Chapter Text
The tens of years he'd spent stuck in the Forest of Darkness must have done something to him, because prior to being thrown into that godforsaken hell, he wouldn't even have thought of killing a rat. But look at him now, drenched in blood from head to toe as he hunts down the people who massacred the Harris Village, one by one.
He clenched his bloodstained hands into tight fists, feeling the slick warmth of the blood on his skin. His mind swirled with memories—of the faces of the villagers who had once been his family. Their smiles and laughter echoed in his mind like a cruel mockery.
They had no idea. They had no idea what was coming.
He could still hear their voices, the last conversation he'd had with them before the massacre.
"Good luck on your journey, Choi Han!" They had said, their smiles wide and genuine, filled with hope. Hope that he had foolishly believed in, just like they had. But now, they were gone. They had been slaughtered in cold blood. And here he was, standing in the remnants of what had once been home, with only a sword and a desire for vengeance to keep him going.
The memories of the village, of their faces, slipped further and further away with each passing day. He could feel his sanity starting to fray at the edges. The blood on his hands—the blood of those he had once sworn to protect—seemed to seep into his very soul. And yet, all he could focus on was revenge.
Clink.
Clunk.
The sound of rain hitting his sword snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned his gaze to the weapon, its edge dull from the countless battles it had seen. His fingers trembled as he reached for it, feeling the weight of what it represented. It wasn’t just a sword; it was a symbol of his pain, his loss, and his endless pursuit of justice.
He looked back at the village—the wreckage that had once been a bustling, peaceful place. The houses that had once held laughter and warmth now lay in ruins. The air still carried the scent of smoke and death. He tried to etch the familiar sight into the back of his mind, deep in his heart, as if to preserve the memory of what he had lost.
"They will pay," he whispered to himself, his voice cold and steady. "I will make them pay."
He then looked to the bodies scattered across the village—the ones he had once called family. His throat tightened as he gazed upon their lifeless forms, the bloodstains still fresh on the ground.
They did not deserve to die like this. At least, not them.
A surge of grief and anger rose within him, but he pushed it down. He needed to focus. He needed to keep moving.
They need a proper burial, he thought, his heart heavy with sorrow. He could not leave them like this, abandoned and forgotten.
With a deep breath, Choi Han set his foot forward, determined to carry out his mission. His first destination was Henituse County, where the ruler of the land resided. He had to speak with him, to demand justice. He had to make sure that those responsible for the massacre would be held accountable.
For days, he walked without rest, his eyes never leaving the road ahead. He didn’t allow himself to stop for anything—not food, not water, not even sleep. His sole focus was on the mission. He had one goal, one purpose: to make them pay.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached the gates of Henituse County. The towering walls loomed before him, intimidating and unyielding.
“Sir,” the guards stopped him as he approached the gate, their eyes scanning him with suspicion.
Choi Han stilled, his posture stiff, acknowledging their presence but making no move to answer. He didn’t need to explain himself. He didn’t need to talk to anyone. He just needed to get inside.
“Do you have any identification card?” one of the guards asked, his voice flat and professional.
Ah. Choi Han hadn’t thought of that. His face remained impassive as he stared at the guards, the gears turning in his mind. He didn’t have an identification card, nor did he care to get one. He had no time for bureaucracy. He could not afford to waste any more time on this.
Without answering, Choi Han simply turned on his heel and began walking away. He would find another way in. He would sneak in, under the cover of darkness, just like he had done so many times before.
And so, he waited. He waited until the sky had turned pitch black, the stars hidden behind a veil of thick clouds. Not a single trace of light remained. The world seemed to hold its breath as the darkness enveloped everything. It was the perfect time to move.
He approached the back wall of Henituse County, his steps silent and calculated. He scaled the wall with the grace of a shadow, his fingers finding the rough stones with ease. He was so close, just a few more feet and he would be inside.
But as he swung himself over the top and landed, his foot missed the ground, and he lost his balance. His body crashed to the earth with a painful grunt, his head spinning from the impact.
Damn it.
He lay there for a moment, catching his breath, before slowly sitting up. He turned his gaze to the two cats that had been in his way, staring at them as they looked back at him with wide, wary eyes.
“They’re unharmed, at least,” he muttered to himself, feeling a pang of guilt.
He couldn’t help but laugh at himself. He felt pathetic. It was bad enough that he couldn’t save his family, but now he couldn’t even land properly after climbing a simple wall. His whole body ached with exhaustion, and yet he knew he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now.
Tap. Tap.
The sound of footsteps broke through his thoughts. They were soft, measured, but growing closer.
