Morning broke slowly. Inside the underground shelter, while many still drifted in restless dreams, a sudden voice rang out from beyond the heavy steel door.
Lucky:
"It's safe! Everyone can come out now!"
The shout echoed through the bunker, shaking the walls ever so slightly, carrying with it both hope… and deep suspicion.
Some people jolted awake, eyes lighting up like they'd just escaped a nightmare. They rushed toward the door, eager to open it. But others—those still haunted by the screams and blood of the night before—immediately stepped in to stop them.
A middle-aged woman shouted, "Don't open it! What if it's a trap?! What if they're still out there?!"
A man shoved her aside, hand gripping the door handle. "What, we're just supposed to sit here and starve?!"
The argument exploded. The group split into two sides. Yelling turned to shoving. Chaos brewed.
Then—
BANG!
The steel door was torn open from the outside, flung wide as if by a storm.
Blinding light flooded the room, forcing many to squint. Standing outside were dozens of people in blue and white uniforms, weapons at the ready, eyes sharp and alert.
A tall man stepped forward. Broad shoulders. Dark brown hair and beard. A cloth bandage covered his left eye. His right ring finger was missing its last joint. His presence alone felt forged in battle.
Lucky:
"I'm Lucky, commander of Military Sector 7. I'm here to inform you—there is currently a dangerous virus spreading on this island. For your safety, everyone will be escorted to the base where the situation will be explained in full."
His words froze the room. Fearful eyes, trembling whispers, and growing confusion rippled across the shelter.
Dathweet: (tilting his head, murmuring)
"A virus? No wonder… they looked like zombies from a novel."
Lyun: (clutching his sleeve lightly)
"I never thought… a real virus would hit this island…"
Lucky paid no attention to their reactions. He turned, signaling his troops to move out. The civilians—confused, frightened—quietly followed. Perhaps they understood… there was no other choice.
They began the march down the mountain path, a narrow trail leading toward the temporary military base. The sun had risen high, morning mist thinning, but the air remained cold—still clinging to the echoes of last night's screams.
Suddenly, rustling came from the trees.
A figure emerged from the thick foliage.
Completely naked. His body smeared in blood like he'd bathed in corpses. The only thing covering him… was a human skull strapped to his groin like a loincloth. In his hand—a bloody knife. His mouth twisted into a manic, gaping grin.
He let out a distorted shriek of pleasure and charged!
The crowd screamed in panic, trying to flee. But in that instant—a blur appeared ahead of them.
Lucky.
He moved like a living blade, cutting through the air itself. In a heartbeat, he stood between the lunatic and the people, left hand raised, holding a thin, unnaturally long sword.
One strike.
The man's four limbs fell like chopped fruit.
He screamed in agony… yet continued laughing. A wheezing, grotesque, twisted cackle.
Lucky didn't flinch.
Lucky:
"Bandage him. Box him up."
A soldier rushed over, wrapped the bleeding stumps with cord, uncaring of the man's moans, and shoved him into a metal box adorned with biohazard symbols and sealed locks.
The crowd fell into silence.
Fear crawled back into their chests, squeezing every beat of their hearts.
When they arrived at the military base—a facility built into a massive cave once used during wartime—Dathweet realized they weren't the only group. Three or four other groups had also just arrived, each one ragged, bloodstained, their eyes hollow with shock.
Everyone was ordered to line up for a health screening before being allowed inside.
Once cleared, they were guided into the central chamber—a vast space with a towering stone ceiling. A makeshift metal stage stood at one end, rows of wooden chairs neatly lined up before it.
Lucky stepped onto the stage. His face remained cold, but his eyes burned with killing intent.
Silence swept through the crowd. No one dared breathe too loudly.
The briefing was about to begin.
Lucky stepped forward. His voice wasn't loud, but it echoed powerfully through the damp cavern, like a command being carved into their minds.
Lucky:
"Most of you must be feeling confused right now. Let me explain the situation on this island."
He paused for a beat, scanning the crowd to make sure every pair of eyes was locked on him.
Lucky:
"A strange virus has emerged in this region. Infected individuals lose all control over their behavior. To put it simply—morality, logic, the very things that define humanity—are stripped away. They become creatures driven purely by instinct."
