Kai walked alone. The trees behind him swayed like they knew not to follow. Ahead, the plantation loomed—quiet for now. But it wouldn’t stay quiet for long.
“My whole life has led to this exact moment. Everything I am... everything I’ve become... is because of what I’m about to do.”
His voice, even in his own head, was steady. Not bitter. Not angry. Just true.
“People dream about freedom, about starting families, living soft lives. I’m not like them. My dream’s always been different.”
He stepped through the brush and touched the edge of the fence—once a wall. Now, just a marker.
“I dream of terror. I dream of blood running through these fields. I dream of making this place remember me—not as a boy who suffered, but as the reason it all burned.”
He inhaled deep, like the night itself was waiting for a signal.
“They say forgive to find peace. This is my forgiveness. This... is what peace looks like for me.”
He rolled his shoulders back, loosened his stance.
Then moved in—like a shadow that knew exactly who it came for.
Flashback (5 years ago)
Year: 1800 — Seoul, South Korea
Joseon Dynasty era. Before neon signs, before glass towers, before freedom. Seoul was a city built on silence and survival. The beating heart of a kingdom that chose who lived and who knelt.
Kai Ryu does not remember the age when the world showed him its real face.
Not the temples. Not the scholars. Not the painted nobles sipping tea.
But the iron. The ropes. The eyes that watched him like he wasn’t a person.
The plantation sat on the outskirts of Seoul—a place the nobles didn't name in public. They called it “the fields” or “the southern quarter.” But everyone working there knew what it was. Hell. Spread out in neat little rows.
Kai wasn’t born into slavery. He was dragged into it.
They said his father owed a debt.
They never said how much.
They never said to who
And when they came to collect, it was Kai they took—and his little sister, Jin.
...
The stink hit first. Mold, blood, piss. Smokehouse air, thick enough to chew. Kai hung from the ceiling by rusted hooks jammed into the rafters. Ankles slack. Toes skimming the dirt. His back looked like bark peeled from a dying tree—torn, bloody, bits of flesh crusted into his shirt like scabs.
He hadn’t screamed in days. Screaming got boring.
You don’t cry when you understand pain. You study it.
He knew which beams were hollow. Which ones creaked at what weight. He could tell time by how the mold curled on the corners of the ceiling. His eyes never stopped working—even if everything else did.
That night, they came again...
Kai didn’t resist as they lowered him from the beams. He never did. Resistance was a show, and Kai didn’t believe in wasting energy on shows.
The building was colder than usual.
The master was waiting. Alone.
A table of tools beside him—neatly arranged. Surgical. Personal.
Knives. Long, thin ones. Bent ones. Some looked ceremonial. Others… not.
There were needles, too. Not clean. Used.
“Still don’t scream,” the master said, tracing a blade over Kai’s collarbone. “Makes me think you like it.”
Kai didn’t answer. Silence was more powerful than any curses.
The knife pressed in—not to cut, but to heat. It had been sitting in fire before Kai arrived. It kissed his skin. Sizzled. His back arched, just slightly. That was all the reaction he’d give.
The master hummed. “I wonder how many pieces I could take before you finally make a sound.”
A needle slid under his fingernail.
Another under the next.
Ten seconds. Then twenty.
Kai’s lips parted slightly, but no breath left him.
“Freak,” the man whispered.
Another burn. This time to the ribs. Then a slow drag of the knife’s flat side across his chest. Enough to flay skin, not kill.
Eventually the world went cold. Kai wasn’t sure when he passed out. Maybe he never did. Maybe his mind just left early.
When he woke, he was on the floor outside. Shackled. Bleeding. But alive.
Later, Jin found him behind the grain shed. where he’d crawled.
She brought water. She always did. She didn’t bother crying anymore.
Instead, she cleaned the blood. Bit by bit. With scraps of cloth they stole from laundry lines.
The master and his son… they’re not gonna stop,” she said quietly.
He didn’t argue.
“Why don’t you run?”
He looked at her, eyes dry, jaw clenched.
