The raven sky sent waves of comfort to his heart. Years of blood and violence took a toll on his emotions and empathy. Not that he remembered being an ocean of emotions and compassion anyway. As he cleaned his swords and katana; a gift he 'received' after exterminating a noble family residing in Kyoto; his mind raced, forming plans and new identities for himself. He breathed through his nose silently, his hands steadily wiped off the blood from the blades. His durumagi tainted with the faintest splash of crimson and it irked him to have a part of the dead lingering on him as if for mercy. Weapons cleaned, he gracefully stood up, without making a noise on the wooden floor, shrugged off his durumagi, all the while grimacing at the sight of the pitiful splash of human remnants, and threw it away. There is no need to hang on to something tainted and impure. It decreases the value of the living who's owning it. 

Born without any adults by his side to raise him, his childhood days were filled with seclusion and isolation. As a boy, he wandered the streets aimlessly, idly spending his days and nights without a care for caution and the world. He was a mess. By the age of 9, he lived on the streets, begged for food in the market, stole some chestnuts— he loves them— and only bathed when necessary. At 10, a strange man in a navy blue durumagi stood over him, shadowing him from the blistering sun. He wore a large black hat like any other gentlemen in Goryeo does and plastered a toothy lopsided smirk that showed off his canine teeth. 

The man, whose name was Gwi Shin, became the first person he ever associated with. As a boy, he would rather just leave the old man alone, but his unusual name intrigued him. He could not read back then but he understood his native language. Gwi Shin means ghost. Not any kind of ghosts. The evil kind. The ones with livid hatred and grudges. It will not come face to face with you, but it'll haunt you down and make you suffer in ways you wished God has never intended to create you. Gwi Shin. That's his name. And he wondered too if it's self-given. For he would like such a name. A self-given name. 

Gwi Shin took him in as his sole disciple. Teaching him how to fight in combats, wield swords, survive in extremities, learned about poisons— basically how to murder a human very, oh so very, discreetly and subtly. Not knowing and caring for this world, he just took and absorbed it all in like a sponge. Growing up under Gwi Shin's wings, his body covered in bruises and scars. Scabs and dried blood on some occasions. Their meals were scarce and their trainings were brutal. The hut they took shelter in was rundown. The roof was nothing but a ceiling of holes, the paper-thin walls did nothing for warmth, the floor was like a thin twig waiting for its time to snap. And snap it did a couple of times. Water was a luxury and getting them was a burden. 400 miles of walk to and fro carrying large and heavy clay jars to collect the water. Living with him was a torture, but he felt, somehow in an indescribable way, reborn. 

By the age of 13, his skills were top-notch, his mind was focused, his eyes were like hawks. His hands were trained to kill, his feet was reset to trample on the weak, his mind was brainwashed to follow the orders of his master, whoever that is. And with each swing of his swords, blood fell to the ground. As he walked the Earth, an invisible trail of blood shadowed him. His hands were gloved of thick blood he can only see. And as each sunset called for the moon to come out and show its beauty, his demons haunted him. 

Sleep never came easy.

The howl of the lone wolf was his signal. He fastened his clean durumagi, sheathed his sword, and embarked on yet another bloody night. This time, his target is the sole heir of a noble Kim family in Goryeo. The family monopolized the capital's business trading, especially spices and gold, sold them off to the people in Goryeo at an unreasonable price. All in all, as Gwi Shin phrased it, they were trying to rival the power of the King. 

But to him, it looked like the noble family is a nuisance.

He suggested to eliminate the whole family once and for all. When your house is infested with rats, you don't just kill its breeder, but the whole family. Same goes to Kim family. Let them live and they'll infect their disease another place. Slaughter them all and the problem will be buried forever. But of course Gwi Shin had contrary ideas. It is not that they supported the Goryeo King. Hell they have never supported any jokester that sits on the throne and give random orders demanding to be respected. He was never a follower. Not a leader. Just someone in the shadows of those two. Something in between.

The inner streets of Goryeo was a pin drop silence at night. Wander your way to the capital and you'll see frivolous young women trying to seduce young men for a hot mess in a night. Or maybe two. If they somehow develop an emotional attachment. The stench of liquor filled the air in the capital city as music blasted at the guesthouse and the lustful noises that was like music to their own ears alleviated their senses. To the have-not-get-it-all-together-in-their-heads youngsters, and sometimes adults, it was like heaven. The women with milky soft skin. The men with their muscular bodies and wild fantasies. The music. The wine. The laughter. The night.

