The village of Shuihan was quiet under the pale moonlight. A humble place, deep in the forests, where people lived simple lives. Yulong had always believed that as long as they stayed out of the world’s affairs, they would be left alone.
He was wrong.
The night the Order came, led by Belmar of the Poison Viper, it was not conquest. It was entertainment.
They moved methodically, killing the strongest warriors first, making sport of it. Then the elders—those who had lived long enough to defy the Supreme One’s rule by merely existing. The women and children? Some were taken, most were slaughtered, all to the sound of Belmar’s laughter.
Yulong fought. He fought until his body could no longer move, until his blade shattered, until his fists bled.
And yet, they did not kill him.
Instead, Belmar let him live.
“Run,” the purple-haired captain had whispered into his ear, a smirk on his lips. “Beg for help. Try to save what’s left. Maybe you’ll find some kind soul to take you in.”
Yulong didn’t understand at first.
Then he saw them—his wife, his son.
They were alive. Shaken, terrified, but alive.
“Go,” Belmar said, lazily twirling a dagger between his fingers. “Maybe there’s a hero somewhere in this world. Maybe someone will help you. Let’s find out.”
The Order soldiers chuckled. Some looked amused. Others indifferent. To them, this was all a game.
Yulong didn’t hesitate. He took his wife and son and fled.
But the game had only begun.
A Journey of Desperation
They ran for days, their bodies exhausted, their spirits battered.
Everywhere they went, Yulong begged for help.
The first village turned them away. Cold stares, blank expressions—people who barely seemed alive.
The second village was no better. The people whispered of the Order, their eyes filled with fear. They shut their doors, refusing to answer his cries.
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The cities? Even worse.
People moved like ghosts, trapped in empty routines. The ones who still felt something were too poor to offer help. Others, even if they wanted to, were too afraid.
“The Order rules all,” they said. “Nothing can be done.”
Yulong’s hope withered.
No heroes. No saviors. No gods.
And all the while, Belmar watched.
Every time Yulong and his family left a village, the captain and his squad followed, hidden just far enough away. Observing. Laughing.
The Breaking Point
Then, at last, came the truth.
One morning, Yulong woke to find Belmar standing before him.
And his wife and son were gone.
Belmar smirked, stepping aside.
And Yulong saw them.
Their corpses.
Cold. Lifeless.
Dead since the beginning.
The entire journey—the hope, the struggle—had been an illusion.
Belmar and his squad had never let them escape. They had killed them before the game had even begun.
But they let Yulong believe.
Let him run. Let him hope. Let him suffer.
Just to see how long it would take for him to break.
The laughter of the Poison Viper echoed in his ears.
“Now, what will you do?” Belmar whispered, tossing Yulong a dagger.
“Kill yourself? Or will you entertain us a little longer?”
Yulong looked down at the dagger.
The pain was unbearable. The despair infinite.
And yet—he did not break.
Instead, he gritted his teeth.
As long as he lived, he would fight the Order.
If they refused to kill him, then he would make it his mission to kill them.
And that?
That was exactly what Belmar wanted.
The Birth of a Hound
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Belmar chuckled.
A man like Yulong? Burning with revenge? Completely fixated on nothing but destroying them?
How long could he last? How long before his own body was turned against him?
Yulong was captured and taken to the Order’s facilities. They wanted to break him further.
They carved runes into his flesh. They twisted his nerves with magic. They rewrote the very fibers of his being.
Every day, they forced him to kill.
He watched his hands slaughter innocents.
He felt his own legs chase down the helpless.
He screamed inside as his own body obeyed their every command.
But no matter how much they tortured him, Yulong never begged.
He never asked for it to stop.
And that infuriated them.
Belmar and the other captains tried everything—pain, illusions, despair.
But Yulong’s hatred was eternal.
Even if his body obeyed, his soul refused to submit.
And that made him the perfect tool.
The Order called them Hounds. Once proud warriors, now nothing more than weapons.
They released him on missions. Sent him to kill survivors. Forced him to hunt down those who still resisted.
And every time he returned, drenched in the blood of strangers, they asked:
“Had enough yet? Are you ready to break?”
Yulong never answered.
Even in chains, he was still fighting.
Even enslaved, he was still resisting.
And now—after the first squad sent to hunt Aelric had gone missing—the Order had chosen him to retrieve them.
Not as a soldier.
As a monster.
The Hunt Begins
Somewhere in the vast dominion of the Supreme One, deep within the halls of an ominous temple, Belmar stood before a gathering of Order officials.
A high-ranking priest spoke in a calm, cold voice.
“Squad 17 has gone silent.”
Murmurs filled the chamber. The Order’s squads never failed. They never vanished.
Something was different this time.
“A new force is rising,” the priest continued, a twisted smile on his lips. “And I am curious to see how long they will last.”
He turned to Belmar.
“Send the Hound.”
The purple-haired captain smirked.
Yulong stood in the shadows behind him. His once fierce eyes now dull, his once proud stance now stiff—like a puppet waiting to be moved.
But deep within that broken shell, the fire still burned.
The Order thought they had created the perfect tool.
They had no idea that, even now, Yulong was waiting for his moment.
To turn their own weapon against them.
And when that moment came—
He would make them regret everything.
Chapter 17 ends
