he moon hung low over the mountain forest, its pale light casting long shadows between the trees. Snow fell in slow silence. The world felt distant, almost waiting—for something to break.
Johan stood alone at the edge of a ruined battlefield. The corpses of low-level demons were already reduced to ash behind him. The real threat was approaching.
He could feel it.
A sudden shift in the air. The cold deepened, unnatural. A tall figure emerged from the mist—long limbs, sharp claws, and a frozen mask of nobility twisted by bloodlust.
This demon was no scout. It moved with purpose. With confidence.
"You… smell like Doma's blood," it said. "You're the one who killed him."
Johan didn't speak. He shifted slightly, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His breath escaped as vapor. He had no need to answer a question already beneath him.
"You don't carry fear. That's rare," the demon continued. "But I wonder… what will you look like when I freeze your heart and shatter your skull?"
Johan's eyes narrowed.
Then, he moved.
Steel clashed. Ice erupted. The demon was fast—its claws slashed through trees like paper, its breath froze the very air. But Johan was faster.
His blade carved clean arcs through the blizzard. Yet the demon regenerated quickly, adapting. With each exchange, the enemy grew more aggressive, more desperate to understand what Johan was.
"You're not just another slayer," the demon hissed. "You carry something ancient… something dangerous."
Still, Johan remained silent.
His breathing slowed.
And then—the world shifted.
The snow stopped falling.
The air burned.
A pulse rippled beneath his feet as glowing red lines etched themselves into the ground. Steel rose from the earth—an infinite array of swords stretching into the horizon. The forest, the sky, even time itself seemed to fade away.
The demon froze in place. "What… is this?"
Johan stepped forward into the world of his own making.
"This is my resolve," he said softly. "My proof that I will never fall."
He reached out—and a sword answered. Then another. Dozens hovered around him, their shapes and energies changing, adapting to his breathing and intent. The power of the battlefield bent to his will.
The demon charged, screaming in fury.
It never reached him.
Swords launched, not thrown but directed like instinct. They struck with precise timing, forcing the demon to retreat, to block, to try and understand. But Johan advanced without pause, his footwork smooth, his breathing flawless.
He moved through forms never taught, never written—combinations of grace and raw destruction. Each swing was a question the demon couldn't answer.
And then Johan vanished.
He appeared behind the demon, already mid-strike.
His blade cut deeper than flesh.
It cut through memory, through will.
The demon collapsed, twitching, struggling to regenerate. But Johan walked forward and plunged a second blade—one forged from his own determination—into its heart.
"You threatened someone I care about," he said quietly. "That was your final mistake."
The demon's body dissolved, the snow falling once more.
That Night – Butterfly Estate
Johan returned after midnight. His steps were quiet, his aura barely noticeable—except to one.
Kanae sat waiting near the porch, a blanket over her shoulders. She rose as he approached, her expression a mix of relief and concern.
"You didn't tell anyone you were leaving," she said softly.
"I needed time," he replied.
"You always say that. But you come back more distant."
Johan glanced away, unsure how to explain what he couldn't reveal.
"I'm not who I was when I first arrived here," he admitted. "Something inside me… has awakened. I remember things. A life before this one. I've changed."
Kanae stepped closer, her hand brushing against his.
"You don't have to explain everything," she whispered. "Just don't lose the part of you that can still feel."
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he looked into her eyes.
"I won't."