The White Rose: A Killer's Rebirth

When Zuhn woke up, he found himself staring at a bright blue sky. The sound of footsteps drew his attention, and he turned to see a young teen, around 13 years old, approaching him.

"Hey, stranger! What are you doing sleeping in the middle of Bandit Territory?" the teen asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Zuhn sat up, momentarily confused. He reached into his pocket and felt an object—a knife. Gripping it tightly, he replied, "Just relaxing."

The teen wasn't convinced. "Mr., that doesn't seem right. What's your name, and what town are you from?"

Zuhn hesitated. "I come from a faraway place."

The teen frowned, looking down at his feet as if deep in thought. "A faraway place, huh? Well, if you won't tell me that, at least tell me your name."

"Zuhn."

The teen raised an eyebrow. "That's a weird name, Mr." He turned and made a small gesture. Suddenly, three more teens emerged from behind trees and bushes, surrounding Zuhn.

One of the larger teens stepped forward. "Listen up, Mr. This is the territory of the Rascal Bandit Group. You're trespassing."

Zuhn remained silent, his expression blank.

The teen repeated himself, louder this time. "I said, this is the territory of the Rascal Bandit Group!"

Still, Zuhn didn't react. The teens exchanged uneasy glances. The larger teen pulled out a small pocket knife and waved it in Zuhn's face. "Hand over all your possessions, and we won't report you to the Rascal Bandit Group."

Zuhn continued to ignore him, his eyes scanning the area as if trying to piece together where he was.

Frustrated, the teen lunged at Zuhn with the knife. But before he could strike, Zuhn moved with lightning speed. The teen screamed as his hand was cleanly severed, blood spraying everywhere.

"Aghhh!" The teen collapsed, clutching the stump where his hand had been. The other teens stared in horror, their bravado shattered.

The injured teen, trembling with rage and fear, spat, "The Rascal Bandit Group will make you pay for this!" He scrambled to his feet and fled, the others following close behind.

Zuhn watched them run, then took off after them. As he ran, he noticed something strange—he was faster than he'd ever been before. Confused but undeterred, he quickly caught up to the group.

He didn't hesitate. The teen who had threatened him was the first to fall, a single precise strike piercing his heart. The others screamed and ran faster, but Zuhn was relentless. One by one, he cut them down with brutal efficiency.

One teen pushed his friend to the ground in a desperate attempt to escape. Zuhn didn't mind—it only made his job easier. The fallen teen accepted his fate, and soon, only the original teen who had approached Zuhn remained.

Zuhn slowed his pace, casually trotting behind the exhausted teen until the boy collapsed, gasping for breath. Zuhn tackled him, pressing the knife to his throat.

"Listen," Zuhn said calmly. "You're going to tell me where I am. Do you understand?"

The teen nodded frantically. "Y-You're in the Ziom Continent!"

Zuhn frowned. Ziom Continent? This wasn't Earth. "What's the closest city?"

"H-Hencewood," the teen stammered. "It's about twenty miles west. Just follow the dirt road." He pointed to a path nearby.

Zuhn glanced at the road, then back at the teen. "Because you tried to rob me, I'm not letting you off scot-free."

The teen's eyes filled with dread. "P-Please, Mr., we were just trying to make some money."

Zuhn leaned closer, his voice cold. "Have you ever killed someone?"

"N-No."

"Disappointing." Zuhn stood, removing the knife from the teen's throat. "I won't kill you. I need you to show me the way to the town."

The teen blinked in disbelief. "Y-You're not going to kill me?"

"No. I need you to help me. And since I don't care about your name, I'll just call you Scar."

Zuhn sheathed his knife and gestured for Scar to lead the way. The teen, still trembling, got to his feet and began walking, Zuhn following close behind.

"As I said, your new name is Scar," Zuhn stated coldly.

Scar nodded slowly, glancing toward the dirt road. "I'll head back to town now," he said, taking a tentative step.

"Not yet," Zuhn interrupted. "First, I need you to find some white roses."

Scar's face twisted in confusion. "White roses?"

"Yes. Put one on each of the bodies. I'll wait here."

Scar hesitated but obeyed, disappearing into the forest. After about twenty minutes, he returned with a handful of white roses. He placed one on each of his fallen friends, his hands shaking as he worked. When he finished, he approached Zuhn with five roses still in hand.

"Why do you have extras?" Zuhn asked, his tone sharp.

Scar looked down at the flowers. "For… anyone else you might kill on the way to town."

Zuhn stood abruptly, knocking the roses from Scar's hands. "I only use freshly picked roses. Throw those away."

Scar flinched and quickly obeyed, tossing the remaining roses into a nearby pond. When he returned, Zuhn gestured toward the dirt road. "Now, where's the town?"

Scar pointed. "This way."

As they walked, a group of riders approached from the opposite direction. At the front was a man in gleaming golden armor, his horse similarly adorned. A soldier in silver armor rode up to him, reporting, "Sir, scouts found several dead teens by the road. Each had a white rose on their body."

