Nestled in the southwestern reaches of Samul Gaya, Berlsan Village was a place where mountains and sea converged. Encircled by towering peaks that cradled the village like a bowl, Berlsan was isolated from the rest of the world by land. Yet, its rivers, flowing down from the mountains, met the sea, making it a hub of waterborne trade. Most of the village's population lived along the waterways, while the ruling elite resided in the hills overlooking the bustling docks.
Amid the sparse human presence in the northern mountain paths of Berlsan, two groups of people struggled up the steep incline. Leading the way was an elderly man draped in silk, accompanied by a fourteen-year-old boy. Behind them, a general clad in armor marched with his soldiers. The boy, breathless and exhausted, faltered on the rugged trail, prompting the septuagenarian to hoist him onto his back and break into a sprint.
"Just a little farther... but there is no choice now," the old man murmured, his voice steady despite his age. With practiced familiarity, he located a flat clearing amidst the trees and rushed in—only to halt abruptly. Sitting beneath a tree was a young man, his presence unexpected. His gaze was calm, and by his side lay two swords.
Two blades? Have I walked into a trap? The old man's expression darkened, but before he could act, the pursuing general and his dozen soldiers burst into the clearing, weapons at the ready. The elder quickly pushed the boy behind him and shouted, his voice booming across the space.
"Sheriff Pamiri! What is the meaning of this insolence?"
Pamiri, the general, casting a wary glance at the young man, replied, "Hiding reinforcements here, High Steward Bakcha?" He drew his sword, his voice sharp.
The young man, who had just finished a rice ball, dusted off his hands and partially unsheathed his bronze gladius, tilting it slightly to catch the reflection of those around him. His lips curled into a knowing smile as he examined the blade with idle amusement. As Bakcha and Pamiri turned their eyes toward him, he broke into a grin.
"Interesting... I can't quite tell who the villain is."
With those words, he slid the blade back into its sheath and leaned it against the tree beside him.
Bakcha hesitated, then recognition dawned upon him.
"Ah! You don't serve this new sheriff, do you? If so, please—help us protect the young master!"
Pamiri, however, cut in with a sharp tone.
"So you are not his ally. Good. Stay out of this. These men are criminals."
The young man chuckled. "They say watching a fight is the most entertaining thing in the world!" He leaned back against the tree, his posture relaxed.
Suddenly, a soldier cried out and collapsed. Bakcha swiftly retreated into a defensive stance. The young man smirked. "This weasel does what a weasel does best."
"Shut your mouth and stay out of this, wanderer!" Bakcha snapped.
Pamiri gave a command. "He's not interfering. Good! Men, seize the High Steward!"
The soldiers began tightening their formation, preparing to encircle Bakcha. But before they could move, the young man raised his voice once more.
"Soldiers! This is a battle between a weasel demon and a possessed ghost! Why not sit here with me and enjoy the show?"
"Silence, you fool!" Pamiri growled, his patience fraying. But before he could finish his threat, Bakcha lunged, forcing the general into immediate combat. The old High Steward moved with surprising speed, his twin daggers flashing as he struck and retreated. Pamiri, forced on the defensive, parried with his sword. Their movements were so swift that even the seasoned soldiers hesitated, unable to intervene.
The young man turned to the silk-clad boy, who had crept closer. "Why do you call them monsters?" the boy asked.
The young man swept the ground with his hand, clearing a spot for the boy to sit. "That old man is a weasel monster, and that general? He is possessed by a ghost."
The boy hesitated before sitting down. "No... Steward Bakcha has served my family faithfully for forty years!"
The young man raised an eyebrow. "Forty years of deception? Impressive." Then, with a casual tone, he added, "By the way, my name is Goi. And you?"
Before the boy could answer, Pamiri cried out as Bakcha's dagger grazed his shoulder. The general staggered back, and Bakcha seized the moment to shout. "Young master, do not be deceived by this vagrant! He speaks nonsense!"
But before another word could be exchanged, Pamiri's expression shifted. A chilling presence surged around him as he moved with inhuman speed, his blade cutting cleanly through Bakcha. A ghastly wail filled the air as the steward collapsed, his form flickering.
The soldiers erupted into cheers, celebrating their general's prowess. Pamiri strode forward confidently.
"Young master, you must come with us. By order of the new governor, you are charged with treason."
Before he could take another step, a monstrous weasel lunged at him from behind. A deep blue aura, brimming with malice, struck Pamiri squarely in the chest. The general crumpled, gasping in pain. The weasel demon panted, its form still trembling from the battle.
Goi slowly stood, drawing his bronze gladius.
"You've lost too much energy fighting against a specter. Don't be bitter. He's in the same state."
The weasel turned, its feral eyes locking onto Pamiri, who staggered to his feet. His pupils were now a ghostly blue, his body still trembling.
Bakcha—now fully transformed into the weasel demon—prepared to strike again, but a golden arc of light swept through the clearing. Goi's voice rang out, firm and commanding. "Cleansed!"
The gladius shimmered as he swung it, releasing a cleansing force that sent Bakcha flying. His massive form shrank, twisting midair, until he landed as nothing more than an ordinary weasel. At the same time, a dark spirit was expelled from Pamiri, dissipating into the wind. The general, now free from possession, collapsed onto his knees, staring at his hands as though seeing them for the first time.
"I... I can move again?" He flexed his hands, marveling at his regained control.
His soldiers rushed to his side, shouting his name in relief. Meanwhile, the boy turned to Goi, eyes wide with shock. "They were both truly monsters! But then... who is—"
Goi ruffled the boy's hair. "I don't know either, kid. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Now, can you tell me what's going on?"
The boy's expression darkened with urgency. "My eldest brother... please, you must stop him! He has imprisoned our parents and is trying to kill our entire family!"
Goi raised an eyebrow. "Your eldest brother?"
Pamiri, still weak, explained, "Sir... this boy is the youngest son of the former governor. His eldest brother inherited the position this New Year."
Goi turned to the tearful boy, his voice gentle yet probing. "So... these men all serve your eldest brother, don't they?"
The boy hesitated for only a moment before nodding. Without another word, Goi took his small hand in his own and led him toward Pamiri. Lowering himself to sit directly before the weary general, Goi met his gaze with quiet intensity.
For a while, he asked questions—some measured, some pointed. And to his credit, Pamiri answered each one with unflinching honesty.
At every revelation, the boy and the soldiers stiffened in shock, gasps escaping their lips as truth unraveled before them. When the final question was answered and silence settled over the group, Goi sighed and stretched.
"I normally don't meddle in human affairs... but I suppose I have no choice."
Turning to Pamiri, he said, "Once you've recovered, bring your young master home. I'll go on ahead."
And with that, Goi set off, descending the mountain path toward the Governor's estate, his steps light and unhurried.