“Because if I run… you stay.”
“That pathetic young master won’t stop. He’ll just move on to the next one like it means nothing.”
Jin didn’t speak after that.
But she stayed with him until the sun rose.
Jin never saw what happened behind that iron door. But she saw what came back.
The others whispered about Kai. They always had. But lately, the whispers sounded more like prayers—half respect, half fear.
He disappeared sometimes.
No warning. No footsteps. Just gone by morning, back by dusk or days later, limping, dirt-caked, eyes colder than before.
Some said the master dragged him off to do more damage. Some said he was kept in a cell no one had ever seen.
He never told her where he went. But she could feel it.
Whatever Kai was doing… it wasn’t about survival anymore.
It was sharpening.
Jin wasn’t sure.
She noticed the details no one else caught.
His shirt sometimes smelled like ash and bark. His hands had scrapes that didn’t match the work he did. And his eyes—his eyes were always just a little more hollow when he came back.
She followed him once.
Not far. Just far enough to see the trees swallow him whole.
He moved like the forest knew him. Like he belonged there more than he belonged anywhere else.
She waited. An hour. Then two.
He never came back the way he went in.
When he returned the next day, she didn’t ask where he’d been.
He walked past her, blood on his knuckles and dirt on his jaw.
Not a word.
Not a glance.
Like he was still somewhere else.
From that night on, she stopped trying to follow.
Because deep down, Jin didn’t want to know.
Whatever was out there in the woods—whatever Kai was doing—it wasn’t meant to be seen. Not by her. Not by anyone.
And she knew better than to ask.
Because every time he came back, he was quieter.
Stronger.
And just a little less human.
...
The Jang Family.
They weren’t a powerful family. Not truly. Just another desperate bloodline clinging to scraps of relevance. But history repeats itself—give the smallest man a sliver of power, and he’ll wield it like a goddamn sword.
The father, Jang Myung-Soo, clung to his son like a drowning man grips air. With his wife buried cold in the ground, all that affection, all that grief, was force-fed into one boy—twisted into something far from love.
The grandfather, Jang Dae-Hyun, was worse. A relic from a decaying era, too bitter to die and too proud to accept obscurity. His hopes, his name, his entire legacy—all stacked on the shoulders of one child who had never earned it.
And that child—Sung-Min—grew drunk on it.
You see, this was a time built on steel and blood. Legacy wasn’t ink on paper. It was forged in combat. A family's worth lived or died on whether it could produce a prodigy—or a killer.
Sung-Min knew that.
So he walked like royalty. Spoke like a general. And treated those beneath him like tools to sharpen his image.
Especially Kai.
...
Present year 1805
The ground beneath Kai's feet felt hollow, like it was holding its breath. Every step pressed into soil heavy with old blood, the kind that never dried—just sank deeper and waited.
The plantation stood still, but it wasn’t peace.
It was ignorance.
The kind that festers in the bones of tyrants too arrogant to look over their shoulders.
Kai moved without sound. Without hesitation. The air around him didn’t stir—it retreated. Trees leaned back. Shadows parted. Even the wind seemed unwilling to touch him.
He passed the gallows beam where they used to hang examples—left to rot, as warnings.
He didn’t look at it.
He didn’t need to.
His memories were sharper than any knife they’d ever used on him.
He could still hear the master’s voice behind closed doors:
“Pain is a teacher, boy. And you’re going to learn everything I know.”
He had.
And then some.
His fingers grazed the edge of the outer gate—splintered, old. The same wood they used to bind his wrists. Now, it felt soft. Fragile.
Like everything in this place.
Ahead, the master's house flickered—warm light, untouched luxury.
Inside, monsters wore silk.
Kai’s eyes narrowed.
He wasn’t here to liberate.
He wasn’t here to speak.
He was here to unmake.
To bury bloodlines in the soil they once claimed.
"Let them call it vengeance. Let them call it madness."
"Tonight, the gods can watch in silence."
"But this place... this name... ends with me."
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