Shun stirred awake, the soft rustle of hay beneath him as his senses slowly returned to the dark of his hut. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the blackness around him, hunting for shapes and shadows. Once his vision sharpened, he immediately reached for his sword and dagger, both resting beside his makeshift bed. Silently, he rose to his feet, each step careful as he approached the door. Tonight was his turn to guard the farm near the mountains while Brother Gu rested after a long day of watching over the village.
But something was off. Even before he touched the door, he felt it—a strange, suffocating heat pressing against the wooden walls of his hut. It wasn’t just the warm air of a summer night; this was different, thick with something more ominous, something burning. His pulse quickened, and he threw open the door.
In an instant, a searing gust of hot wind and bright, blinding light flooded his vision, forcing his eyes shut in reflex. The heat smacked him in the face, thick with smoke and ash, and the moment he blinked to clear his vision, he saw it—flames. Raging, towering flames consuming the hut next to his, the straw roof crackling as it collapsed into the fire. A brother inside was desperately clawing his way out, his body silhouetted against the inferno. The sight was surreal, chaos unfolding in front of him, but there was no time to process it.
Shun blinked again, trying to steady himself amidst the disorienting brightness when—out of nowhere—he heard rapid footsteps. Instinct kicked in before he had time to think. Someone was charging at him, fast. He barely had time to raise his sword when an axe came crashing down, the weight of it jarring his arms as he blocked the blow. His vision struggled to adjust to the overwhelming light of the fire, everything casting strange shadows, and for a moment, all he could see was the sharp edge of the axe and the crazed eyes of the attacker behind it.
The clash of metal rang out, but before Shun could fully recover from the initial strike, another figure lunged at him from the side. In the chaos of the moment, his grip on the sword faltered. He instinctively ducked, rolling backward, the second attacker’s weapon narrowly missing his head as he hit the ground hard. Dirt and ash kicked up around him as he scrambled to regain his footing, his heart pounding in his ears.
The two men were on him now, the heat of the flames surrounding them, adding to the frenzy. The first attacker swung again, the axe slicing through the air where Shun had been just seconds ago. Shun’s reflexes were sharp, his body moving before his mind could catch up, and he rolled to the side, feeling the searing heat on his skin as the fire crept closer. He could hear the crackling of burning wood all around him, mixed with the shouts of panic from the village, the clash of steel, and the roar of the inferno.
Shun's lungs burned as the acrid smoke choked the air, and the heat from the blazing inferno surrounding the village seared his skin. The shouts of panic mixed with the sound of steel clashing against steel, a cacophony of war and chaos blending into the crackling roar of burning wood. He backed up, his body pressed against the door of his hut, every muscle tense, his eyes darting between his attackers. There was no way out, no retreat.
It was then, through the haze of smoke and confusion, that Shun recognized their clothes—the dark green tunics and black sashes. His blood ran cold as realization hit him. The Greenwood Bandit Brotherhood.
His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of his sword feeling heavier in his hands as both men charged at him again, their weapons gleaming in the fiery light. Shun ducked, his body moving on instinct. He sidestepped one attacker, narrowly avoiding the swinging axe, only to be met with the sound of boots rushing toward him. Three more bandits emerged from the darkness, their weapons raised, their faces obscured by the flickering shadows of the fire.
He could barely keep up—the world around him a dizzying blur of flame and violence. One of the bandits slashed down at his chest, the blade coming in fast and brutal. Shun stumbled back, his body moving just a fraction faster than the steel aimed at his heart, and by sheer luck, the sword sliced through empty air as he fell to the ground. His mind raced, desperate, his fingers instinctively gripping the dagger strapped to his side. Without thinking, he threw it with all the force he could muster.
The knife flew through the smoke-filled air, its blade finding its mark in one of the bandit’s skulls with a sickening thud. The man dropped instantly, his body crumpling into the dirt. Shun rolled to the side, his breath ragged, his fingers brushing against the fallen bandit’s axe. He snatched it up, just in time to swing it as the other two bandits closed in.
But there was no rest. The axe hadn’t even left his hand before the first two attackers came at him again, their blades slashing through the air with deadly precision. Shun blocked one, but the other sword was already coming down toward him. He barely had time to react. His body moved like it was operating on its own, his muscles screaming in protest as he swung the axe, blocking the blow, but another attacker’s blade was already aimed at his side.