Every single night. On repeat.

While they were oblivious in their own illusions of something that is not real nor dreams, he moved stealthily through the thin air in the night. From the capital city, he took a left turn, bowing his head, masking his face in the gleam of darkness. Straight ahead he pursued, until he came across a closed butcher shop and made another left turn, finding himself in a quiet neighbourhood street. He knew he was close. He'd just have to make another right turn and he'll be standing at the back entrance of the Kim's family house. He only had to walk ahead.

But the hairs behind his neck stood. His fingers twitched only the slightest at the sense of another person's chi. 

Normally at times like this in a place like this, he'd let it go. It could've just been a random drunk person walking home. 

But. But this person's chi is different. This chi is —

He angled his body slightly to his right, without moving his feet, avoiding the flying dagger that would've hit his shoulder if he didn't move. He didn't have much time and an obstruction such as this low-life so-called assassin sent to kill him was only holding him off of his schedule. He could see the said assassin even in his mind, could clearly hear the shuffling of his feet as he hid somewhere in the shadows feets behind him. Clearly he was inexperienced. And scared. It's strong in his chi. 

Anybody who sent this mere of a boy to kill him clearly underestimated him. 

And it annoys him to no end. 

He clearly wanted to give them a show of his abilities. That would've sent those punks back to their place of shame. He imagined in his head they would scramble on their feet for safety or for life, grappling on anything that can protect their lives. But as long as he has his swords and his enemies are scared, the battle is already his without a stubborn fight. They can try to hit him, kick him, pierce him, smack him, punch him; whatever, but they are nothing compared to him. He didn't survive the horrors of trainings with Gwi Shin to just lose to some random low-life self-claimed assassins scums. It didn't do the honour.

Then, it angered him that he was late by a quarter second that he planned. He was a man of precision and anything that flawed it, flared him up to flames of infuriarity. If he didn't have his temper in check, he would've just beheaded him right there and then in the cold night. But that would leave trails and clues behind and he cannot afford risking his anonymity. And he's off killing someone anyways. So he decided to do one thing he never liked doing.

And it made him smirked in delight.

This is going to be interesting, his mind agreed.

So he let his hunter followed him restlessly, keeping 14 feet of distance between each other. When he reached the back entrance of the Kim's family house, he stopped, angled his head slightly to the back, waiting for his hunter to catch the message. Stepped into the house effortlessly, took off his shoes before entering the house, because at least he has manners, calmly walked to the son's bedroom and gently slid the door open. There he was, the young man soundly asleep in his night garments. He stood at the opposite side of his sleeping position as to avoid his blood splattered on his clothes. With the faintest swish sound of his katana blade running along the rim of his sheath, he drew his katana to his neck, just a breath away from the young man's skin. Without a tremble or hesitation, he finished him off with one clean swipe. 

Deal done.

And the hunter had to just take the blame.

And he did. That man was caught days later after the news of the death of the heir of Kim's family was assassinated; posters of his face wanted as prime suspect were everywhere. Even in the guesthouse and public baths. He didn't even stand a chance running to the safety of the borders of the country, with means of escaping this powerful governance. Caught and brought to prison, he was tortured and starved for days. And after the head of the Kim family had enough 'fun' with him, he was publicly executed. Hang. In front of the people. For show. Before he was hang, he mouthed something. A three syllable he read off his lips. 

Geulimja

It didn't take a genius to know who or what it was directed to. He tipped his hat as a sign of respect before his public passing. He understood.

Although, he personally thought forcing him to drink the poison as the death punishment was even more.... satisfying.

Oh he might just be a sadist. Or a masochist.

But really no one truly cares.

He lingered around in the streets after witnessing the public execution, half basking in the heat of Goryeo, half reminiscing his childhood days, if he had any. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Gwi Shin who was sitting cross legged on the floor at the table in a restaurant. In front of him was a bowl of salted roasted chestnuts and what he presumed to be a bottle of rice wine. A symbol that Gwi Shin was proud of his executions.

He nodded, turned around and walked off. 

Maybe it's time for a self-given name. 

As he walked off wandering about, he stared at his feet for a glance, thinking about his now-dead hunter's last word and noticing how his shadow seemed much more forlorn than he himself. He didn't know what to make of of this sudden overwhelming feeling of loneliness and realization. Or where they came from. But his shadow seemed to be the only one who understood; whatever that was in or not in his mind. Probably because he has always worked even in the shadows. Lived in the shadows. Worked for in the shadows. 

Shadow.

That is how history will remember his name. His only name.