Choi Han lifted his head, his body tensing instinctively as he tried to get a glimpse of who was approaching. But the person stopped in front of the cats he had narrowly avoided. He wasn’t sure why, but something about this person caught his attention. He couldn’t look away.
"You look hungry," the man said, his voice calm and gentle. Choi Han didn’t respond. He wasn’t the one being spoken to, after all.
But the man didn’t seem to care. The sound of food being taken out of a bag reached Choi Han’s ears, and then the man spoke again.
“Tsk, tsk.”
Choi Han watched, his curiosity growing. The man had begun feeding the cats, his hands gentle as he caressed their fur.
"Here you go, poor things," the man continued, his voice soft as he spoke to the cats. "Can you have chicken breasts?"
The cats hissed, clearly wary of the stranger, but the man didn’t seem deterred. He continued speaking to them, treating them with kindness, his actions almost soothing. There was something about him that made Choi Han pay attention.
“Eat this and get better. You poor little things...” the man murmured, as if he were speaking directly to Choi Han himself.
Then, after a pause, the man turned his head, his gaze settling on Choi Han.
“You,” he began, and Choi Han froze. He was certain now that the man was speaking to him.
"Do you have a home?"
Choi Han looked at him fully, raising his head to take in the man’s appearance. He had fiery red hair, like flames licking at the sky—bright and intense. Choi Han couldn’t quite place it, but there was something about this man... just something.
But still, Choi Han did not answer. He couldn’t.
The man didn’t seem to mind. He just kept looking at him, waiting. Then he spoke again, his voice steady.
"A place to stay? Aren’t you hungry?"
Choi Han stayed silent, his throat tight, but his stomach growled in response. It was enough to break the silence.
"...I’m hungry," Choi Han admitted, his voice low, rough from the days of travel.
The man’s face softened, and he turned to Choi Han fully.
"Hey. Follow me. I’ll feed you."
And so, Choi Han did.
But he still didn’t know the person in front of him, so he had to stay wary.
“What are you doing?” The man turned and asked, his voice breaking the tense silence.
Ah. He must’ve noticed me staring.
Choi Han didn’t answer. He couldn't afford to let his guard down, especially not now. The man, despite his outwardly casual demeanor, was still a mystery. One minute, he was feeding stray cats, and the next, he was offering him a place to stay and food. Choi Han wasn't foolish enough to blindly trust someone just because they seemed kind.
“Are you not coming?” The man asked again, his tone more insistent.
Choi Han eyed him discreetly, his gaze flickering to the redhead’s features—his fiery hair, the sharpness in his eyes, and the way he carried himself with an air of authority that Choi Han hadn't missed. The man didn’t seem harmful, at least not for now, and he needed all the help he could get. The memory of his fallen family, the blood on his hands, still haunted him. Maybe it was time to let someone else take charge, just for a moment.
With a reluctant nod, he decided to follow. There was no harm in getting a little rest. He needed to think, to plan.
“Y-Young Master?!” Choi Han heard a shout coming from a distance, catching his attention.
Young Master?
Choi Han paused and turned to look at the redhead again, the realization dawning on him.
So, this guy was a noble.
The way people addressed him, the respect in their voices all made sense now. He’d been too focused on survival to notice the finer details. Now, as he looked at the redhead, a man who exuded a quiet but undeniable power, Choi Han couldn’t help but wonder how much influence this person truly had.
The shout came again, this time closer. But the redhead simply shrugged them off without a second thought and continued walking, as if the whole scene had been utterly unimportant.
They arrived at a massive mansion that dwarfed everything around it, its grandeur making Choi Han feel small and insignificant. The sheer size and beauty of the estate left him momentarily breathless. The walls gleamed with polished marble, and the tall gates gleamed under the flickering light.
“Please head on inside,” the redhead said, gesturing toward the front doors with a calm smile.
And to say that the interior of the mansion was marvelous would be an understatement. It was beyond anything Choi Han could have imagined. The floors shimmered with an opulence he had only heard about in stories. Every piece of furniture seemed carefully curated for both comfort and aesthetic appeal. There were intricate tapestries, the kind that told stories with their weaves. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and sweet-scented candles. Choi Han couldn’t help but wonder just who this person was and what kind of noble life he led.
They walked further into the mansion, moving down corridors lined with gilded portraits and lamps that flickered with soft candlelight. As they walked, they were interrupted by a man in his 60s who appeared at the end of the hall. He had an air of authority, but there was something unsettling about him. Choi Han’s instincts flared up.
The old man reeked of blood.