The room chilled. Some people shivered. Others instinctively reached for the hands of their loved ones, just to confirm… they were still surrounded by humans.
Lucky continued, his voice calm but clearly shadowed by darkness.
Lucky:
"The troubling part is… we don't know how it spreads. Through air? Physical contact? Energy? Unknown. We also don't know its incubation time. Right now, we're still observing and gathering data."
He signaled to a soldier, who wheeled in a metal container.
When the lid was opened, the insane man from earlier screamed like a wild animal. His face twitched, mouth producing garbled sounds. His eyes were bloodshot, crimson tears dripping from their corners.
Lucky stepped forward and, without hesitation, drove a long spear down into the man's abdomen, pinning him to the stone floor.
Lucky:
"This is an infected specimen. You'll notice the red eyes, bleeding from the corners, and a line of blood running down his spine—like a hidden fracture signaling something growing within him."
The man spasmed for a moment longer. Then, without warning, Lucky slammed his steel-booted heel into the man's head.
CRACK.
The sound echoed like smashing a watermelon on stone. Blood and brain matter splattered across the ground and up Lucky's boots. Screams and retching followed.
A woman collapsed, hand trembling over her mouth. A child burst into tears in his mother's arms. Several adults stood frozen, pale, unable to speak.
Lucky pulled his foot from the corpse. Blood dripped steadily.
A man in the crowd, voice trembling despite trying to stay composed, asked:
Man:
"How long do we have to stay here? And… why is it only your unit? Where's the rest of the army? What about the other zones?"
Lucky looked up and wiped the blood from his forehead with a dark cloth.
Lucky:
"We came to this island by boat. Many units were deployed, but it's monsoon season. Storms hit hard. Over half the ships were lost at sea. I lost contact with every other team after the first wave."
The mood plummeted. A cold breeze swept through the cave, damp and heavy with despair.
Lucky exhaled deeply and went on:
Lucky:
"And the teleportation gate that used to be here… was destroyed beforehand. We tried to rebuild an inbound mana conduit, but the mana waves in this region are severely unstable. Communication is jammed. Coordinates won't hold. Even external mages can't pinpoint a safe entrance."
He paused, then spoke with finality:
Lucky:
"For the next three to five days, we are stuck here. I am now the highest-ranking officer on this island. If anyone disobeys orders or causes trouble… I won't hesitate to eliminate them."
Those words slammed into the fragile hearts of the survivors like iron stakes. They understood now—this was no rescue. This was survival. And the rules were written in blood.
The crowd began to disperse, like floodwater bursting through a broken dam.
Some screamed the names of missing family, running through the base in a frantic search. Others crept off to corners, clutching ragged sacks stuffed with food—hoarding supplies out of pure survival instinct. A group began arguing over wooden boards by the wall, cursing and shoving for sleeping space.
Whispers filled the air—about the virus, the crazed attackers, the military, and… about Lucky himself.
Murmurs grew. Distrustful stares turned sharp.
The atmosphere grew suffocating. Something was breaking. Not from outside—but within.
Dathweet, however, remained still. His arms hung loosely by his sides, eyes quietly fixed on the dark mouth of the cave. It seemed… he'd realized something.
Dathweet: (low, steady voice)
"Ken, that leader from yesterday's attack… he was Human, right?"
Ken: (tone grim, with an edge)
(Yeah. Pure Human. No horns. Tall, muscular build. His fighting style… wasn't civilian. I think I know what you're thinking.)
Dathweet gave a slight nod, eyes never leaving the dark beyond.
Dathweet:
"It wasn't a coincidence. I'm sure… this is a biological weapon. And behind it… is King Lion. A live test. A 'staged accident.' Weakening a nation from within… using its own people."
Ken:
(The leader was probably following orders from Lion—to spread the infection.)
Dathweet:
"He was chosen because he could stay lucid—at least partially. The infected… might need someone like that. A leader. A commander."
The two fell silent. The air inside the cavern grew thicker, as if every thought was fermenting into a deeper, darker doubt.
Dathweet closed his eyes for a moment.
