide, unless you're already on their level. And even then, you still need luck. A lot of it."
Shuku stayed silent. He did not argue. A part of him wanted to believe that enough effort, enough violence, and enough regeneration would eventually close the gap. But John's words made it clear that power alone was not the only wall in front of him.
"And grinding WANTED targets isn't much better," John continued. "High-value targets are rare. They don't appear every day, and when they do, most of them are already reserved, monitored, or hunted before normal manhunters even hear about them."
He glanced at Shuku from across the table.
"The top hunters take them first. The Guild gives hints to the people it trusts. Nobles offer private contracts behind closed doors. Merchants pay extra to make sure their problems disappear quietly. By the time a target becomes public, it's usually either too troublesome, too dangerous, or already being used as bait."
Shuku clenched his jaw.
John noticed, but he did not soften his words.
"And speed draws attention," he added. "That's your real problem. You climbed too fast."
Shuku's eyes narrowed slightly.
"More kills means more money. More money means higher ranking. Higher ranking means more eyes watching you." John tapped the table again, slower this time. "And more eyes mean more people asking the same question: who is this kid, and how did he get here so quickly?"
Shuku looked down.
He already knew the answer.
Blood.
Regeneration.
The blade inside him.
But none of those were answers he could say aloud.
"Rank ten is a choke point," John said bluntly.
"…What do you mean?" Shuku asked.
"Everyone below you wants your spot," John replied. "And everyone above you doesn't want you climbing further."
Shuku's chest tightened.
John leaned back, letting the sentence sink in before continuing.
"The ones below you see you as proof that the top ranks can be reached. They think, 'If that kid can do it, why not me?' So they'll challenge you, ambush you, poison you, follow you after jobs, or wait until you're injured. Some will do it for pride. Some for money. Some just because killing rank ten makes their name louder."
He then raised his gaze.
"And the ones above you? They won't all attack directly, but they'll notice you. They'll wonder whether you're a future rival, a useful pawn, or a problem that should be removed early. That's worse than being hated. Hate is simple. Interest is dangerous."
Shuku did not respond.
"You're attacked from both directions," John finished. "Even if you survive your hunts… you might not survive the walk home."
The words settled heavily between them.
For a moment, Shuku imagined it clearly. A knife in an alley. A poisoned drink. A fake job request. A sleeping room with a hidden trap. A friendly manhunter smiling too easily. A noble offering help with a chain hidden beneath the gift.
"The system," John said quietly, "is designed to kill number ten."
Shuku's fingers twitched under the table.
"Too visible," John continued. "Too replaceable. Valuable enough to be hunted, but not valuable enough to be protected. The Guild can brag about having strong hunters, but if rank ten dies, they simply write down a new name. The nobles lose nothing. The top ranks lose a possible threat. The bottom ranks gain hope that they can climb."
He paused.
"Everyone benefits from number ten dying."
Shuku finally understood.
The rank he had thought was proof of progress was not a throne.
It was a target painted on his back.
"That's why you helped me," he said quietly.
John nodded once.
"Partly. I don't like watching promising idiots die just because nobody explained the rules to them. And you…" He looked Shuku up and down. "You look exactly like the kind of idiot who would try to climb straight to number one just because someone told you it was impossible."
Shuku did not deny it.
John gave a small, tired smile.
"But even knowing all this," he added, "climbing is still your choice."
He pushed his chair back and stood up. His large shadow stretched over the table, briefly covering the cups, the coins, and Shuku's hands.
"If you stop at ten, you might live longer. If you climb, you might become something greater. Or you might die before anyone remembers your name."
John turned slightly, his voice calm but heavy.
"And no matter what you decide…"
He paused.
"…it's nearly impossible."
Silence settled after John's last words.
Shuku did not ask more questions. He already understood enough. The path ahead was not just difficult. It was designed to crush anyone foolish enough to walk it without knowing the cost.
John reached into his coat and pulled out a small notebook. Then, with the same casual expression as before, he flipped it open and began adding numbers in his head.
The sudden normality of it almost annoyed Shuku.
"One hundred," John said again.
Shuku sighed and reached into his pocket.
But before he could take out the money, John suddenly stopped.
"Wait."
Shuku froze.
John stared at the notebook for a moment. Then his brows tightened slightly beneath the red bandana.
"No. Two hundred."
Shuku slowly looked up.
"…What?"
"Two hundred dollars," John corrected calmly.
Shuku stared at him in disbelief. "You said one hundred."
"I miscalculated."
"You miscalculated talking?"
"I talked more than I planned," John replied without shame. "The noble houses, the Guild, the top three manhunters, the cursed blades, the Blood Dungeon, the ranking system, survival advice. That's not one hundred dollars' worth of information. That's at least two hundred."
Shuku's face stiffened.
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. But after thinking about everything John had told him, he could not completely deny it. The information might have just saved his life. Maybe more than once.
With a long, defeated sigh, Shuku reached deeper into his pocket and placed two hundred dollars on the table.
"There," he said tiredly. "Happy?"
John took the money without ceremony and slipped it into his coat.
"Good kid," he muttered. "I'll treat you to a nice meal next time."
Shuku looked at him flatly.
"With my money?"
John smiled faintly. "Details."
Shuku sighed again, but this time he did not say anything. He simply pushed his chair back and stood up.
John stood as well.
For a short moment, they faced each other across the table. The conversation had started as a simple exchange of information, but somehow it had become something heavier. A warning. A lesson. Maybe even a strange kind of kindness hidden behind payment and insults.
Shuku lowered his gaze slightly.
"I think it's best I don't see you again."
John did not answer immediately.
He adjusted the red bandana over his eyes, making sure it sat properly across his face. Then he turned slightly toward Shuku.
"Be careful," he said. "And don't rush."
"…Yeah," Shuku replied.
John paused for half a second.
In that brief moment, something flickered across his face. It was small, almost invisible, and Shuku did not notice it.
A memory.
A smaller frame. A quieter voice. A boy who once looked at the world the same way Shuku did now. Young, wounded, angry, and walking toward death while calling it ambition.
John exhaled slowly.
For a second, it looked like he wanted to say something else.
Something more honest.
Something less useful.
Instead, he only gave Shuku a faint smile.
"I'll see you again soon," John said.
Shuku frowned slightly.
Before he could ask what that meant, John turned and walked away. His large figure slipped between the tables, passed through the drunken voices and moving bodies, and disappeared into the tavern crowd.
Shuku stood there for a moment, watching the place where John had vanished.
Then his hand moved quietly toward his chest.
Beneath his skin, beneath his veins, somewhere deep inside his blood, the blade remained silent.
But Shuku could feel it.
And for the first time since obtaining it, the Blood Blade no longer felt like a guarantee of victory.
It felt like a secret that would one day drag the entire world toward him.