It wasn’t just a faint odor, no. It was the unmistakable, thick stench of blood, drenched and saturated in his very being. Choi Han's eyes narrowed, his hand instinctively reaching toward the hilt of his sword. But the redhead, seemingly unfazed, paid the old man no mind.
He simply gestured for Choi Han to follow him.
“Follow me,” the redhead said calmly, as though the encounter had been nothing at all.
They continued walking, passing through a set of heavy doors that led them to what appeared to be the kitchen. The scent of roasting meat filled the air, but Choi Han's mind was too clouded to focus on food. He was still caught on the unsettling presence of the old man.
“Give him something to eat,” the redhead instructed, his hand resting on Choi Han’s shoulder as he gently ushered him towards the center of the room.
Choi Han tensed at the touch. It wasn’t the touch of someone unimportant—this man had control over the very air around him. But he let himself be guided, not sure what else to do. He needed to eat. He needed to recover.
Yet, for the second time in not even a minute, his senses flared again. The person in the kitchen also reeked of blood. It was the same sickly, heavy scent he had noticed before. The room felt suffocating, thick with a tension he couldn’t quite place.
He turned his gaze toward the redhead, whose hand still rested lightly on his shoulder, guiding him into the kitchen. Something about this situation didn’t sit right with him.
Just who was this guy?
The redhead then left him in the kitchen, but not before making sure Choi Han was properly treated. He didn’t trust the kitchen staff, or the old butler for that matter, to let anything happen to the swordsman.
"What should I do about that guest?" Choi Han overheard someone—likely a butler—ask, but the redhead simply shrugged.
"I guess he is my guest," the redhead said carelessly, "You take care of him."
And then, just like that, he was alone.
Or so Choi Han thought.
As soon as the redhead had disappeared from view, the kitchen went eerily still. Without warning, the chef and the old man from earlier lunged at him, their intentions clear. The blood scent that had once been faint in the air now seemed to burn in his nostrils as the man and the old butler attacked with lethal precision.
The intent to kill was palpable, but Choi Han didn’t hesitate. In an instant, he drew his sword, meeting their strikes with his own, his body moving on instinct. They fought with every weapon at their disposal—knives, spoons, and the occasional cleaver. It was a battle of endurance, and neither side gave an inch.
They spent the entire night trying to kill each other, with every weapon they could find. The clash of steel, the sound of blood splattering, and the rush of adrenaline drowned out everything else. By the time the sun’s first light began to creep through the kitchen windows, Choi Han had no idea how it had ended. One moment they were locked in combat, and the next, he was standing alone, breathing heavily as the silence hung in the air.
Ah, right. I almost forgot what I came here for.
His purpose was clear once again. He needed to find the redhead, his benefactor. The person who had fed him, who had helped him when no one else had. Choi Han believed that when something good is done for you, you pay it back.
He needed to thank him. And he needed a favor, one that weighed heavily on his heart. The villagers of Harris Village needed to be buried. They couldn’t stay waiting any longer.
He searched the mansion for the old man again, spotting him down a long corridor. With determination, he walked toward him.
“Hey,” he called, his voice steady despite the uncertainty swirling in his chest, “Can you lead me to thw young master’s room?”
That's right. Choi Han still didn’t know the redhead’s name. All he knew was that he was a wealthy noble, someone who had offered him kindness when he needed it most.
The old man scanned him up and down, his gaze piercing, before he turned and started walking without a word.
“Follow me,” he muttered curtly.
They reached a large room with double doors. The old man gestured for him to stay outside while he entered to announce him.
Choi Han waited for what felt like an eternity before the door suddenly burst open, only to be slammed shut again before he could even step forward.
Confused and slightly unsettled, Choi Han didn’t move. Had he done something wrong? Did he offend him?
He stood still, waiting, hoping for an explanation.
A moment later, the door opened again. The redhead emerged, his face unreadable, and the old butler trailing behind him.
“What’s the matter?” The redhead asked, his voice calm.
Choi Han took a deep breath before speaking. "…Pay you back," he muttered, barely audible.
The redhead tilted his head slightly, not hearing him clearly. "What?"
Choi Han straightened himself, a feeling of deep gratitude welling up inside him. "I will pay you back for the meal."
The redhead didn’t change his expression. “No need,” he replied easily. Then, he continued, "Is there anything else you want from me?"
Choi Han’s thoughts froze. His heart thudded in his chest. The man had been so kind, yet he had no reason to be. Just why was he doing this? Why was he willing to help a stranger, a man covered in blood, seeking only revenge?
