Chapter -18: The Price of Mercy
The wind howled through the wasteland, carrying the scent of decay. Han and Yeon moved in silence, their footsteps light against the cracked earth. The sky above was a dull gray, the sun barely peeking through the thick clouds.
Han knew they couldn't stay here for long.
Shelter was temporary. Safety was an illusion.
Yeon followed him closely, her frail frame barely keeping up. She hadn't spoken since last night. She didn't have to. Her silence told him everything.
She had lost everything.
Just like him.
---
The Scarred Man
The ruins stretched endlessly before them—collapsed buildings, shattered roads, and rusted remains of a world long gone. Han moved cautiously, his senses sharp. There were always predators in places like this.
And then, he saw him.
A figure stood in the middle of the road, tall and unmoving.
He was dressed in tattered black robes, his face partially hidden behind an old metal mask. Deep scars ran down the exposed parts of his skin, his body covered in old wounds. His right arm was wrapped in bandages, and on his back—
A sword.
Not just any sword.
A black katana, its hilt wrapped in red cloth.
Han's grip tightened on his own weapon.
The man was dangerous. He could feel it.
Yeon clutched his coat, her breathing shallow.
The man tilted his head slightly. "You look lost." His voice was rough, edged with something unreadable.
Han didn't answer. He never trusted strangers.
The man took a slow step forward. "A boy and a girl, wandering the wasteland alone…" His gaze flickered to Yeon. "You're protecting her?"
Han said nothing.
The man smirked. "A foolish choice."
His hand moved to his sword.
Han didn't hesitate.
In a flash, he was moving, his blade slicing through the air. But the man was faster.
Steel met steel.
Sparks flew.
Han's arms trembled from the impact.
The man was strong. Too strong.
Han gritted his teeth, pushing forward. But the man barely moved, his blade holding firm.
And then—he countered.
A swift strike. A blur of motion.
Pain exploded in Han's side.
He stumbled back, blood dripping from a shallow cut across his ribs.
Yeon gasped.
The man twirled his sword, his expression unreadable. "You have skill, but you lack control."
Han glared at him, refusing to show weakness.
The man sheathed his sword. "If you keep protecting her, you'll die."
Han didn't respond.
Because deep down, he knew it was true.
This world didn't allow mercy.
And yet—he still couldn't abandon her.
---
Lessons in Blood
Night fell, the stars barely visible through the darkened sky. They had found an abandoned temple to rest in, its walls cracked, its wooden beams half-collapsed.
Yeon sat beside the fire, her small hands wrapped around a piece of stale bread Han had scavenged. She ate slowly, as if afraid the food would disappear if she wasn't careful.
Han sat opposite her, tending to the wound on his side. The cut wasn't deep, but it burned.
The scarred man's words echoed in his mind.
"If you keep protecting her, you'll die."
He glanced at Yeon.
She was weak.
She would slow him down.
But she was also… the only thing keeping him human.
Han exhaled sharply.
If she was going to survive, she needed to learn.
"Give me the dagger," he said.
Yeon hesitated before handing over the broken weapon.
Han inspected it. The blade was dull, chipped. Useless.
"You need a real weapon," he muttered.
Yeon looked at him, unsure. "I… I don't know how to fight."
Han met her gaze. "Then I'll teach you."
Her eyes widened.
"You either learn," he said, his voice cold, "or you die."
Yeon swallowed hard.
Han tossed the dagger aside and picked up a small, rusted sword he had found earlier. It was too big for her, but it would have to do.
He stood up, motioning for her to do the same. "Show me how you hold a blade."
She clumsily gripped the handle, her fingers shaking.
Han shook his head. "Too weak. If someone attacks, they'll take it from you."
He stepped behind her, adjusting her grip. "Hold it firm. If you hesitate, you're already dead."
Yeon nodded, her lips pressed together.
Han took a step back. "Now, try to hit me."
She hesitated.
Han's expression darkened. "Hit me."
Yeon lunged forward, swinging the sword awkwardly. Han sidestepped easily, tapping her wrist with his fingers. The sword slipped from her grasp, clattering to the ground.
She gasped, her eyes filling with frustration.
Han stared down at her. "Again."
Yeon picked up the sword, her fingers curling tightly around the hilt. She swung again—clumsy, slow. Han dodged it with ease.
Again.
Again.
Every time, she failed.
Every time, he made her try again.
Hours passed.
Her arms shook from exhaustion, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
But she didn't stop.
And for the first time, Han saw something in her eyes.
A spark.
Not just fear.
But anger.
Hatred.
The same fire that had once burned in his own heart.
Han nodded. "Good."
Yeon panted, gripping the sword with both hands. Her knuckles were white, her body drenched in sweat.
She was still weak.
But weakness could be burned away.
Just like he had once burned away his own.
---
A World Without Innocence
The fire crackled between them, casting flickering shadows against the walls.
Yeon didn't speak.
Han didn't either.
They didn't need to.
They both knew the truth now.
There was no room for innocence in this world.
Only strength.
Only survival.
Han looked at Yeon one last time before closing his eyes.
He had taught her the first lesson.
Tomorrow, the real training would begin.
And if she couldn't keep up?
Then she would die like everyone else.
Because mercy had no place in The Last Ronin's world.
---