Karso, who had been swallowed by darkness since his earliest days, stood atop the hill like a predatory bird watching a dying prey. The star-studded sky above him was nothing more than a false ceiling to a world drowning in blood. Below, the village erupted in a symphony of agony: the screams of children whose intestines were being torn apart by the fangs of beasts, the skulls of the elderly crushed under twisted feet, and flames licking at bodies like the tongues of a ravenous demon. The stench of burning flesh rose like poisoned incense, mingling with the wailing of a dying mother clutching the mangled corpse of her child.

Karso’s pitch-black eyes—darker than a moonless night—devoured the scene hungrily. A twisted smile crept onto his lips, like a worm slithering out of a corpse, as he whispered in a voice like the rustle of a serpent: "At last... I've sown the first seeds of my path."

The village’s blood flowed into the valley below like a black river, carrying with it torn-out eyes and broken nails—remnants of the desperate struggle for life.

When the last cries died out, only the crackling flames remained, as if mocking human naivety. The beasts feasted on spilled entrails, tearing limbs apart with bone-carved daggers, while the village itself had become an open maw, vomiting ash and blood.

Karso inhaled deeply, as if breathing in the scent of rare flowers, then walked toward the city—a creeping shadow over unburied corpses.

The tall grass swayed gently beside him, brushing against his body with a slow, deliberate touch. Nothing compared to the serenity he felt in these moments. To him, silence was not merely rest—it was peace, an inner stillness that brought a sense of safety.

The night passed without interruption, and as the first rays of sunlight broke the horizon, dawn arrived. And with it, Karso reached the city known as "The Adventurers' City." It was so named because it welcomed thousands of adventurers each year.

As he neared, the city's massive walls gradually came into view.

Thanks to his early arrival, Karso didn't have to wait in a long line for visitor and adventurer inspections. Only a few people stood ahead of him. Among them was a group of adventurers who seemed to have just returned from a mission, likely to collect their rewards.

Normally, Karso ignored such trivialities, but something about these adventurers irritated him. The stench of blood clung to them, and their loud voices shattered the quiet he had been enjoying.

Karso, who neither forgave nor forgot—holding grudges as stubbornly as a camel—wished he could reduce them to a pile of shredded flesh. But he held back.

At last, the adventurers finished their inspection, and it was his turn.

He stood before the inspection officer, who lazily ordered his assistant to search him quickly.

After a brief check, the assistant said, "No, nothing illegal here."

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Karso retrieved his belongings, but before leaving, he asked for his sword.

The officer scoffed, "How insolent! You haven't paid, yet you want your sword back?"

A frown began to darken Karso’s face. "I don’t recall any such law here."

The officer smirked. "Doesn't matter. Everyone knows you have to pay ‘tips’ to the officers for their hard work in protecting the city."

Karso's expression deepened into a scowl. "You don’t even defend the city. The guards do. Your only job is inspection. Now, return my sword."

The officer laughed, nudging his assistant. "Look, he's getting mad now! Hahaha!" He then lifted Karso’s sword mockingly. "You want this? Lick this!" He pointed at his foot.

That was the last straw.

Karso struck like a starving serpent catching the scent of an open wound, snatching the sword from the officer’s grip with a speed rivaling a lightning flash.

The officer stood frozen, his eyes tracking Karso’s movement like a man watching a deadly mirage.

"Alright, do you kno—"

His words never finished.

Instead, his voice was replaced by the crack of splitting bone under the blade.

The sword carved through the officer’s face from forehead to chin, splitting his skull into two perfect halves—like an open book stained with crimson ink.

Blackened blood poured like demon’s ink, writing the first lines of a curse. The officer’s severed tongue hung in the air for a moment, wriggling like a larva clinging to a severed branch, before the two halves of his head collapsed onto the ground with a wet thud. A putrid stench of exposed entrails mingled with the rot of corrupted authority.

The assistant trembled, his hands flailing in the air like a bird with clipped wings.

Suddenly, he realized he was seeing the world upside down—the ceiling of the room beneath his feet, his commander’s dismembered corpse floating at eye level.

"Ah..." he whispered.

But his voice leaked from his severed throat like air escaping a shattered bottle.

Gravity took hold of his severed head, rolling it toward the corner, while his body remained standing for a brief moment, sucking in the last remnants of air through the gaping wound in his neck—like red wine spilling from an overturned glass.

The room became a frozen cavern. Even Karso’s sighs condensed in the air like poisonous mist.

He picked up the officer’s coin pouch—sticky with warm blood—and murmured, "The city embraces chaos… I'll make it see it."

Then he walked through the gates like a ghost dragging the tail of a curse, as crows began pecking at the eyes of the dead.

---

Karso entered the city, his clothes and sword heavy with blood.

He had passed through this village before, but his memory only retained hazy details of rivers and public baths.

As he wandered the streets, he spotted the same annoying adventurer group exiting the adventurers' guild, their faces glowing with satisfaction, though their clothes were still stained with blood.

With sharp intuition, Karso deduced they were heading to wash up. Given their modest attire, he assumed they wouldn’t splurge on private baths.

He decided to follow them, hoping they would lead him to a nearby river.

And as expected, it wasn’t long before the group arrived at one.

Karso hid patiently in a bush, controlling his breath to conceal his presence.

His wait dragged on due to two female members bathing, delaying his main objective.

But he remained patient.

At last, after they left, he emerged from his hiding place and stepped toward the river.

The sun was beginning to set.

As he washed the blood from his body, a strange sense of purification settled over him.

The sun slowly dipped below the horizon as he scrubbed his clothes, contemplating the long day behind him.

Once finished, he headed toward an inn for the night.

On his way, city gossip buzzed about the murdered inspection officer.

From the whispers weaving through the crowd, Karso learned that search parties were combing the outskirts for the killer.

"How foolish. If not for pre-established procedures and regulations, they might have caused me some trouble... But this is what laws and rules do to the minds of the herd. Many soldiers are smart enough to sense my presence inside the city, yet because of their ingrained protocols, they no longer think like humans—they are puppets, controlled by the strings of laws and orders."

Karso muttered this to himself as he approached the inn.

On his way to the inn, Karso noticed a man overflowing with fat from every side, his clothes struggling to contain his massive frame. He was strolling through the streets, noisily devouring a chunk of meat, surrounded by guards. The scene was loud and chaotic, but Karso paid it no mind and continued on his way.

Upon arrival, he chose a room with a single window overlooking a vast field.

He set his belongings aside and lay on the bed, gazing at the endless expanse outside.

As the night breeze drifted through the window, sleep took hold of him—his thoughts lingering on the new day awaiting him.