Fear is born from what is seen, what is heard, and what creeps through touch.
It grows slowly, spreading like a shadow that cannot be driven away.
But can a man truly tremble from scent alone?
To me, unless those three gates are crossed, fear will never truly knock upon the heart.
My elder sister stood proudly before the bandits.
Her arrogance resembled that of a high noble accustomed to obedience without question.
Her crimson eyes, marked by three slowly turning tomoe, seemed capable of swallowing the world into an endless vortex of blood.
The five men, reeking of alcohol, had fallen to their knees without a shred of dignity left.
Their bodies trembled like withered leaves toyed with by the wind.
They bowed low, like slaves forced to submit before the absolute will of their master.
Fear had stolen every fragment of courage they possessed.
Those eyes had witnessed something beyond understanding.
A living legend standing before them with pride—a figure they could only place among the ranks of the great nobility.
My family and I were not part of this world's order of magic.
We were Shinobi.
And yet, when Ninjutsu was used, to most people it was no different from the sorcery woven by mages.
Where mages called forth phenomena through chains of incantations, we shaped them through hand seals passed down in silence.
I stood at my elder sister's side.
From the moment she used Lightning Release, I had already foreseen the end of the bandits' arrogance.
A distortion of nature that should never have been.
Lightning born not from the heavens, but from the will radiating from my elder sister's body.
To those five men, what they had witnessed was pure magic.
Lightning summoned by a power far beyond their understanding.
They were neither Aurors nor mages.
Had foolishness not clouded their judgment from the beginning, falling to their knees like common folk before nobility would have been their only reasonable choice.
Life was always more precious than fragile pride.
"What shall we do with them, Ian? Should I end their lives, just as I did their two companions before them?"
Charlotte did not shift her gaze even slightly.
Her eyes remained sharp, still carrying the irritation that had yet to fade.
That anger was only natural.
They had blocked our path and dared to spit such filthy words without even the smallest trace of fear.
To my elder sister, men like these deserved justice according to her own hand.
"That would stray from the path of justice you once chose."
"I have told you before, words spoken in the past are not chains. I may cast them aside whenever I wish."
"Father would be disappointed. Those words are part of your nindo—the first step upon the path of a hero. Father acknowledged that."
"I can change it whenever I please. Father would surely understand."
"It is not so simple. To alter it on a whim would only prove your foundation is not firm."
"As though my resolve were so weak."
"It is not a matter of strength or weakness. It is about ensuring your heart does not easily turn away from the path you chose."
"You think I would abandon my dream so easily simply because I wish to leave part of my past behind?"
"No. I know you would not."
I drew a slow breath, gathering my thoughts before continuing.
"You are my elder sister. The future is uncertain, but holding firmly to the principles and promises you chose as your nindo will make your heart all the more unshakable."
"Where did you learn to speak like that?"
"Father has taught me far more than you realize."
"Very well. Yet my anger toward this collection of foul-smelling men has not lessened."
She turned to me for only a moment.
Then her gaze returned to the bandits, colder than before, as though she were weighing their fate at the edge of her will.
I understood her anger and irritation.
The filthy words of those wretched men had dragged them toward an unavoidable ruin of their own making.
Their hearts were rotten, and their tongues were no less foul.
Why did criminals always fall into the same pattern, as though the world itself had written their fate in repeating ink?
Once again, the sight reminded me of the old tales of heroes and villains.
Beyond arrogance, the tongues of villains often became the very whip that ignited a hero's resolve.
A foolishness so predictable it was almost laughable.
My elder sister was not someone who forgave easily.
Nor was she the type to allow those who provoked her wrath to simply walk away.
Yet abandoning one's convictions merely to satisfy fleeting anger was not fitting for someone who had chosen her nindo.
That path had already been carved deep into her heart.
Her dream of becoming a hero was no longer a childish fantasy, but something steadily drawing closer within reach.
And such a path was not something to be altered on a whim because of passing irritation.
This was only a momentary impulse of my elder sister, not a decision worthy of shaping her future.
"Allow me to deal with these worthless men."
"And how do you intend to do that? Do not tell me you plan to spare them, Ian."
"No. But before that, leave them permanently crippled, in accordance with the principle you once chose for punishing evil."
"If this were before, I would have done so without hesitation. But my mood today does not permit such restraint."
"Your feelings and the path of heroism you chose are not the same thing. Do it. Otherwise, we may remain trapped in this forest until nightfall. We must reach the nearest village before darkness descends."
"You truly are a younger brother with no sense of sympathy."
"That is incorrect. It is precisely because I care that I remind you of your own words, so you do not lose your way in the future."
"How skillfully you lecture me."
"I am your younger brother. It is only natural that I guide my elder sister when she begins to stray."
She let out a quiet laugh.
Light, yet heavy with meaning.
Our eyes met again, silent for a brief moment.
"Very well, Ian. Today, I shall yield, because your words are reasonable."
"This is not a matter of who is right."
"Enough. The longer I speak with you, the more tangled my thoughts become."
"As you wish."
Our gazes returned to the trembling men below.
Bodies stripped of dignity, foreheads pressed against the cold earth as fear clung to them without mercy.
Panic spread swiftly through them after hearing our conversation.
Especially when they heard mention of the heroic path my elder sister had chosen.
Their trembling worsened until even their kneeling postures became unstable.
"Forgive me, Lady Mage! Krell has sinned by failing to recognize your greatness! I even dared to stop your carriage and disturb your precious time. I shall do anything—even become your slave!"
