Chapter 7: The Wrath of Darius

The morning light filtered through the thin cloth curtains of my room, casting soft, golden beams across the stone floor. I stirred, the familiar sounds of the countryside drifting through the window—the distant call of birds, the gentle rustle of trees swaying in the breeze. For a moment, I remained in bed, listening to the serenity of the early hours. It was deceptive. The peace around me felt fragile, like glass that could shatter at any moment.

With a sigh, I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the cool stone beneath my feet. The weight of the previous day’s work still clung to my body, but I was used to it by now. Years of training and discipline had conditioned me to push past the fatigue, to focus on what needed to be done. I had never been one to linger in comfort. Comfort made men weak.

I stood, rolling my shoulders to loosen the stiffness in my muscles. My mind was already organizing the day ahead, going over tasks that needed tending. My hand instinctively went to the core of my chest, where the energy of my Prana pulsed steadily, like a second heartbeat. It had been two years since I reached the Core Stage, yet I never grew complacent. Every morning began the same, with careful attention to the flow of energy within me. I closed my eyes and focused, feeling the power circulate through my body, strengthening my limbs and heightening my senses. The familiar warmth of Prana spread throughout me, making every nerve sharper, every movement more precise.

I dressed in my simple tunic and trousers, then strapped my worn boots to my feet. I never wore anything fancy, not when most of my time was spent either training or fighting. Vanity was a weakness, and I had no use for it. After all, what good were ornate clothes when blood was so difficult to wash from fine fabrics?

Heading downstairs, I passed through the kitchen where the faint smell of last night’s meal still lingered. My hands went to the pot hanging over the hearth, stirring the remnants of soup. It wasn’t much, but it would do to warm my body before the day's work began. As I ate, the flavor of vegetables flooded my mouth, a comforting reminder of the simplicity of life here. But even in this quiet, my mind never truly rested. The training I’d undergone had sharpened more than just my physical abilities—it had honed my instincts, my awareness of the world around me.

I was tasting the soup, the intense flavor of vegetables flooding my taste buds, but suddenly, I felt something.

Something was off this morning. The air outside felt heavier, more oppressive than usual. It wasn’t obvious, but to someone with heightened senses, it was unmistakable. I set the spoon down, listening intently. No sound came that could explain the unease I felt. The birds still sang, and the wind whispered through the leaves as always. Yet there was an underlying tension in the atmosphere, something my body had picked up on before my conscious mind had.

"I'm sorry, but I think I could use some fresh air to cool off from today's work," I said, keeping my voice as calm as possible. "I'm going for a walk in the woods."

I stepped outside. The air, normally refreshing, was now unbearable. Perhaps an ordinary person wouldn’t have detected it, but my enhanced senses, sharpened by the flow of Prana through me, felt the stench like daggers piercing my nostrils.

The metallic scent of iron grew stronger, saturating the air, and my heart skipped a beat as I recognized it. It wasn’t the simple smell of work on the farm or the distant scent of a hunt. It was blood. Fresh blood.

I quickened my pace toward the source of the smell, my mind racing, driven by a primal instinct towards the worst. When I reached the clearing, the scene that unfolded stopped me dead in my tracks.

There they were, lying on the ground—two small children. Their bodies were torn apart, broken, like discarded rag dolls. My stomach twisted in a mixture of rage and nausea as I comprehended what had happened to them. They hadn’t just been killed. There was cruelty in what had been done.

"I was too late," I whispered to myself, feeling the weight of those words stab into my chest like a dagger. But I wouldn’t allow myself to freeze here, not now.

Then I saw them: seven rugged men, their clothes stained with dust and blood. They stood there, laughing and talking about their "work," as if the massacre of those children was some form of perverse entertainment.

I had seen men like this before, drunk on power, ignorant of the true fear that lurked in this world. It was not uncommon for warriors to go mad. True martial artists are forged like swords; pressure and heat are required to shape a blade. Sometimes, those who couldn’t withstand the pressure broke.

But I was made of stronger steel than they were.

I recognized them instantly: bandits, in the Elemental Sense stage. I deduced it from how the energy moved around them. These weren’t common raiders; these men had mastered the Prana, making them a greater threat than ordinary humans. Yet, what threat could they pose to me? They were just insects, likely deserters from the battlefield. Their weapons gave them away—perfectly crafted, devoid of any ornamentation. Efficient and simple.

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It seemed I had arrived before the Fifth Legion, whose job it was to deal with this kind of scum across the empire. But they wouldn’t be needed... not with me here. I began to circulate the energy from my core throughout my body.

I wasn’t carrying any weapons, as imperial law forbade it unless on duty. It made sense. Not all men were noble, and weapons tended to cloud a weak man’s judgment, instilling a false sense of power in their hearts. As was evident before me.