The golden-armored man raised an eyebrow. "A white rose? Show me."

They rode to the scene, where the golden man dismounted and examined the bodies. "Clean cuts. A professional did this. But why the roses?"

"Perhaps it's a symbol, sir," the soldier suggested.

The golden man nodded. "Did they find anything else?"

"Yes. These kids were pretending to be part of the Rascal Bandit Group."

The golden man scoffed. "Fools courting death." He remounted and continued toward Hencewood, his entourage following.

Zuhn and Scar reached the top of a hill, overlooking a bustling town. The sight was strange to Zuhn—people with long ears, tails, and other unusual features mingled in the streets.

"People with tails?" Zuhn muttered.

Scar glanced at him. "You don't have half-humans where you're from?"

"No."

"Well, Hencewood has humans, elves, and half-humans. Three factions, always competing."

Zuhn frowned. What kind of place is this?

Behind them, the golden-armored man and his convoy approached the town gates. The guards quickly opened them, bowing as he passed. By the time Zuhn and Scar arrived, the gates were closing.

"Stop! Show your IDs," a guard demanded.

Scar handed over a small piece of paper, but Zuhn had nothing. "He's new," Scar explained. "No ID yet."

The guard eyed Zuhn suspiciously. "Two silver coins for the ID and processing fee."

Scar dug into his pockets and handed over the coins. The guard returned with a blank paper. "Name?"

"Zuhn."

"Just Zuhn?"

"Yes."

The guard scribbled on the paper. "Alright, 'Just Zuhn.' But we need to search you both before you enter."

Scar whispered to Zuhn, "They're trying to rob us."

As one guard reached for Zuhn's pockets, Zuhn grabbed his arm and shoved him to the ground. The other guards drew their swords, but Zuhn's cold stare froze them in place.

"Let him go, or you'll regret it," one guard warned, though his voice wavered.

Zuhn released the guard and raised his hands. The guards exchanged uneasy glances. "Fine," the leader said. "No search. But don't cause trouble."

Scar smirked as they passed through the gates, but Zuhn whispered, "Don't get cocky."

Above them, a sign reads: Welcome to Hencewood.

***

"Young Master, we have urgent news!" Two men stood outside a medium-sized house, shouting up at a window. One wore golden armor, the other plain metal.

A young teen appeared at the window, glancing down. "Sir, the Baron's son is here to see you," a butler announced from inside.

"Send them to my room," the teen replied.

The butler escorted the two men upstairs to a large, book-filled room. The young teen sat in a chair, engrossed in a book. The men knelt before him.

"Sergeant Ziom and Corporal Trom report to the Young Master," the golden-armored man said.

The teen looked up, annoyed. "Stop calling me 'Master.' I'll be your future Viscount. What's so important?"

The men exchanged uneasy glances. "While returning to town, we found several bodies by the road. Each had a white rose placed on them. They appeared to be impersonating the Rascal Bandit Group."

The teen's interest piqued. "The Rascal Bandit Group? How old were they?"

"They were just kids, Future Viscount."

The teen chuckled. "Fakes, then. Is that all? Don't waste my time."

The men hesitated. "There's more," the golden-armored man added. "Guards at the west gate reported two teens entering town today. One of them attacked a guard, threatening to kill them if they weren't let in."

The teen's expression darkened. "You let a criminal into my town?" He stood, gripping a dagger at his waist. "Find those two and bring them to me by tonight, or I'll kill you both."

The men scrambled out of the room. Outside, the sergeant muttered, "That kid's terrifying, but he's a pain."

They headed to the Central Barracks, where a stern-looking lieutenant awaited. "What do you need?" he asked.

"The Young Master ordered us to capture two teens who entered the west gate this morning," the sergeant explained. "They attacked and threatened the guards."

The lieutenant's face reddened with anger. "Grab twenty men and find them. Bring them back alive—or at least in one piece."

Meanwhile, Zuhn and Scar wandered through the bustling market. The noise and crowds were overwhelming, but Zuhn's instincts kicked in when he spotted the golden-armored man approaching. He pulled Scar into a nearby alley.

The man passed by, muttering, "Remember, bring them alive, or we're dead."

Scar looked at Zuhn, realization dawning. "Do you think they're after us?"

Zuhn nodded. "We need a plan."

As they stepped out of the alley, a sharp voice stopped them. "You two, halt!"

They turned to see a man in his thirties, a long sword pointed at them. Surrounding them were several guards, including the golden-armored man.

"You dare threaten my guards?" the older man barked.

Zuhn and Scar exchanged confused glances. "Threaten? When did we—"

The golden-armored man smirked, clearly enjoying the scene.

The older man motioned for the guards to restrain them. "I suggest you surrender. I'd rather not kill two teenagers."

Zuhn's hand tightened around the knife in his pocket. As a guard stepped forward, Zuhn pulled it out, ready to strike.