Tiza Narito

The Mentor

We trained under the great General Zoro—a man of brutal discipline, feared even among his peers. His reputation was legendary, built on resilience and ruthlessness in battle. No warrior equaled his success rate, and his name alone struck fear into the hearts of enemies.B ut to me, he was more than just a commander. He was my godfather.

I was brought into the army at the age of ten—perhaps eleven. Too young to wield a sword, too young to march into war, yet it was the only fate left for me. After the death of the village chief’s daughter, I had no place to call home. The villagers had turned against me, and even Nana’s love was not enough to shield me from their wrath. I remember the night they came for me. Torches lit up the darkness, flickering like demons in the night. A mob stormed our home, their voices filled with hatred.

"Bring out the cursed one!" they shouted. I clung to Nana, trembling, but she held me tightly, whispering, "Stay strong, my child."

But there was no mercy. They dragged me away, tearing me from the only warmth I had ever known. Nana fought for me, but they struck her down. I screamed, but no one listened. They carried me to the village square, where judgment awaited.

"Exile him!" one voice cried.

"No—kill him before he dooms us all!" another shouted.

I looked around, searching for a single kind face, but there were none. Then, through the crowd, a figure emerged. A towering man with eyes like steel General Zoro. He watched in silence as the villagers condemned me. Then, with a voice like thunder, he spoke:

"This boy is mine."

The crowd fell silent. No one dared to defy him. Without another word, he seized me by the arm and led me away. That was the night my life changed forever.

The Training of a Monster

Life in the army was hell. General Zoro did not treat me as a child. He did not believe in coddling the weak. Under his command, I was trained like a soldier, beaten like a criminal, and forged like a weapon. My body ached from endless drills, my hands bled from gripping wooden swords, and my nights were filled with exhaustion instead of dreams. But I never complained. I could not afford to. Zoro taught us that pain was a gift. That fear was an illusion. That mercy was a weakness.

"In battle, hesitation means death," he told me. "Kill before you are killed. Strike before you are struck. That is the only rule of war." I lived by those words.

The other recruits feared me. I was faster, stronger, more brutal than the rest. The mark on my face only fueled the rumors that I was a demon in human form. But I did not care. If they feared me, they would not betray me. If they hated me, they would not get close enough to hurt me.By the age of fifteen, I had surpassed them all. My reflexes were sharper, my senses keener. I could track a target in the dark, move without a sound, and kill without hesitation. And for that, Zoro gave me a name.

"The Marked Wolf."

The First Mission...

The day of my first mission arrived. It was no ordinary test it was a hunt. A terrorist faction known as The Light had resurfaced in the mountains, and we were ordered to eliminate them. Not capture. Not negotiate. Eliminate. Our squad six of us, trained to be assassins moved under the cover of night. The enemy camp was celebrating, their guards down. We struck like shadows, cutting down every man, woman, and child in our path. I saw the fear in their eyes before I ended their lives. By morning, the stronghold was nothing but ashes. The Light had been extinguished. We returned as legends. That was the night we became the Dark Angels the army’s elite unit. And I, their leader, bore the mark of a wolf.

Yet, as I looked at the bodies, something inside me twisted. A question lingered in my mind, one I dared not speak aloud.

"Who were the real monsters? Them… or us?"