Dathweet: (murmuring)
"I came here to heal… So why the hell does it feel like a battlefield now?"
Lyun stepped closer, a hint of concern in her expression. She looked at Dathweet, who stood frozen like a statue, his eyes still haunted by the horrors of the night before.
Lyun:
"You're zoning out… Want to walk around with me? Might help clear your head."
Dathweet turned toward her, the tension in his gaze slightly eased.
Dathweet:
"Sure."
They left the central chamber, where people continued fighting for sleeping spots, clean water, and fragments of reassurance. They walked down a rocky hallway that looped around the base—once part of an old military installation, now a maze of crumbling passages and narrow dead ends.
On either side, people huddled on the cold stone floor. Some clung to family. Others curled into themselves, afraid that if they moved too much… everything might collapse again.
A few children climbed onto rock ledges, smearing dust across the walls with their fingers, occasionally crying from delayed hunger.
Lyun walked slowly, rubbing her arms against the cold.
Lyun:
"This place… looks like something straight out of a post-apocalyptic novel."
Dathweet glanced at the worn, exhausted faces leaning against the walls.
Dathweet:
"It doesn't just look like it… it is."
They passed the food distribution zone—each person had to present their wrist to be scanned before receiving hard bread and bottled water.
In another corner, a few men tried burning old wooden planks for warmth. The weak fire barely held, its smoke drifting up to the cave ceiling. One man coughed harshly, never letting go of a bloodstained family photo in his hand.
The sound of metal clashing echoed from deeper inside—someone arguing. Lyun turned her face away.
Lyun:
"Sometimes I think… dying out there might be better than living like this."
Dathweet didn't respond. He simply looked down the hallway—toward the faint flicker of the last torch, its light trembling like it might go out at any moment.
Dathweet:
"At least… there are still people to talk to here."
They walked a few more minutes in silence. Words weren't necessary. In this space, silence had become its own language.
Eventually, they returned near the center.
Lyun glanced at her wristwatch, then looked at him.
Lyun:
"I've got something to take care of. You can keep walking if you want."
Dathweet:
"Alright."
She nodded gently and walked off toward the rations section, her figure fading into the chaotic crowd.
Dathweet stood still for a while, saying nothing. The air still reeked of fear and human heat. But now… he was more used to it.
Just then, Dathweet spotted a familiar figure—Onbe—walking quickly toward the command center. The older man's pace suggested something urgent.
Dathweet:
"Good to see you again. Remember me?"
Onbe:
"Of course I do. We just met yesterday."
Dathweet:
"Where are you headed?"
Onbe:
"To meet Lucky. He needs people who can fight. People like me."
Dathweet:
"If you're going… are you planning to kill? I mean… your sword school isn't really known for killing, right?"
Onbe:
"I'll help however I can. If I can save someone—I will. If not… at least I'll protect others. You coming? You're no amateur either. Might as well see if we can be of use."
Dathweet:
"Why not. I've got nothing else to do. Oh, and… I registered for sword training yesterday. Is that still valid?"
Onbe:
"Of course. If you still want to learn, I'm always willing to teach."
The two of them walked toward Lucky's area—a makeshift command post built deep inside the cave. There, a small group had gathered—each one radiating a distinct aura. No tests were needed. Just a glance into their eyes revealed they'd all danced on the edge of death before.
Lucky stepped forward, eyes sharp as blades.
Lucky:
"You're all experienced fighters. I've gathered you to help us go outside—to find supplies, and… to eliminate any infected. We have no other choice."
A man stepped out from the crowd—tall and dignified, with long silver hair, a white cloak, and a beard that reached his collarbone. A sword hung at his side.
Kilo:
"Why must we kill? They're still human. Maybe with time… there'll be a cure. We shouldn't give up hope so easily."
Lucky:
"Can you cure them?"
Kilo hesitated, then gave a faint, bitter smile.
Lucky:
"You want us to be humane? Then let me assure you all—if we don't kill them, they will kill us. They're no longer people. I lied earlier when I said reinforcements would arrive in three to five days. The truth is—it might be ten days. Maybe more. And there's no guarantee anyone will even reach us."
Kilo:
"But they didn't ask for this. They're infected. They deserve pity more than punishment. Can't we think of something less brutal?"
