The bastard's blade

As the monster's corpse lay still and the toxic fog began to dissipate with the wind, people started to emerge from their hiding spots. A wave of urgency followed, not toward the decapitated beast, but toward the white-haired girl who stood covered in sweat and blood, her blade still hot with death.

"Lady Dawn! Are you okay?"

A girl cried, rushing forward in panic.

More followed—nobles in fine cloaks, her personal guards, even trembling civilians who looked at her with awe and admiration. Dozens surrounded her, forming a ring of reverence and concern.

Dawn Montello blinked in surprise, still catching her breath.

"I'm fine."

She muttered, brushing her blood-matted hair from her face.

"You killed the beast, my lady!"

"You saved the entire town! Incredible!"

"We must inform the estate immediately. You'll be honored for this."

But she raised her hand, silencing them. Her eyes searched the crowd, the rooftops, the shadows. He was gone.

"That man...."

She said softly.

"I didn't do it alone. There was someone with me. He helped. Without him, I might've—"

"You're being humble, Lady Dawn."

"She's always so kind." 

"She's trying to share the glory."

A noble whispered with a smile.

"How noble of her."

Dawn sighed. She didn't expect anyone to believe her, not really. That man… no, that boy, the one with the strange crimson sword and that wild, almost feral look in his eyes—he had vanished like a ghost. Just like he had appeared.

'Maybe, he doesn't want to stand out. Maybe he'll appear again… maybe at the academy.'

Dawn Montello, the prodigy of House Montello, was not just a beauty with a sword. She had been sent to Fafnir Academy to win glory, to hone her strength, and to outshine the heirs of the empire's greatest families. This incident was never in her plans—but fate had other ideas. A monster attack on the edge of the Valmonth region was no small event.

And within hours, the news spread like wildfire.

"Dawn Montello defeats a C-rank monster with elegance and power!"

"The genius of Montello strikes again!"

"Beauty, strength, nobility—Dawn Montello has it all!"

Every tavern, every estate, every patrol buzzed with her name.

But far from the cheering and the adoration, Ran stumbled through a dark forest trail, his lungs burning like hellfire.

His vision blurred. His throat felt like it had been filled with broken glass. His steps were uneven, almost collapsing under him.

It was only now, with the bloodlust fading, that he noticed the pain. The toxic fog—it had entered his body. He had ignored it before, too consumed by the urge to kill, the cursed beating of his grotesque heart pushing him toward madness.

"I almost… hurt someone."

He muttered.

Ran clenched his teeth, clutching his chest, feeling the thumping sack inside—the false heart that beat with something darker than blood.

He ran. Not to escape the townsfolk. Not to avoid the attention.

He ran because if he stayed, he might've killed someone. Maybe even her.

Ran and ran and ran…

Through trees. Across shallow rivers. Past dead animals and burnt grass.

Finally, his legs gave out.

He collapsed in a meadow.

Alone.

There wasn't a single soul in sight. Not a single sound except for the chirping of distant insects. The moon had begun its rise, painting the grass with silver shadows. His breath came in ragged gasps. Every inhale was agony. His eyes rolled as blackness crept at the edge of his vision.

Still, he smirked bitterly.

"This life is cursed."

The cursed heart inside him beat softly now. It would heal him—he knew that. He had tested it. As long as he had dark energy left in the reservoir, his body would recover. In an hour, maybe two, he'd be fine again. Physically.

But what about the rest of him?

He passed out with the stars watching.

—

When Ran awoke, it was still night.

The stars had shifted. The air was colder. His body no longer screamed in pain, only a dull ache remained. He sat up slowly, looking around.

Nothing.

No one on the horizon. No hint of civilization. Just grass. Just wind. Just the silence of someone who'd survived too many things that should've killed him.

He stood.

Dusting himself off, he started walking back toward Valmonth.

The path was long, but it gave him time to think.

'Why… why did my life turn out this way?'

He wondered.

'I should have died that day. It would have been better. Fuck!!!'

He remembered the feeling—the grin that took over him, the whisper to kill, the overwhelming desire to tear flesh and bathe in blood. That wasn't him.

'No. It was the heart. The curse.'

As he walked, a low growl broke the silence.

Beasts. Monsters. 

Three creatures lunged at him from the woods, drawn by the scent of blood and weakness.

But what they found was not prey.

They found death.

Ran didn't hesitate. His sword moved on its own. A blur of red, a flash of steel, and black energy erupted from his blade. One of the beasts lost its head in a single stroke. The others were torn to shreds within seconds.

But he didn't stop.

He kept slashing even after they were dead.

He roared, his face twisted in rage, in pain, in desperation.

The blood splashed across his face, staining his cloak again. His hands trembled.

"I need to control this…"

He muttered.

"I have to. If I lose it during the entrance mock battle…"

He didn't finish the thought.

He couldn't.

The idea of slaughtering future students—innocents—his classmates… he wouldn't allow it.

No matter what, I need to control this bloodlust before the academy starts…

And with that, he wiped the blade clean, sheathed it, and continued walking into the night.

Toward the unknown.