Soulbound Destiny

Chapter 2: Blood Against the Bandits

The mountain brigands were killers who lived by the edge of their blades. Men who licked blood from their knives had no ears for sermons about virtue or repentance.

Two rushed in from either side, blades whistling toward Hao Lan.

At first, Hao Lan still clung to his cultivated airs. Hands clasped behind his back, he sidestepped with a scholar’s flourish, all the while intoning:

“To recognize one’s mistakes and turn back—that is the highest good. There is no sin in this world that cannot be forgiven…”

But his swordplay was never more than middling, and divided attention left glaring flaws. One brigand saw his chance. A flash of steel, and though the blade missed Hao Lan’s arm, it sliced straight through his fine silken sleeve with a tearing sound.

Cold sweat drenched Hao Lan’s back. His pretenses shattered. He ripped his sword free with a hiss of steel. “I have shown mercy time and again, yet you dare press me further? Very well—blame not my sword for being merciless!”

Though not a master, Hao Lan’s training was more than enough to handle two common cutthroats. He parried and riposted, and his footwork kept him just beyond their reach.

Hope flared in the eyes of the imperiled sisters. Tears still streaked their faces as they cried out, voices trembling: “Young master! Be careful!”

That single “young master” struck Hao Lan like wine. His heart fluttered, and suddenly his blade no longer sought efficiency, but grace. His flourishes grew theatrical, each swing meant to impress. Within a few exchanges, his vanity betrayed him—his guard slipped, and a brigand’s blade bit deep into the flesh of his rear.

Hao Lan yelped, half in pain, half in shame. Blood streamed down his robes. Rage swallowed embarrassment, and he abandoned all thought of elegance. His sword whirled in a storm of steel, pressing hard. Against such ferocity, the bandits faltered, and one fell to his blade, chest pierced clean through.

The death of a comrade sent fear through the other. Yet Hao Lan, instead of finishing him, stopped short, heaving a regretful sigh. “Ah… why force me to such lengths? Why throw your life away…”

But battle allows no room for dramatics. The bearded chief roared a curse, and the remaining five surged forward as one.

Now pressed on all sides, Hao Lan stumbled, his guard unraveling. These bandits knew no form or discipline; their wild hacking was chaos incarnate. Ironically, their unpredictability made them harder to read than trained duelists. Hao Lan’s sword wavered under the storm.

Jienn’s heart clenched. He was not merely Hao Lan’s nephew—he was companion, attendant, cook, and, in moments like this, reluctant bodyguard. With a furious shout, he charged, wielding a kitchen knife in one hand and a blackened pan in the other. He swung left and right with the desperation of a cornered beast.

The bandits sneered at the pan, but the glint of the knife gave them pause. Jienn’s ferocity was real, his reckless courage forcing them to fall back a step.

“What are you doing here?” Hao Lan snapped, parrying desperately. “They are but rabble—I can handle them!” Yet his voice was strained, his breath uneven.

“Uncle Lan! You’ve already broken their spirit!” Jienn shouted back. “Leave the rest to me—just cover me!”

He knew too well his uncle’s vanity. These words shielded Hao Lan’s pride while allowing him to join the fray.

Hao Lan’s eyes brightened, and though he tried to maintain dignity, he could not hide his relief. “Very well. Though they are nearly finished, you cannot hope to—”

“Together, then!” Jienn cut him off, desperate. “Look at the two young ladies—every moment counts!”

Whatever Hao Lan meant to say was drowned beneath another rush of steel. Back to back, the two young men fought.

Hao Lan kept one bandit at bay, but the other four swarmed Jienn. By all logic, he should have been slaughtered at once. Yet desperation lends strength. Jienn’s eyes burned crimson, his voice raw with constant roars. He jabbed with the pan, hacked with the knife, fighting as though life itself had no value. His suicidal ferocity unsettled the bandits.

Steel clashed, flesh tore. Jienn took a glancing cut but retaliated without pause, his blade sinking deep into one attacker. The man fell screaming. The others flinched.

The moment they hesitated, Hao Lan could not resist—he spun into a flawless sword flourish, blade whistling through the air, finishing with a resplendent pose.

But Jienn was beyond theatrics. Blood streaked his face, his breath ragged. He dropped the pan, seized a fallen brigand’s longsword, and now fought with two blades at once. Steel rang and flesh yielded as he pressed forward, his ferocity breaking the enemy’s will.

One after another, the bandits faltered and fell. The survivors turned and fled, their spirit broken.

“Kill them all!” the bearded chief barked, but his men were already scattering. He cursed, then slung a bulging sack over his shoulder—loot stolen from the dead—and bolted for the forest, abandoning even the two women.

Bloodlust gripped Jienn. He chased without hesitation, twin blades flashing. The bandits split in panic, scattering into the trees. Jienn fixed on one, pursuing for a hundred paces. His arm whipped, hurling the longsword like a spear. It struck true, cutting into the brigand’s leg. The man tumbled. Jienn fell upon him, finishing with savage blows of his kitchen knife—not to kill outright, but to leave him crippled and shrieking on the ground, a warning to others.

Breath ragged, face smeared with gore, Jienn turned back, blades dripping. He looked less a boy now than a revenant dragged from hell itself.

When he returned to the clearing, Hao Lan was already kneeling beside the two shaken sisters, his tone gentle, consoling.

“…The dead are beyond our reach, ladies. Please, steel your hearts. To strike down the wicked and shield the weak is but our duty. If you have nowhere to go, allow me to escort you to Cloudsun City, where you may find safe lodging beneath my care…”