Now Choi Han was sure of something. The man in front of him was too kind for his own good. Too generous.
“There is something I would like to request for your help,” Choi Han began, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, his voice low.
The redhead regarded him silently for a moment, his gaze calm. Then, he spoke, “Tell Hans your request. He will be able to help you out.” He paused, then turned to the old butler beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "By the way, Ron is also a talented individual. He will listen to your request.”
Choi Han was speechless. This man... he hadn’t even asked for anything in return. This wasn’t what he had expected.
"...But you don't even know who I am," Choi Han finally managed, his voice full of disbelief.
The redhead only looked at him as though the answer was obvious. "Why do I need to know who you are?" He continued, his gaze unwavering. "Do I need a reason to help someone who is less privileged than me?"
The simplicity of his words hit Choi Han harder than any sword could.
Then days passed, and Choi Han hadn’t heard a word from the redhead since their last conversation. He spent most of his time wandering the mansion, contemplating what to do next.
He must be busy, he thought, trying to focus on the task at hand. He had a responsibility now. The burial of the villagers from Harris Village loomed over him, but there was a small, gnawing feeling that maybe, just maybe, there was something more he was meant to do.
Just as Choi Han was lost in his thoughts, he was pulled back to the present by a sudden voice.
“Yes?” he asked, turning toward the ginger-haired butler who had approached him with a slightly hurried pace.
The butler paused for a moment, taking in a few deep breaths as though he'd been rushing. “The young master is asking for you.”
The mention of the young master caught Choi Han's attention, and his curiosity spiked.
“Why?” he asked, his voice steady but his mind alert.
The butler, slightly out of breath, clapped his hands together as if pleased to finally deliver the news. “He knew you’d ask that! The young master said something about a payment.”
A payment. The thought lingered in Choi Han's mind. After everything the redhead had done for him, he hadn’t expected anything in return. But now that the man had mentioned it, Choi Han couldn't help but feel a mixture of curiosity and caution.
“Lead the way,” Choi Han said, finally deciding to follow the butler.
They moved through the grand corridors of the mansion, the silence between them broken only by the soft sound of their footsteps echoing on the marble floors. It wasn’t long before they reached the redhead’s room. The butler opened the door, gesturing for Choi Han to step inside.
“Please wait here,” the butler said before stepping out, leaving Choi Han alone in the room. He took a moment to look around, noticing the simplicity of the decor. Despite the mansion’s extravagance, this room was humble compared to the rest.
He sat on the plush couch, leaning back slightly, his mind still whirling with the strange circumstances.
A payment… He wondered what the Young Master might want. Whatever it was, Choi Han knew he would face it with the same resolve he had carried throughout his life.
Before long, the door opened, and there stood the redhead. He was dressed casually in a simple button-up long-sleeve shirt and dark pants, an outfit that contrasted sharply with the lavish surroundings.
His presence was commanding, but there was a calm about him, a sense of purpose that was unlike anyone Choi Han had met before.
Choi Han didn’t hesitate. He decided to speak first, his voice clear and direct.
“How can I repay you?” he asked, cutting to the heart of the matter.
The redhead didn’t hesitate either. He slid a sheet of paper across the table toward Choi Han, the edges of it smooth and crisp. “First,” he began, his voice low but firm, “I need to know what you can do. This is an interview.”
Choi Han raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift in tone. An interview?
He nodded, leaning forward slightly. “Go ahead.”
The redhead didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He asked his first question without delay. “Can you protect a person?”
The question threw Choi Han off. He flinched, his mind scrambling for an answer, “What do you mean?” he clarified, his brow furrowing in confusion.
The redhead didn’t seem impatient. “It’s simple. Protect people, not kill them. Can you do it?”
Choi Han clenched his fists, his gaze dropping to his lap as he contemplated the question. It was true—he was a swordsman, a man who had been trained to kill. But protecting someone, truly keeping them safe, was a different matter. Could he do that? He wasn’t sure.
"I'm not sure," Choi Han admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. He cursed himself mentally. First question, and already I’m stuck.
The redhead hummed thoughtfully. “But you can kill a person?”
The question hit him like a physical blow. Choi Han jolted upright, his eyes wide, but he didn’t hesitate. His voice was firm as he answered. “I can.”
The redhead studied him for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, without missing a beat, he said, “Then you can guard them.”
Choi Han hesitated. The idea of protecting someone, truly protecting them, seemed so much harder than ending a life. “That’s difficult,” he finally said, his voice heavy with the weight of the truth.
The redhead didn’t flinch. “Difficult doesn’t mean impossible.”
