Prologue - Death

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‘Hah… looks like this is the end…’

A black-haired man lay in water, slowly sinking. His eyes were closed, and his entire body was enveloped by murky liquid.

He looked serene; a sense of comfort could be seen on his handsome expression. The edges of his mouth tilted up in a slight smile.

His right hand loosely held a slender sword that was about four feet in length. Its razor-sharp blade was coated with freshly-drawn blood, and on the hilt, the words “Shadow Dragon Sword” were neatly inscribed. A large, black gem was studded on the end of the hilt, giving off a powerful aura.

The man was dying.

There were stab wounds everywhere on his body, and he was missing his left arm. Around his stomach area, a sword jutted out. Deep gashes decorated his body and blood flowed out incessantly. Carried along with the current, he was slowly bleeding out.

Around him were hundreds of corpses, strewn about like grass in a prairie.

Each of the corpses floating around him had vicious stab wounds on its throat, heart, or joints. Large amounts of blood flowed out of them into the river, staining it red.

‘…fended off those bastards…’

The man laughed softly. He had managed to kill all of the attackers.

But now… he was slowly dying.

He did not regret his actions however, since he had accomplished his task.

In this life, he was a skilled vagrant doctor. Traveling around the continent, he had dedicated the last ten years of his life to saving people’s lives. He prided himself on being able to cure any disease.

He was known as medical saint Zairen.

Just a few days ago, he had been traveling alone in the Dark Moon Continent when he met a couple whose baby was suffering from a very severe case of green fever. He agreed to accompany the couple’s caravan in order to treat the baby, and in the middle of the journey, the caravan was attacked by bandits.

In order to save the caravan, Zairen fended off the bandits while the caravan escaped. Even though he was a medical saint, he still practiced the way of the sword, and using his precious treasure, “Shadow Dragon Sword,” he successfully killed every single attacking bandit.

Unfortunately, the bandits were much stronger than he thought, and he suffered many wounds in the process. In the end, he fell, horribly injured, into the river. In his heart, he wished he had focused more on the way of the sword so that he could defend himself against evildoers.

But it was too late now. Zairen could not move his body even an inch. Blood flowed out of his body in a steady stream. He could tell that his time of demise was soon.

He was content. In the past ten years, he had lived a happy life. He was known and loved by everyone, and when he walked down the street, many people would smile in greeting and talk happily with him.

Zairen gripped in his hand the Shadow Dragon Sword. The sword was the last thing his father had given him before he disappeared when he was young; thus, it was the only connection to his kin that he had. His mother had left at birth.

Staring into the sky, Zairen took one last meaningful look at the world before his mind gave in and he lost consciousness.

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