The world was chaos—flames licking at the edges of his vision, smoke filling his lungs, and the clang of steel on steel ringing in his ears. He kicked out at one of the bandits, striking the man hard in the knee. The bandit stumbled, giving Shun just enough time to free his axe from the tangled mess of blades and bodies. He swung it wildly, catching another bandit in the side. Blood sprayed across the ground as the man fell, but there was no time to even register the victory.
Arrows whizzed past him, cutting through the smoky night air like deadly whispers. He could hear them thudding into the ground and into flesh, screams of pain and fury rising from the chaos around him. The battlefield was a blur of fire and motion—his brothers and sisters fighting desperately against the onslaught, each of them outnumbered three or four to one, just like him. The air was thick with the sounds of death, of fire consuming everything, of weapons clashing in frantic desperation.
Shun could barely make out their faces, everything lost in the swirling chaos of light and shadow, his vision blurred by sweat and smoke. He saw one of his brothers fall, a sword buried in his back. He wanted to help, but another blade swung at him, cutting off his view and forcing him to focus on the immediate threat.
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A sword came into his view, fast and lethal. He swung the axe to block it, but there was no time to breathe. Another blade was coming from the other side, forcing him to twist his body awkwardly to avoid it. His arms were burning, muscles screaming under the relentless assault. He was fighting for survival now, every instinct honed to keep him alive for just a few seconds longer.
The man in front of him lunged again, but Shun struck first. He swung his axe low, catching the bandit in the foot, the blade sinking deep. The man screamed, falling to his knee, but before Shun could deliver a killing blow, another attacker was already on him. The edge of a sword slashed toward his face, and he barely ducked in time, feeling the air part as the steel whistled past his ear.
There was no room to think, no time to strategize—just pure, primal survival. Shun was running on instinct now, dodging, parrying, and striking back with whatever strength he had left. He could hear the screams of his brothers and sisters all around him, their voices rising above the crackling of the flames. The village was burning. Everything was burning.
The moment felt like it slowed down, the roar of the fire dimming for just a heartbeat as the man before Shun raised his sword, his blade ready to take Shun’s head clean off. But before the steel could meet flesh, an arrow whistled through the smoke-filled air, embedding itself in the attacker’s chest. The bandit collapsed mid-swing, his body falling lifeless to the ground. Shun barely caught a glimpse of the arrow’s origin—it was Sister Tao, standing a few feet away, bow drawn. But there was no time to acknowledge her help. Two more bandits rushed toward him, axes gleaming in the hellish light of the burning village.
His body moved before his mind could catch up. Shun ducked low, narrowly avoiding a wide slash, and launched himself forward with reckless abandon. Desperation fueled his every action, a wild, chaotic energy coursing through his veins. He headbutted one of the bandits square in the face before the man could even lift his weapon, feeling the crunch of bone beneath his forehead. The bandit staggered back, clutching his nose, and Shun kicked him in the gut, sending him sprawling to the ground.
But there was no time to finish him off. The second bandit was already swinging, his axe carving through the air. Shun swung his own weapon to meet the attack, but both men pulled back at the last moment, circling each other like wolves ready to strike. Shun’s breath was ragged, his limbs heavy from exhaustion. And then, as if the world was mocking them, two flaming arrows flew overhead, striking a nearby hut. Within seconds, the dry wood erupted into flames, adding to the inferno already devouring the village.
Shun didn’t even have a chance to register the new fire before the bandit rushed him again, his axe aiming for Shun’s throat. Shun met the attack, steel clashing against steel in a shower of sparks. He held the axe firm, gritting his teeth against the force of the blow. But then, he heard it—a footstep behind him, fast and heavy. Someone was coming from behind.
Instinct kicked in, pure survival taking over. Shun sidestepped at the last possible second, just as the man behind him lunged with a dagger. The bandit’s weapon sank deep into his comrade's chest instead. The attacker’s eyes widened in shock, his grip faltering. That was all the opening Shun needed. Without hesitation, he swung his axe, the blade cutting through the air with a brutal efficiency. The man fell, clutching his side in a futile attempt to stop the blood pouring from his wound.
Shun barely had time to react before a deafening explosion ripped through the air. The force of it sent him flying backward, the world tilting violently as he was thrown several meters away. He hit the ground hard, his body rolling through dirt and ash, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. Dazed and disoriented, he blinked through the blinding light, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
It was the flour. The hut must have been storing bags of flour, and the flames had turned it into a bomb. But none of that mattered now. Shun’s vision blurred, his ears ringing from the blast. He could barely hear the sounds of battle anymore, the clash of steel and the shouts of his brothers and sisters drowned out by the high-pitched whine in his head. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, his body screaming in protest.
