บท 1: Prologue. Again?
The endless cycle of death, murder, and suffering had finally come to an end. The Era of Fire was over, and darkness had descended upon the world. But one day, the sparks would dance once more, igniting a new flame, but that is a different story altogether.
The nameless Chosen Undead had found their rest. There were no regrets, fear, or confusion as their consciousness faded and their body ceased to feel like one. For this sensation had been experienced countless times before. Ashen Ones could not die due to the curse that slowly turned them into empty shells of their former selves. When nothing remains except the pitiful instincts of a mindless monster. But since the Chosen were "Chosen," death did not drive them completely mad. They knew their purpose clearly.
To return the Lords of Ash to their rightful thrones and kindle the First Flame, to continue the cycle as all before them had.
But soon, he realized that this did not bring about any real change. After kindling the flame, he would start over again, except that everything from the "previous cycle" remained with him. He used this to enjoy his power, invading other worlds of those like him, ash-covered beings who, like him, had succumbed to madness and reveled in bloody battles. For it was in battle that these "monsters" truly felt alive. One of the Ashen helped him reevaluate his life, to view it from the outside and understand that it had gone too far. He realized that it had grown tiresome and repugnant. He wanted to free himself from it all. To find his peace.
What if all of it was a lie? What if there was no such thing as "peace" for him? As Hogwart had said countless times.
"We Ashen are the most insignificant. We can't even die."
But it was after this thought that he... awoke. Again. This time not in his familiar grave, but in the midst of a wrecked caravan. His throat burned and stung with pain. The tips of his fingers touched the still warm and sticky sensation of blood. Yet, the fatal wound was no longer there. It seemed to have healed by the time he awoke.
Voices were heard nearby. They chatted, buzzed, and occasionally laughed. Somewhere a woman was screaming, begging them to stop. Pleading and crying. They surrounded her and used her for their amusement.
When the Nameless was finally able to stand firmly on his feet, he realized that he had broken free from his vicious cycle and now ended up... ended up... somewhere. The circumstances of his awakening were somewhat unfavorable. Fortunately, they were too occupied with the girl and did not pay much attention to what was happening around them.
"Even here, I can't live in peace, can I?" he muttered softly. It wasn't a question. Rather, it was an obvious fact. Next to him lay, apparently, his "father." Memories echoed painfully in his temples. He had tried to negotiate with the bandits, but it had failed. The bandits did not care about deals or proposals. They wanted to take everything and eliminate the unnecessary witnesses. He found a dagger at his belt. Old, but still sharp in its sheath, with a double-edged blade.
"That will do for now," he voiced his thoughts aloud.
He was a master of all kinds of weaponry with experience in thousands, perhaps even hundreds of thousands of battles. However, given his youthful body, experience only gave him an advantage over enemies, not an easy victory. He had two choices: flee from the wrecked caravan or fight back and... seek revenge? The pain in his temples intensified as memories with "his" father flickered before his eyes, frame by frame. The Nameless realized that, apparently, when he appeared here, he might have inadvertently, or perhaps not, absorbed the soul of this twelve-year-old boy.
"I understand... I'll do what you ask, but stop tiring me out with your memories."
He was not accustomed to others' pain or suffering, but the fact that this soul could stubbornly influence his mind slightly troubled him. Perhaps it was due to age and his current strength? Speaking of strength, did he have the Power of Fire, and what would happen if he died here? Something told him it was better not to die here. If he was granted a second chance in a world free from the horrors he had endured, why not make use of it?
He adjusted his grip on the dagger and carefully surveyed the surroundings and opponents.
Six bandits in the middle of the road were tormenting a girl. Among them was the leader, who seemed to be the main participant in the group assault. The road was too open, and there was no good cover to be found. So he decided to start the battle himself.
He dashed out from his hiding place behind a cart, sprinted to the leader's back, and with a powerful thrust of the dagger into his neck, drove it in up to the hilt, finishing him off with a kick to the back.
The dead body fell on top of the girl, and a white, translucent mist absorbed into the ash-covered chest.
The bandits were clearly in shock. They hadn't expected such an event and stood rooted to the spot for a few seconds. This gave him an advantage, allowing him to quickly draw the leader's sword from the corpse's sheath and strike the second bandit with a horizontal slash. Unfortunately, the sword was too heavy for him, leaving only a minor wound on the enemy's chest.
"Damn... kid!" A retaliatory kick to the chest sent him sprawling. He needed to change his plan. The enemies were stronger and more numerous. Rolling away, he quickly ran towards the cart.
"Didn't you say you killed him, Kageyama?! Now our boss is dead at the hands of some brat! Get after him, fast!"
When you're being pursued by numerous enemies, they sometimes forget about caution and become predictable. A foolish bandit charged ahead of the others and ran straight at the Nameless. He parried the criminal's sword strike with his hand without injuring himself and delivered a powerful stab with the dagger to the heart. There were still four left, but only three were pursuing him. It seemed the one who had spoken decided to stay put.
"This kid is something else... Kageyama, what the hell?!"
"I swear! I swear I slashed his throat!"
