The world dissolved into a crimson haze for Shouyo. The market, once a place of bustling life, was now a tableau of hellish fire and despair. Yet, all he saw was Yui. Her still form, the crude club lying beside her, the sickening thud still echoing in his ears. His legs, moments ago sprinting with desperate hope, now felt like lead. He stood frozen amidst the chaos, a child witnessing a horror too profound for his young eyes, his heart tearing itself apart with each ragged breath. The screams of the villagers, the roar of the flames, the mocking laughter of the bandits – it all converged into a deafening symphony of agony.
He couldn't move. He couldn't scream. He could only watch as the monstrous bandit, the one who had taken Yui's life, swaggered past, his face a mask of cruel satisfaction, his bloodied club swinging idly. A helpless, agonizing rage, cold and searing, began to build in Shouyo's chest. It wasn't the fleeting anger of a child; it was the deep, unyielding fury of a man who had lost everything twice. This was a pain far sharper than the plane crash, more personal, more damning. He had built his first life for his family, only to lose it. He had started to build a new purpose, to reclaim this village, and in one brutal instant, they had stolen his family again, his kind, gentle sister, right before his eyes. The "what if" that had brought him to this world twisted into a new, terrifying resolve. What if he didn't just rebuild, but destroyed everything that threatened those he cared for?
Suddenly, strong hands gripped his shoulders. It was Miles, his face pale and grim, pulling him back from the immediate danger. "Shouyo! We have to go! It's too dangerous!" Asuna was there too, his eyes wide with shock and a new, steely determination, ushering them away. Lindsy, nimble as a shadow, had already vanished, her keen senses no doubt tracking the flow of the chaos. They pulled him away from the burning market, away from the sight of Yui, a silent protest tearing at Shouyo's throat. He didn't resist physically, but his mind was already miles away, planning, plotting, fueling the inferno of vengeance.
Days blurred into a haze of grief. Kirito and Maple were shattered, their strength drained by the loss of their eldest daughter. Shouyo, though visibly affected, retreated into himself, his sorrow manifesting as an unnerving quietness. He attended Yui's somber burial, his face expressionless, but inside, a new core of ice had formed. His unique understanding of this world, his ability to analyze and strategize, now had a singular, burning purpose: retribution. He would make them pay. All of them.
"We need more people," Shouyo stated one evening in the hidden shack, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, yet carrying an undeniable weight. Miles, Asuna, and Lindsy listened intently. The attack had shaken them too, hardening their resolve to stand with Shouyo.
"Who do we trust, Shouyo?" Miles asked, his brow furrowed. "The villagers are terrified. Most are just trying to survive, not fight."
"Precisely," Shouyo replied, his eyes scanning the flickering candlelight. "We look for those who have lost the most. Those with nothing left to lose. And those with a flicker of defiance, no matter how small." He had been watching, observing, noting the faces of those who had shown the most anger, the most despair, after the raid. He didn't need any special power for this; just the keen judgment he'd honed as a businessman, identifying assets and liabilities.
Their recruitment process was slow, painstaking, and dangerous. Miles, with his open, trustworthy demeanor and deep roots in the village, was instrumental. He would approach villagers he knew had suffered greatly – a young man whose small store was looted, a woman whose child was injured, an old farmer whose fields were burned. He spoke not of grand rebellion, but of quiet resistance, of reclaiming what was stolen, one small step at a time. Shouyo would observe from a distance, watching their reactions, assessing their character with a clarity that seemed beyond his years. Asuna, hardened by his own past, spoke to those who felt abandoned and hungry for purpose. Lindsy, with her unparalleled stealth, found those hidden in the darkest corners, the outcasts and the forgotten, whispering promises of a new kind of freedom.
They found a few. An older hunter named Rai, whose family home had been torched, leaving him with a quiet, burning hatred for the bandits. A young, agile woman named Kira, who had lost her livelihood as a tailor when her shop was ransacked, her hands now restless for action. A quiet, sturdy woodcutter named Gus, whose calm exterior hid a deep-seated anger over the constant theft of his timber. They were not warriors, but survivors with simmering grievances, and a desperate hope for change.
Under Shouyo's watchful eye, the Kutsilyo Shadows began to transform. Training sessions in the deep woods became more rigorous. Miles taught basic self-defense and how to move quietly. Asuna, with his own latent aptitude, quickly adapted to Miles's lessons and helped instruct the new recruits in close-quarters combat, honing their movements, teaching them how to strike quickly and silently. Lindsy, with her natural agility, showed them how to navigate the village's rooftops and alleyways, how to disappear into shadows, how to gather information without being seen.
Shouyo, the true architect, drilled them on strategy. He didn't teach them how to fight head-on; he taught them how to be ghosts. How to observe, how to exploit weaknesses, how to use the environment, how to scatter false information to create confusion. He drew diagrams in the dirt, explaining infiltration points, escape routes, and diversion tactics. He emphasized discipline, secrecy, and most importantly, precision. Every action had a purpose. Every risk was calculated. "We are not an army," he repeated. "We are a whisper in the dark. We are the shadows that bite."
Their target for the first major strike was the smallest, most arrogant bandit group – Grimo's Lieutenants, a small detachment stationed in a dilapidated building on the eastern edge of the village, a known point for hoarding stolen goods. These were the men who had been directly involved in the market raid, the ones who had laughed loudest. For Shouyo, this wasn't just strategy; it was personal.
The night of the operation was moonless, the sky a velvet canvas, perfect for shadows. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke. The Kutsilyo Shadows, now a tight-knit unit of seven, moved with a silent, synchronized grace forged in weeks of intense training. Shouyo, at the lead, felt a cold calm settle over him. His grief for Yui was a burning ember, fueling his resolve, sharpening his senses.
Lindsy, a wisp of a girl in the darkness, melted into the walls of the target building, a true assassin of the wind, her movements barely disturbing the dust. She confirmed the layout, the number of guards, their current positions. Miles and Asuna, with Rai, Kira, and Gus, took up their pre-assigned positions, ready to cut off escape routes or create diversions. Shouyo gave the silent signal. This wasn't about open battle. It was about exacting a swift, silent justice. They were going to dismantle Grimo's power, one hidden strike at a time. The first step was to eliminate his most loyal, most vicious men.
As Lindsy slipped back, her eyes meeting Shouyo's in the gloom, he saw a flicker of grim determination mirrored in her gaze. This was it. The moment they had waited for. The first strike of the Kutsilyo Shadows. As the first dark figure moved to initiate their attack, a soft breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it a chilling sense of unseen reckoning. The long-awaited vengeance was about to begin.