Choi Han’s breath caught in his throat.
Difficult doesn’t mean impossible.
It was a simple statement, but something about the way he said it resonated with Choi Han. His mind raced, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “I suppose you’re right.”
For a moment, the two of them simply stared at each other. The redhead’s calm, collected demeanor was hard to read, his mind moving in ways Choi Han couldn’t quite follow. It was the first time he’d encountered someone like this, someone who didn’t need to speak much to convey an entire world of understanding. This person wasn’t like the others.
“Alright,” the redhead continued, “my final question.”
Choi Han sat up straighter, ready for whatever came next.
But the question that followed wasn’t what he expected.
“What’s your name?”
Choi Han blinked in surprise. “You don’t know my name?”
The redhead smiled faintly. “I do,” he said. “But I only heard it from others. I want you to personally tell me.”
This time, Choi Han let a genuine smile appear on his lips, his guard lowering ever so slightly. There was something about this man—something that made Choi Han feel like he was being seen, not just as a swordsman or a survivor, but as a person. It was unsettling in the best way possible.
“...Choi Han,” he said, offering his hand out toward the redhead, the first real gesture of trust he had made in days. “I’m Choi Han.”
The redhead took his hand without hesitation, his grip firm but not too tight. There was a sense of finality in the gesture, as though this was the start of something new.
“Good,” the redhead said, his lips curling into a slight smile. “I’m Cale Henituse.”
And that was the moment it all began. Choi Han had no idea where this would lead, but as he shook the hand of the man who had fed him, who had shown him kindness without asking for anything in return, he knew that this was the start of something important.
He hadn’t expected the person he met on a dimly lit street to turn into someone he would one day call family. But here he was, standing in front of Cale Henituse, a person who would challenge everything Choi Han knew about the world, about himself—and ultimately, about what it meant to be human.
The journey ahead would be fraught with hardships, battles, and choices that would test him in ways he couldn’t yet imagine. But for the first time in a long while, Choi Han felt like he wasn’t walking this path alone.
Choi Han never imagined that a simple handshake, something so ordinary and seemingly inconsequential, would become the pivotal moment of his life. It was just a handshake, after all, a mere gesture of greeting, something exchanged between strangers, something that never held more weight than a fleeting second. Yet, as his hand met Cale Henituse’s that day, everything changed.
He couldn’t have known that this small, fleeting gesture would bind him to Cale in ways he could never have anticipated. He never imagined that this handshake would become the quiet promise of a future he hadn’t even dreamed of, one that would pull him from the shadows of his past and guide him into the light of a new existence.
At the time, Choi Han had no way of knowing that this simple exchange would be the beginning of a journey that would reshape his world, his purpose, his very understanding of what it meant to be alive. Cale Henituse, the person standing before him with that unwavering gaze, would become the one to reshape not just his destiny, but his heart.
In those early moments, Choi Han couldn’t fathom that he would come to witness the birth of a hero—a hero not born from grand declarations or overwhelming power, but one forged in humility, sacrifice, and a quiet strength that radiated from within. Cale was the type of hero who would never ask for recognition, yet who would give everything for those he loved and cared for. Choi Han, in his silent admiration, came to realize that he wasn’t just witnessing history—he was part of it, forever tied to this man, this hero, whose greatness wasn’t just in his actions, but in the way he made others believe they too could become something greater.
And what was most unexpected was how much of an impact Cale would have on him, not just as a leader, but as someone who, without knowing, became his guiding light, his mentor, his family. Choi Han had always thought of himself as an outsider, someone who didn’t quite belong, who had no place to call home. But in Cale’s presence, he found something he never thought he would—belonging. He found a family in the most unexpected of places, not bound by blood, but by trust, respect, and an unspoken understanding that transcended the notion of mere companionship.
Cale’s influence on him was profound. He taught him more than anyone ever could, not just how to fight or how to survive, but how to truly live. Choi Han learned what it meant to have purpose, to fight for something greater than oneself, and to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. But more than anything, he learned the power of vulnerability, of opening one’s heart to others even when the weight of the world seemed too much to bear.
It was in Cale’s quiet strength, his unwavering commitment to others, that Choi Han found the courage to heal, to forgive, and to embrace the future—one where he no longer had to carry the burden of loneliness alone.
A simple handshake had changed everything for Choi Han, leading him to a place he never thought he’d find himself in. And as he stood beside Cale, he realized he didn’t just owe his life to him. He owed him everything. Cale had been the one to show him that even in the darkest of times, there was always light to be found. That sometimes, you just had to reach out and take it.