N rose once more.
His first steps wavered over gravel, his body scorched and trembling from exhaustion. Behind him, the mountain lay shattered—a monument of ruin. The sky above bled a dull red, and the sun—if it was a sun at all—hung dim and lifeless, casting shadows over a world that knew only devastation.
He kept walking, step after step, tracing the ridgeline until it broke open into a breathtaking view. The horizon stretched endlessly, the light washing over the land with deceptive serenity. He sat down, face expressionless.
"What is this life...?" he murmured. His voice was hoarse, hollow.
One hour passed. Then two. Then three. His eyes fluttered shut without realizing it. Sleep took him without permission.
When he woke again, the light had shifted. His hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword. He pulled his cloak tighter over his face and stood up. He walked. Aimless, slow at first—then more firmly, more surely. Until dust gave way to sounds.
The ringing of metal. The growl of beasts.
Below, a massive caravan crawled across the land, guarded by monstrous hounds—war dogs twisted beyond recognition. N's eyes sharpened. He didn't hesitate.
With a sudden dash, he launched from the high ground. A blur of steel and silence. The first dog didn't even howl before its head flew. The second lunged—N slid under its fangs and drove his blade upward. Blood arced like black ink. More came.
He was fury. Calculated, efficient, deadly.
A guard saw him too late. N spun behind the man, severing the spine in a single cut. Another charged—his spear thrusting toward N's chest. N caught the shaft mid-air, snapped it, and drove the broken end into the guard's throat.
One after another, they fell. N moved like a shadow in a massacre. No name. No mercy.
When the battle ended, silence screamed.
He descended further into the caravan's heart. Voices—whispers—sobs.
He followed them until he reached the cages. Rusted iron. Chains. Prisoners.
A woman looked up from behind bars, her eyes pleading. N shattered the lock with a single swing.
She cried, crawled forward. He looked at her, cold and unreadable.
Then he turned and walked on to the next cage. Then the next. One after another.
Each gate he opened, and each prisoner met the same end by his blade. Silent. Absolute.
There were no screams, only the wind.
When it was done, he walked into the food stores. He tore into dry meat and stale bread, devouring like a beast that had forgotten the meaning of restraint.
And then... fire.
He torched the caravan. The flames rose high into the dark-red sky, eating the remains of chains and bones alike.
Without a word, without looking back, N pulled his cloak tighter and vanished into the horizon.
His destination unknown. His purpose, buried.
But the path ahead was soaked in ash and blood.