BLOOD OATH "Rise of The Silent Blade "

A Blade with No Master

The mountains didn’t forgive.

Cold wind tore across the cliffside as Kairo trudged through the high pass, his cloak tattered, blood dried on his hands. Two days had passed since the archive incident. Two days since the man he once called master tried to kill him.

He hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. Not with betrayal gnawing at his gut.

Kairo collapsed beside a frozen stream, dragging in a breath as he stared at his reflection—sunken eyes, sharp jaw, a scar splitting his right brow like a crack in porcelain.

This was no longer the boy trained in shadows.

This was a man alone.

And hunted.

He’d left the Shadow Sect. Which meant one thing: a death sentence. No one left the sect. You either died with them, or by them. That was the rule.

Kairo, however, had no intention of dying. Not yet.

He dipped his hands into the freezing water, letting it numb the sting of old wounds. As he washed the dirt from his face, he heard it—twigs snapping, too deliberate to be wildlife.

He grabbed his blade.

Four figures emerged from the treeline, cloaked in black, masks bearing the insignia of the Shadow Sect: the Twin Serpents of Silence.

They sent reapers.

Kairo rose slowly, eyes locked on the one in front. He recognized the stance, the height, the grip on the blade.

“Taren,” he said, voice steady. “Still a dog on a leash, I see.”

“You broke your oath,” Taren growled. “You read what was forbidden. You attacked a master. You are traitor.”

“I found truth,” Kairo replied. “And truth doesn’t bow.”

No more words.

The assassins moved.

Kairo dodged the first strike, ducked under the second, and twisted around a third. His movements were poetry—precise, fluid, lethal. He blocked Taren’s heavy slash with the Voidfang, sparks flying as steel clashed under moonlight.

But he was outnumbered.

A blade grazed his side—he hissed, countered, and drove his knee into the attacker’s throat. Another came from behind. He spun, sliced, and silence followed.

Two down.

Taren’s blade met his once again, their footwork churning snow and blood into a red mist.

“You were our prodigy,” Taren snarled.

“I was your puppet,” Kairo spat.

The fight escalated—grapples, throws, brutal strikes. Kairo’s vision blurred, pain screaming from his wounds, but he refused to fall.

He wasn’t fighting to live.

He was fighting to free himself.

Finally, with a roar, he disarmed Taren and slammed the hilt of his blade into his chest, knocking him unconscious.

Breathing heavily, Kairo stared at the bodies around him. Snowflakes melted on his skin, mixing with sweat and blood.

He was alive.

Barely.

He limped to a tree and collapsed. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from rage. Everything he’d built, every title he’d earned, meant nothing now. The Shadow Sect had turned him into a weapon.

But they forgot one thing.

A weapon can choose who to cut.

Hours passed. Dawn crawled over the peaks, casting golden light across the forest. That’s when he heard her.

“Hm. That’s not the usual greeting I get from dying men.”

He opened one eye.

A young woman stood over him, arms crossed, eyes sharp and amused. Her fiery red hair was tied back in a braid, and two curved blades hung at her waist.

“Ayame Kael,” Kairo muttered.

“You remember me. I’m flattered.”

He remembered. Mercenary. Poison expert. Survivor. They’d crossed paths during a mission in the Eastern Isles. She owed him a life. Now, it looked like she intended to pay it back.

“I heard whispers,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Shadow Sect wants your head. That’s got my attention.”

“I don’t need help,” he muttered.

She smirked. “You also don’t need to bleed out on a rock, but here we are.”

She pulled out a vial and poured the contents onto his wound. It burned like fire. Kairo grunted, gritting his teeth.

“So,” Ayame said casually, “you gonna tell me why the big bad sect suddenly hates its golden boy?”

Kairo opened his eyes, cold and steady.

“They killed my family. Lied to me. Used me.”

Ayame’s expression changed, lips tightening. “Then you’ve got enemies in powerful places.”

“I’ve got names to cross off.”

She stood and offered a hand. “Good. Revenge is more fun when it’s mutual. Count me in.”

Kairo hesitated... then took her hand.

For the first time in years, he wasn’t alone.

But as the wind howled above them, one thing became clear—this wasn’t just a quest for vengeance.

It was a war.

And The Silent Blade had just chosen his first ally.