Lucky:
"Humane? So when they rip your family to pieces, you'll still want to be humane? Around here, the ones with soft hearts die first. That's the truth."
A heavy silence followed. No one spoke. The warriors looked at each other, but not a word was said.
Lucky:
"Tomorrow morning, we divide into groups. We'll head out for food, medicine, weapons—and eliminate anyone showing signs of infection. If you can't accept that… stay behind. Dismissed."
There were no cheers. No protests. Only footsteps echoing away—carrying with them more than just fear.
Chapter 12: The First Lesson
After the meeting ended, the crowd gradually dispersed. Dathweet and Onbe left the main camp area and walked toward an open patch of land in the back—a quiet space rarely visited by others, peaceful enough to begin the first lesson.
The air here felt a little softer. A breeze whispered through the mossy leaves, carrying the damp scent of old stone and wet earth. Onbe stopped and turned his back to Dathweet, eyes lifted toward the overcast sky.
Onbe:
"In truth… our sword style—Koju—has a fatal weakness for someone like you."
Dathweet remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
Onbe:
"It's particularly ill-suited for people… like you."
Dathweet:
"Like me?"
Onbe turned around, his gaze sharper than usual.
Onbe:
"People who've endured deep pain—so deep that they suppress it, pretend it never happened. For someone like that, Koju can be a double-edged sword. On one hand… it can heal you. Soothe old wounds, help you understand yourself, help you stand taller. But on the other… it may peel back every buried scar—and if you're not ready, it might break you. You could go mad. Even mid-practice."
He paused, then locked eyes with Dathweet.
Onbe:
"That's why… I want to give you a chance to reconsider. Are you sure you still want to learn?"
Dathweet:
"I'm sure."
Onbe gestured for him to sit.
Dathweet obeyed, folding his legs into a lotus posture—his hands gently resting at his lower abdomen, spine straight like a steel pillar, eyes half-closed, breathing slow and steady.
The world around him blurred. All that remained was his heartbeat, and the breeze brushing lightly across his cheeks.
Onbe: (voice deep and calm)
"Breathe deeply. Feel the currents around you… the air, the earth, the flow within your body… all of it connected. Try to distinguish the clean energy—light, cool, peaceful—from the toxic energy—heavy, cold, and dark. Only when you can tell them apart… can you begin to filter. Only when you can filter… can you begin to heal."
Dathweet closed his eyes and breathed slowly. A gentle wave seemed to envelop him, pulling him from reality. It felt like stepping into another world—deep inside his own mind.
Onbe:
"What do you see?"
Dathweet: (voice faint, dreamlike)
"I see… a happy family. They're smiling at me. I feel loved. Accepted. It makes me… really happy."
Onbe:
"Is it real? Or is it just a mask your mind created to hide the pain?"
Dathweet:
"No… it feels real. I don't sense any deception."
Onbe: (more solemn now)
"Is that so… Then think: those people in your vision—how do they compare to the people you've met in real life?"
Dathweet furrowed his brows. The more he tried to focus, the more his mind blurred. He remembered the joy from that memory—but when he looked closer, he couldn't recall their faces. Only vague outlines and a sharp pain in his chest remained.
That feeling… like a knife slicing through his ribs.
A quiet, nameless agony.
A truth he didn't want to face.
Dathweet: (whispering)
"I think… I'm just craving a kind of happiness I never had… and probably never will."
Outside, his body trembled. His eyes welled with tears.
He cried… without knowing why.
Only that it hurt. A hurt without a name.
Onbe: (gently)
"Open your eyes, Dathweet."
He slowly opened them. Blinding light flooded his vision, making him blink. But instead of discomfort, he felt… lighter. As if something had been lifted from his chest.
He looked up and saw Onbe smiling—a warm, gentle smile, tinged with pride.
Dathweet:
"I feel… lighter now. Even if just a little."
Onbe:
"You did well today. But the road ahead is long, Dathweet. Very long."
The light still shone across his face—warm, yet fragile.
No one knew whether that light marked the beginning of healing…
Or if it was merely the final flicker before darkness returned.
— End of Chapter —