They hesitated, holding their swords in front of them with tension, standing a few meters away. The Nameless said nothing. He merely curiously found another dagger at the belt of the second dead man. His cold, emotionless gaze met that of Kageyama. Smiling slightly, he spread his arms as if inviting them. One of them couldn't resist the provocation. He missed the attack due to a technique called "Quick Step," which allowed the Nameless to sidestep and stab him in the flank with the dagger up to the hilt.
"Argh! Stay... in place!" The attack was too slow and inaccurate due to the wound, allowing him to take another step and strike from behind, penetrating the back of the bandit's head. The second one nervously assumed a fighting stance, while the third, Kageyama, simply trembled slightly and didn't even hold his sword properly.
"Kageyama! Damn it, get a grip! It's just a kid!"
Despite these words, they did not instill any confidence. This kid was a true experienced killer! It took him just a few seconds of battle to dispose of each of them. The Nameless analyzed his opponents and with a new, light smirk, simply... walked toward them?!
"What are you planning?!"
It was abnormal, insane, and terrifying. It was as if they faced someone who feared death not at all. And so, when the distance between them was just about a meter or so, the first bandit couldn't hold back and struck along with the second. He sidestepped the attack with a sliding motion, leaving a cut on one bandit's leg and a slash on another's arm. After half a minute of this deadly dance, the Nameless, thanks to his battle experience, was able to literally read their movements and strike back without consequences for himself.
It ended when he lightly threw his dagger, piercing one bandit's head, and then struck Kageyama in the groin. The body bent slightly, allowing him to effortlessly perform a horizontal swipe, leaving a gash across Kageyama's neck. Kageyama frantically tried to stop the bleeding with his hands, gasping and choking on his own blood. The Nameless felt a small sense of satisfaction from this scene. Pulling the dagger from the bandit's head, he was immediately hit by a crossbow bolt in the shoulder. He had completely forgotten about the last one...
"Damn... missed," the remaining bandit muttered nervously, reloading the crossbow with another bolt. It seemed he was aiming for the head. Slightly angrily pulling the bolt from his shoulder, he zigzagged toward his opponent. There was no shield, but even without it, he managed to cover his face with his free hand to protect it from a fatal head wound. He saw the crossbow bolt flying toward his head but did not rush to dodge for two reasons: his body was still unable to evade projectiles fired from three meters away at such speed, and second, he couldn't afford to slow down because the opponent seemed to be the smartest and most experienced after their boss. The crossbow bolt pierced his left hand and got stuck in it. His face twisted slightly in a grimace of pain. His right hand thrust the dagger, but it missed. The opponent dodged. The crossbow was thrown aside, and now the last bandit drew his sword from its sheath.
"I don't know who or what you are, but you're clearly not an ordinary kid. What if I offered you a place in my gang?"
Silence was his response. He didn't like to talk to his opponents. Exceptions existed, but he wasn't one of them. There was no honor, no strength, nothing to be interested in. He merely disdainfully pointed a finger at the ground.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
Since his opponent was on guard, he needed to catch him off guard or lure him into a trap. The dagger swings required little effort, which allowed him to execute a series of strikes that were blocked by the bandit's sword. When the bandit seemed to think he was exhausted, he delivered a sword strike. He couldn't parry due to the inability to use his free hand, but who said he needed to parry? The blow landed on his side. He had deliberately exposed himself to the attack, calculating it so that it wouldn't hit any vital organs. The dagger struck his side, then again, and again, until the opponent fell to his knees and dropped his sword.
"Stop... I—"
The blade smoothly cut across his neck, and his head finally stopped hurting. Throwing the dagger aside, he hissed angrily as he pulled the sword from the bandit's body and used his teeth to extract the crossbow bolt from his palm, spitting it onto the ground.
"Need to deal with the trash and the dead," he said to the void, "but first, I need to find something to heal my body."
In the wrecked cart, he found clean bandages among the food and antiques. He was the son of a merchant, and he and his father had led a nomadic life in the shinobi world. Despite having guards, they lost and were killed. The guards had been only two ordinary people. Not shinobi. Apparently, that was why they had no chance against the bandits' numerical superiority.
The woman being raped was his mother. A quick glance revealed that her throat had been cut by the "crossbowman" while he was fighting the bandits. Even after the rape and death, she hadn't lost her beauty. Her body still had a white, glowing round spot. He absorbed her soul and made it his own.
"Don't bother me with your memories."
He also found a shovel in the cart. He didn't want to leave the bodies of his "former" parents lying and rotting here by the road, so he made two small graves for them near an inconspicuous tree. He then dragged the bandits' and his guards' bodies into a pile. He poured all the available transport oil on them and struck a match. He watched the flame with a sort of trance-like fascination before throwing it onto the pile. The fire flared up and consumed the bodies. He sat next to the burning pile, just as he had done countless times with his own fire.
"And what should I do now?" he asked the emptiness as the fire turned the bodies into burning remains. He didn't expect an immediate answer.
"You'd better tell us who you are and what you're doing here before we decide what to do with you..."
There were three of them, and they were much more dangerous than the bandits. They looked like typical "ninjas," their faces hidden behind white masks with animal patterns. To start with, he hadn't sensed them at all.
"I have no name."
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