The dark assassin spoke,
and at the same time his bone blade slid along Chun's skin,
leaving a thin line of blood.
If Wei took even one more step—
that line would split open into a wound.
He held Chun not to kill her,
but to threaten her.
To control her.
To force Wei into the trap he had already set.
He never even looked at her.
Not once.
All of his focus, all of his intent, was fixed on the boy he knew would soon walk out of the fog—
Wei.
From where Wei stood, he could see almost everything.
Chun pinned in place.
The bone blade pressed to her throat,
holding her life on a strand as fine as spider silk.
The assassin didn't move.
Not a twitch.
His target was Wei.
The wind tore Wei's shout apart, shredding the sound before it could reach the bridge.
The suspension bridge swayed hard beneath him, as if it might snap at any moment.
He ran faster.
And messier.
His breath broke, his steps stumbled, and still he kept repeating in his head:
Hold on, Chun…
just hold on…
let me get there…
hold on…
He was ready for anything now.
Whether the assassin ordered him to kneel,
or demanded he trade himself for Chun—
he didn't care anymore.
Across the bridge, everything was exactly where the assassin wanted it.
His hand was steady—so steady it didn't even tremble.
His voice drifted past Chun's ear, low and cold:
"If you move—"
But the word move hadn't even finished leaving his mouth.
Chun moved.
Not to struggle.
Not to dodge.
Not to scream.
She moved like a small wild animal that had suddenly chewed through its leash—
reckless, fierce, throwing her life aside without hesitation.
Her right hand shot up.
The hunting knife she'd been holding all along was still locked tight in her palm.
In the same heartbeat, she drove it forward—
the blade tearing through the tough hide of his mask,
slashing straight for the assassin's eye,
and plunging deep.
The strike was so sudden, so violent,
it felt like a spark of pure will detonating in the dark.
The assassin froze—
completely unprepared for a counterattack meant to kill him even at the cost of her own life.
In all the fights he'd seen—
whether it was trained warriors or the toughest villagers—
everyone made the same smart choice at a moment like this:
Drop the weapon.
Cooperate.
Stay alive.
So how did this sharp, quick-thinking girl end up making the stupidest choice of all?
"—?!"
A broken, startled sound escaped him.
It wasn't pain that stopped the assassin.
It was shock—
pure, stunned disbelief.
The black-iron assassin froze where he stood,
unable to react.
Thud!
The knife tip came down.
Air burst apart around it.
Skin split open—
Thud!
Black blood splashed across Chun's face.
Hot.
Thick.
Alive—like something that wanted to crawl.
Once.
Then again.
And again.
Every strike carried everything she had.
She didn't wipe her face.
She didn't step back.
She kept stabbing, as if she meant to grind the monster in front of her into dust—
bones and all.
She heard bones crack.
She heard muscle tear.
She heard her own breath rasping like a bellows, loud and raw in her ears.
The black hide split open.
Muscle peeled back.
Tendons snapped.
A pale skull gleamed through the torn flesh.
Blood dripped onto the planks of the bridge in heavy, ink-black drops.
Wei froze.
He had never imagined that Chun—
cornered, trapped, a blade at her throat—
would fight back.
And fight back like this:
vicious, fast, reckless,
with no thought for her own life.
The bone blade scraped deeper into her throat as she drove her counterattack, carving red lines across her neck—
but it didn't cut her windpipe.
It has not reached deep enough, yet.
Chun's face was covered in blood—hers and the assassin's.
She roared,
"Get away from me!!"
Her voice was rough and broken,
a wolf's howl torn up from the bottom of her chest.
Wei tried to sprint across the bridge.
But his legs felt as if someone had poured molten lead into them from the knees down.
The farther he ran,
the heavier they became.
The bridge swayed under him,
a thin plank twisting over a bottomless drop,
and for a heartbeat he thought he would fall straight off.
But he couldn't stop.
He didn't even dare slow down to catch a breath—
time was leaking out from under his feet,
and the blood on Chun's neck was leaking out just as fast.
He knew he was running at his limit,
yet the distance ahead only stretched farther,
as if something were pulling the opposite cliff away from him.
Chun's silhouette dragged into a long,
wavering line in his vision,
like someone had stretched time itself,
forcing him to watch while keeping him forever one step too slow.
He remembered Chun as a bright girl.
The first time they met, she walked toward him through a crowd like a shaft of sunlight, waved, and said,
"Hi, I'm Chun."
Her cheeks were flushed from the sun, and whenever she talked she grinned, like she put her whole heart out for people to see.
The first time she cooked, she held out a roasted lamb leg, skin crackling and golden, eyes shining like stars ready to spill over.
"Try it. I made it."
The smell hit him—smoke, fat, warm—and he froze, not knowing what to say.
He only took it, stiff and awkward.
His father had winked at him. Wei thought it was just smoke stinging his eyes.
His mother nudged him gently and whispered,
"Be kind to your new friend…"
He nodded without understanding.
Back then, he didn't even know what "kind" meant.
Now—
Chun drove the hunting knife backward, slamming it deep into the iron assassin's eye socket.
For one breath, time truly stopped.
The assassin tilted his head down to look at the blade.
Not shocked.
Not angry.
But with a strange, quiet curiosity—
the way someone might watch a small animal do something unexpected.
He stood terrifyingly still,
as if thinking through something slow.
Very slow.
Then—after only a single heartbeat—
he moved.
He grabbed a fistful of Chun's hair,
forced her head down,
and slammed her face into the wet, freezing mud.