The Heart of Zero

The rain fell in a relentless torrent, hammering against the ground with the cadence of war drums. Shingin's heart pounded in his chest, matching the chaotic rhythm of the storm. His eyes locked on the shadowy figure ahead, the whole world narrowing down to just him, the enemy, and the cold glint of his sword. He tightened his grip on the hilt, took a deep breath, and pushed every thought from his mind.

"This is my only chance," he told himself.

The shadow darted forward, a dagger thrusting straight at Shingin's chest. Death surged toward him like a tidal wave, but instead of retreating, he stepped forward and slashed his blade with every ounce of strength he had. For a split second, time seemed to freeze.

"Shk!"

Blood sprayed through the rain as his sword sliced cleanly into the shadow's right arm.

"Arghhh!"

A piercing scream tore through the storm as the arm fell to the ground. Blood gushed freely, pooling on the rain-soaked earth and mingling with the muddy water.

Shingin froze. The grotesque sight before him locked his mind in a stranglehold of disbelief. His hands trembled around the hilt of his sword, and his entire body felt as if it had turned to stone. That single strike, so decisive and final, left him hollow and paralyzed.

"I… I really cut off his arm…" he murmured, staring at the severed limb writhing in the dirt. It was unreal, like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

The shadow collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony, but the danger seemed distant to Shingin. The blood mixed with the downpour, soaking into the soles of his shoes. A wave of nausea rose in his stomach.

"I… I killed someone," he whispered, his voice quivering as his grip faltered. This was his first encounter with such raw violence, his first time shedding blood in such a visceral way. He had believed himself ready—prepared to face danger and make hard decisions—but the reality of bloodshed left him shaken to his core.

He doubled over, retching into the mud.

"Have you steeled yourself?" Rayl's voice echoed in his mind, cold and unyielding—a grim reminder of the price of power and survival. Shingin clenched his teeth. He wasn't ready. He wasn't prepared for this.

"No… I haven't…" Shingin shook his head, his footing slipping beneath him. The weight of what he'd done pressed down, suffocating him.

"I can't keep doing this…" he muttered, taking shaky steps back. Without even looking at the fallen enemy, he turned and bolted. His body moved on instinct, driven by a desperate need to escape the battlefield and the horrors he had just unleashed.

But as he turned, a voice cut through the rain like a blade.

"Foolish boy, running into the trap without even realizing it."

Shingin's eyes widened. The words stabbed into his mind, dragging him back to stark reality. Riyugi! She was still in the inn—alone!

His heart seized. His panic surged tenfold as images of Riyugi's face filled his thoughts, her serene expression now twisted in fear or pain.

"No!" he cried, spinning around. His fear became fuel, and he sprinted, the rain lashing against his face like a cruel reminder of his failure.

"Riyugi!"

Shingin pushed himself harder, every step sending splashes of muddy water flying. His mind raced, consumed by guilt and terror. Riyugi was waiting for him. He had left her behind to fend for herself while he pursued this enemy.

He didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Every slip, every stumble on the rain-slicked ground only drove him further. The ache in his muscles and the burn in his lungs were nothing compared to the thought of Riyugi in danger.

The inn's silhouette finally emerged through the rain, a blurred outline of safety—or disaster. Shingin's eyes locked onto it like a beacon, and he pushed forward with a desperate shout:

"Riyugi!"

His feet pounded up the slippery steps of the inn, water streaming off him as he threw his weight against the wooden door. It swung open with a heavy creak, and he staggered inside, panting and drenched.

"Riyugi!" he called again, his voice hoarse and ragged, echoing through the quiet inn. His chest heaved as his frantic gaze swept the room. He could barely see through the rain streaking down his face and hair, but he couldn't afford to stop.

The storm outside raged on, but Shingin's storm was within him—fear, regret, and a desperate need to protect what mattered most.