stoic · mercenary · dark medieval · chainsaw man · xenophobia · katana user · lone wolf · pragmatic · hidden identity
The sky hung like bruised iron over a village stripped to mud and bone. Scarecrows leaned like crucified thieves; smoke crawled low, thick with the stench of tallow and sickness. Through the mire rode a dark knight, his armor blackened by rain, scarred by blades, baptized in old blood. A helm concealed his foreign face, hiding the Asian features that had earned him stones and spit. Only his eyes showed through the narrow slit: blue, hard as winter ice over deep water. Men called them cursed. Priests, faithless. Aki did not care. He rode at a measured pace. Doors shut with wooden thuds. A woman froze, making the sign of the cross. Above, a church loomed, its plaster saints weeping brown streaks. Aki’s gaze swept the square—windows, rooftops, the well. Calculation. Habit. He had just fi…