Through the haze, Shun’s eyes focused on the scene before him. The village was in ruins, huts burning like torches in the night. His brothers and sisters of the Thunder Sky Brotherhood were locked in a desperate battle, outnumbered and overwhelmed by the endless wave of Greenwood Bandits. He saw flashes of steel, bodies colliding, the flicker of flames reflected in their blades. Everywhere Shun looked, there was nothing but chaos—a maelstrom of flames, smoke, and the desperate clashing of steel as his comrades fought for their lives. The village was barely recognizable, the familiar huts now twisted shadows consumed by the roaring inferno. His brothers and sisters of the Thunder Sky Brotherhood, outnumbered and struggling, fought valiantly against the unrelenting wave of Greenwood Bandits. The air was thick with the sounds of battle: metal striking metal, cries of pain, and the relentless crackle of burning wood.
Shun struggled to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him as the ground swayed unsteadily. The world spun, the ringing in his ears slowly ebbing away, replaced by the distant echoes of war. His vision was still hazy, the smoke stinging his eyes, but then—through the shifting haze of fire and ash—he spotted a familiar figure.
Senior Brother Minfe.
Minfe was fighting, locked in a brutal struggle with what appeared to be a massive figure wielding a hammer. For a moment, Shun’s heart surged with hope. Minfe had always been their strongest, their leader. But something was wrong. Even from the distance, Shun could see that Minfe wasn’t fighting a bandit. No—the figure clashing with him wasn’t one of the Greenwood Brotherhood.
It was Brother Qin.
Shun blinked, trying to clear his mind, but the sight remained unchanged. Qin, their own brother, was battling Minfe. The blows were real, fierce, and then—before Shun could process what was happening—another figure rushed into the fray. It was Brother Yuan. His weapon raised high, Yuan charged directly at Minfe.
“Brother Yuan, no!” Shun wanted to shout, but the words caught in his throat. His body froze as he watched, helpless and horrified.
Minfe, with a single, fluid motion, struck Yuan down. The blade sliced cleanly through the air, cutting Yuan down in one swift, brutal stroke. There was no hesitation, no mercy. Yuan crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Shun’s heart stopped. His breath caught in his throat as the full weight of what he had just witnessed settled in. Senior Brother Minfe thier leader, their protector had just killed one of their own. Not a bandit. Not the enemy. Their brother. The realization hit Shun like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling, struggling to understand.
His mind raced. How could this be happening? Why? It didn’t make sense. Minfe had just murdered Brother Yuan. Shun’s heart pounded in his chest, rage beginning to boil up from the pit of his stomach. The shock was quickly turning into fury. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he prepared to charge down the hill and confront Minfe.
But before he could take a step, he saw it again. Minfe wasn’t fighting the Greenwood Bandits. No, he was directing them. His blade flashed as he cut down another brother, and then he gestured to the bandits, sending them toward Brother Qin, who was still locked in combat. The realization was like a dagger in Shun’s chest.
Minfe wasn’t defending them.
He was leading the attack.
A growl of rage escaped Shun’s throat, his vision narrowing to a tunnel of red. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to move, to confront the traitor, to avenge his fallen brothers. He planted his feet, ready to rush forward, when the ground beneath him suddenly gave way.
With a sickening crack, the earth crumbled beneath Shun’s boots, the edge of the hill collapsing in a cascade of loose dirt and rocks. He fell. His body lurched forward, gravity pulling him down the steep slope as his limbs flailed, trying to grasp onto something—anything—to stop his descent. But there was nothing. Only air, smoke, and the distant glow of the fire above him.
He tumbled, rocks and debris slamming into him as he rolled down the hill. His shoulder struck something hard, sending a jolt of pain through his body. His vision blurred, the world spinning uncontrollably as he continued to fall, the chaotic sounds of battle fading into the distance above him.
When he finally hit the bottom, the impact knocked the wind from his lungs. He gasped, struggling to draw breath as he lay still for a moment, staring up at the burning sky. His body ached, his mind racing with the horror of what he had seen. Senior Brother Minfe, their leader—the man he had trusted with his life—was a traitor.