"Forgive me, Lady Mage! This lowly Rick will do whatever you command. I shall become your servant, even pull your carriage myself if you desire it!"
"Me as well, Lady Mage! Brock can do anything—care for horses, clean stables, or serve as your slave!"
"Please spare us! Lady Mage, we have sinned!"
"I repent..."
Each of them offered the finest excuse his desperate mind could produce.
All for one purpose alone.
The preservation of his own life.
Two of their companions had already perished by Charlotte's hand.
Their deaths had come swiftly, in fewer than twelve breaths.
The first had his body twisted at an impossible angle, his insides crushed in an instant.
The second suffered a far crueler fate.
His chest had been shattered, his ribs broken inward, piercing his lungs until no hope remained.
The only one still breathing had received a fate worse than death.
His body was completely paralyzed, the nerves within his mind burned away.
He lived, but without awareness.
An empty existence.
My elder sister's voice answered their pleas, cold and devoid of the slightest warmth.
There was no room for forgiveness in her tone.
"Men like you find it easy to speak such words only when you realize you are weaker than I am."
"No! Lady Mage!"
"No, no! Rick simply did not know who you were!"
"We were arrogant! We were wrong!"
"Lady Mage!"
"Enough. Be silent, or I shall cut out your tongues."
In an instant, her chakra erupted like an invisible wave.
The force spread outward, pressing down upon them until their bodies bent even lower.
The ground beneath the feet of those kneeling men began to crack, pressed down as though crushed beneath an unnatural gravity.
The fractures spread like wounds forced open, proof that even the earth could no longer endure such weight.
Their bodies trembled violently.
Every bone and every piece of flesh within them seemed ready to shatter beneath the increasing pressure.
Had Charlotte increased her chakra output even slightly more, their bodies would have been crushed instantly.
They would have become nothing more than piles of mangled flesh, leaving bloody hollows upon the silent forest floor.
Without allowing their fear even a moment to settle, she stepped forward.
One by one, she approached the five bandits, who were now nothing more than pitiful shadows of their former arrogance.
The bandits no longer thought of dignity.
Their screams broke out, sharp and desperate, pleading for mercy in broken voices.
Charlotte paid them no mind.
She walked as though she heard nothing at all, cold and unmoved.
This day would become the most horrifying memory of their lives.
The young girl they had once dismissed as weak—the one they had imagined they could defile without consequence—had revealed a power far beyond reason.
In their minds, Charlotte and her younger brother may have once seemed like children of high nobility.
But that thought had already faded, replaced by something far deeper.
Someone who wielded such power was far more terrifying than any noble they had ever imagined.
Though it had all begun from their foolish belief that Charlotte was a mage, such distinctions no longer mattered.
In their minds, a mage was a cold and rational creature, cruel and untouched by mercy.
Someone who viewed common folk as nothing more than tools without worth.
That was how fear shaped itself within them, carving a wound they would remember for the rest of their lives.
A bitter lesson, never again to underestimate those they met upon the road.
The katana was slowly drawn from its sheath.
Its gleaming blade reflected the dim light filtering through the trees.
One swing.
Then the second.
The third.
The fourth.
The fifth.
In an instant, five clean slashes severed the left arm of each man.
Their screams erupted together, echoing through the once-silent forest, tearing through the air with unbearable agony.
"Silence. Or your remaining arms shall follow."
The threat fell like a death sentence.
Their screams stopped at once, replaced by restrained groans.
Their bodies curled inward, trembling as they fought against the merciless pain spreading from their wounds.
Before truly leaving, Charlotte paused.
Her gaze fell upon the motionless body of the man left completely paralyzed by her lightning.
She approached him and kicked him without hesitation.
A heavy impact rang out, enough to break the ribs already made fragile, before another swing of her blade removed his arm as well, granting him the same fate as the others.
A cruel fate.
That man had already lost everything long before that.
The nerves within his mind had been burned away, leaving him in emptiness without awareness.
A life without meaning.
His companions would likely abandon him here in the forest, leaving him to lie there until time—or wild beasts—claimed his final breath.
To Charlotte, whether they lived or died was hardly worth consideration.
Evil was a choice, and every choice demanded its price.
Those five men were fortunate.
Their fate was kinder than the two companions who had already died, and the one who had lost everything without death.
Had it not been for Ian's reminder, Charlotte might have ended them all without leaving a trace, or simply offered them as food for the wild creatures of the forest.
Now, they had lost only one arm.
Yet it was not truly over.
There was still one final matter to be settled.
The true reason Ian had chosen to let them live.
The final chapter of the suffering that had only just begun.
Once it was finished, Charlotte and Ian returned to the carriage.
Carl, the coachman, had been waiting, his unease still not entirely gone.
This noon had felt unbearably long for him.
He looked up at the clear sky, then shifted his gaze toward the bandits sprawled across the ground.
Some would never rise again.
Some could no longer rise.
The rest curled in suffering, suppressing groans they no longer dared to release.
Carl smiled faintly.
The gloom that had weighed upon his heart slowly faded, replaced by a warm sense of safety.
Now he understood.
The Young Lady and Young Lord he served were no ordinary people.
They were beings of unimaginable strength.
"Come now, my beloved horses. Let us continue our journey."
With a light pull upon the reins, the carriage began to move.
The wooden wheels creaked softly as they departed, leaving behind the bandits who watched our departure with what little gratitude they still possessed.