Prologue

Korea, 1930

 

THE MOON HID BEHIND THE DARKEST OF CLOUDS, casting shadows among the determined combatants below. Steel against steel, each man drove their swords with determination. The ground shook against their weight as the seemingly ceaseless battle allowed for more dead bodies to accumulate in the ground, one by one. Bullets flew, drawing blood against their opponents. Shouts of pain and battle cries ensued.    

 

Lightning streaked the sky, highlighting two opponents who faced each other with cold determination. Oh Sehun, a Japanese officer raised his wet pistol, fixed on planting his bullet to his opponent’s head, only for his weapon to be slapped away as his opponent swiveled his entire body and delivered a kick against his arm. With a shout, Oh Sehun drew his sword from its sheath and swung an arc against his enemy only to be met by the latter’s weapon. The heavy downpour lapped against the officer’s face, but it didn’t deviate the rage of his cold steel eyes as he looked upon his enemy whose face was covered with his mask.

 

Phantom.

 

That name alone brought the many sleepless nights filled with rage. The white demi mask seemed to be mocking him silently. With renewed strength, the commander swung his right leg, connecting with his enemy’s chest. Sehun didn’t assess the damage as his sword followed, single-mindedly targeting the vigilante’s neck.

 

Finally, he could end this bastard’s life in his hands. He was waiting for this moment – had savored it many times in his sleepless state, wanting to wash his hands with Phantom’s blood.

 

But the bastard bent backwards, missing Sehun’s sword by an inch before Phantom pivoted on his heels, turning around until he had the officer’s back. The masked vigilante slammed his steel weapon between Sehun’s shoulder blades, almost stealing the breath out of his body.

 

Sehun’s knees touched the ground with a force, sending mud griming on his once starched white uniform. He felt the pain radiated to his arms, weakening his hold on his sword. But Sehun’s cold determination was far too great to be defeated by his enemy. He shouted his wrath as he brought his back slamming against his opponent’s legs before he turned around and brought Phantom in the ground, slamming his fist against the masked face.

 

Mud splattered all over the place as Sehun finally had his enemy in an advantage.

 

“Bastard!” Sehun shouted before he raised his fist in the air, determined to deliver another blow.

 

Finally.

 

But his fist never landed. Instead, Sehun felt himself slowly sinking to the ground. Blood began to pool on the left side of his face where Phantom’s steel weapon connected. Sehun let out a gasp, feeling the air leaving his lungs. No longer was his enemy on the ground. Instead, Phantom had already stood on his feet, watching his fall.

 

His whole body shook as his face hit the ground first. With the combined heavy rain and pain, he struggled with his blurring vision. From a distance, he could still hear the sounds of raging battle, his men against the Korean rebels. He struggled to retain his breathing and when he did, the smell of wet earth combined with the lingering odor of drawn blood filled his nostrils.

 

He saw Phantom approaching him until his wet sandals were only inches away from Sehun’s face, splashing wet mud on his face. Through blurred vision, Sehun looked up. Unmoved by the heavy torrent of rain enveloping his body, Phantom continued watching him. The vigilante’s renowned steel weapon clenched on his fist as lightning formed veins in the sky, making out Phantom’s silhouette in the dark.

 

Sehun felt his fury escalating as he fought his nausea and the radiating pain. Battered, he tried to rise from the ground. A powerful kick on his stomach prevented him. He groaned as his back hit the ground. And then there was only darkness.

 

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