I wouldn’t need weapons anyway. I was the weapon.

It had been two years since I reached the Core Stage, and I was already the captain of my own company. A few cowards wouldn’t defeat me. Not when willpower was the key to the martial path.

I could kill them quickly, end it in an instant. These "beings" who called themselves human, even while committing such acts, didn’t deserve a clean death. But no... I wanted to feel their blood on my hands, the heat leaving their bodies, their last breaths exhaled while looking into my eyes. I wanted them to die knowing who was killing them.

My mind went dark. I never hesitated once I made a decision. There was no room for reason now, only controlled fury.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them asked, his tone casual as he wiped blood from his knife.

"Darius," I said, my voice deep, filled with silent and fierce hatred. My body already moved, my power coursing through the air, ready to unleash. The nearest one, a tall man with a scar across his face, sneered arrogantly, stepping forward with the confidence of someone who believed his mastery of Prana made him invincible.

He was wrong.

With a swift motion, I released a burst of energy towards him. My hand clenched into a fist, and the air around him vibrated under my influence before erupting into a shockwave that hurled him several meters back, crashing him into a tree. His solar plexus collapsed, likely causing internal bleeding.

This technique wasn’t made for killing humans. But today, its purpose was far from what its creator intended.

The technique was designed to bring down beasts with armor-like hides, vibrating through tough exteriors to liquefy internal organs, rendering the creature helpless without the need for a more lethal blow. It was meant to neutralize efficiently, minimizing human bloodshed. It was a method to kill—efficient and clean. But today, it served a far darker purpose.

As the bandit’s body crumpled to the ground like an empty husk, I couldn’t help but acknowledge the cruel irony. This technique, meant for precision, had become an instrument of brutality. Its creator, no doubt a master with a mind toward control, would never have imagined it being used like this—to tear apart human bodies with such savage finality.

But in this clearing, surrounded by the twisted remains of innocence, I had no use for restraint. Today, I wielded the power not for peace, but for vengeance.

His body fell like an empty sack.

The remaining six men stood in stunned silence, their laughter smothered by shock. But I didn’t give them time to process what had happened. I was already moving toward them.

One of them tried to strike me with a spear, his control good enough to tear up the ground beneath me. But not fast enough. I dodged with ease, closing the distance between us in a blink. My fist, wrapped in Prana, struck his chest, and I felt his ribs crack under the impact. He screamed, but the sound was cut short as I slammed him into the ground, lifeless.

Panic spread among the others. I could smell their fear.

The next one lunged at me with a gleaming knife, the kind that whispered danger by the sound it made slicing through the air. He aimed to stab my side, but I blocked with my forearm, the impact resonating like thunder in the clearing. The blade never touched me. Ordinary steel could never pierce my skin, reinforced by Prana. With a quick twist, I grabbed his arm and snapped it with a sickening crack. His scream of agony filled the air before I tossed him aside, worthless.

The last four tried to run, but there was no escape now. I wouldn’t allow it.

"You bastard! You're just a human!" one of them shouted, summoning a wall of fire before him. He was in the Accumulation Stage, a talented one, perhaps. But with that weak will, he would achieve nothing. The heat of his flames was intense, but my rage burned hotter.

Without thinking, I raised my hand and absorbed the energy of his fire, feeling the Prana flow through me like a raging river. Without will behind it, it was just a more aggressive form of energy. His eyes filled with disbelief as his flames vanished. That was his last thought before I reached him and snapped his neck with a swift motion.

The remaining three were terrified. I could feel it in the air—their fear, the ground trembling beneath them. They knew their deaths were inevitable.

One of them knelt, trying to beg.

"We didn’t know that—!" he stammered, but I silenced him with a kick that crushed his skull, splattering his brains on my boot. His body collapsed into the earth, which seemed to devour the blood like a thirsty beast.

The last one... I made him wait. His fear was palpable, his legs trembling beneath him.

"You..." I said, my voice low and filled with venom. "Did you laugh when you killed them?"

He didn’t answer, but his eyes told me everything. I stepped closer, feeling the rage consume me entirely.

I didn’t give him a quick death.

When it was over, the clearing was silent. The bandits' blood mixed with the earth beneath my feet, and the children's bodies remained, cold and broken. My fury had consumed those men, but it hadn’t lifted the weight in my chest.

I knelt beside the children, closing my eyes for a moment.

"I'm sorry..." I whispered, knowing my words wouldn’t change anything.

But one thing was certain. If darkness was spreading across these lands, I would face it. And no one, no one, would go unpunished. As a soldier of the emperor, I swore it.