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    Chapter 1: Apple of my Eye


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    Adira walked along the winding path, leaning on a flimsy branch for support, her other hand brushing against the trees as she relied on them to maintain her balance.


    The sun filtered gently through the towering trees, their pristine green canopies casting a patchwork of cool shade on the road.


    The soft rustling of leaves in the breeze was like a soothing melody, a quiet hymn to nature’s harmony.


    As the wind swept by, leaves descended in a slow, peaceful dance, touching the earth with grace.


    Ahead, Adira noticed an old man walking toward her, a bundle of firewood, some pieces cut while others remained long, still in need of chopping, all balanced in one arm and a basket of fruit slung over his back.


    Raising her hand to catch his attention, she asked politely, “May I know how much further it is to the East?”


    The old man eyed her curiously, his gaze flickering up and down before replying, “Lady, you’re already standing on it.”


    Adira’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Naturally, this was her first time here—how could she have known?


    She thanked the man and quickly strode away.


    “Wait!”


    She halted mid-step, her hand instinctively falling to the hilt of the sword hidden beneath her cloak.


    A chill of anxiety coursed through her as a single question echoed in her mind: Had the man recognized her?


    After all, her name had become a curse upon the lips of many—a figure of infamy whom men, women, the old, and even the young fervently wished would meet her demise.


    The sharp tang of blood seemed to resurface on her tongue, unbidden memories of betrayal flooding her mind. The weight of past horrors pressed upon her, stirring shadows in the corners of her thoughts.


    For a fleeting moment, she considered silencing the man.


    Her survival, after all, had been forged in the fires of sacrifice—always at the expense of others. She could not afford to falter now, not when her life teetered on the edge of peril.


    Yet, the ghostly echo of regrets—unresolved and unrelenting—tightened its grip on her. It was a bitter taste, far more acrid than any blood, that reminded her of the price she had paid and the toll it continued to exact.


    The weight of her desire to surrender it all made her falter. Truthfully, if asked directly, she would confess it was her only wish now—to lay down the burden she had carried for so long.


    Her hand hovered over the hilt of her sword, trembling with hesitation, unwilling to commit to the violence that had so often defined her.


    “Are you alright, young lady?” the old man called from behind her. “The path ahead will be rough.”


    The sound of rustling reached her ears, sharp and sudden, making her grip on the hilt of her sword tightened instinctively.


    “Here.”


    She turned slightly, her gaze cautious, however, she only saw him holding out a long, sturdy piece of wood.


    “This,” he said with an almost disarming sincerity, “will be much better than that flimsy stick you’re using.”


    Adira hesitated, the weight of her guilt pressing down on her. Was this kindness something she still deserved?


    After a moment’s deliberation, she saw no harm in accepting the offer. The practicality of the gesture outweighed her doubts, though her conscience gnawed at her. “Thank you…” she murmured, her voice barely audible.


    Only moments ago, she had entertained the thought of silencing this man. Now, his simple act of generosity left her feeling both humbled and undeserving.


    She wished to repay him, to offer something in return. Yet, when she remembered her meager possessions—a single potion and a few stolen bandages—she knew she could not afford the gesture.


    These remnants of survival were all she had, and parting with them would be a risk she could ill afford.


    “I’m sorry,” she said dejectedly. “I have nothing to give you.”


    The old man waved off her apology with a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. I couldn’t just stand by and watch someone struggle. Besides, I’d hate to see a cripple take a tumble down the mountain.”


    Cripple? She wasn’t truly crippled, though her left leg had been shattered in a brutal ambush. The memory resurfaced, vivid and merciless—a swarm of attackers closing in, chaos and pain overtaking her senses. For a brief moment, her body tensed, but she forced the thought away.


    Instead, she let the misunderstanding linger, masking her discomfort with a soft chuckle.


    “One more thing—” The man reached into his basket and handed her an apple. His eyes flicked to her hands, his brow furrowing slightly.


    “It’s just dirt,” she muttered, suddenly conscious of her appearance and drawing her hands close.


    The old man chuckled, shaking his head. “Lady, you look like you’ve been through hell. If the wind blew any harder, it’d carry you clean off this mountain!”


    For a moment, Adira felt an unexpected pang of confusion. It had been so long since anyone had shown her even a sliver of kindness that receiving it now felt foreign, almost unsettling.


    “Down the mountain, you’ll find a village,” the old man said, patting her shoulder with a fatherly air. “You’d best hurry; night will fall soon.”


    As he turned to leave, Adira’s hand darted beneath her cloak, fumbling for something to give in return. But the old man raised a hand, stopping her.


    “No need, young one,” he said gently. “Consider it free. This one comes without strings attached, especially for someone as frail as you. Keep it.”


    “But—” Adira began, her voice tinged with urgency. He doesn’t know it, but this potion is worth far more than he realizes. It could help him in the days ahead!


    “Nope,” he interrupted with a firm shake of his head. “If you truly wish to repay me, then live. Survive long enough to pass this kindness forward when the time comes.”


    “…I’ll try,” she whispered, clutching the apple as though it were a priceless jewel. “Thank you.”


    The old man, noticing her reverence for the simple fruit, chuckled warmly. “I’ve plenty more where that came from. Don’t be a stranger—this old man would be glad for the company.”


    With a parting smile, he turned and disappeared down the path, leaving Adira standing there, her heart unexpectedly lighter than it had been in years.


    Once, as a noble, she had dined on delicacies that peasants could only dream of, her life adorned with every luxury imaginable. Now, she was a fugitive—a mass murderer, stripped of wealth, status, and all the privileges she had once taken for granted.


    Adira sighed, a weariness settling deep in her chest. It was only a matter of time, she thought. Karma, in which she had always placed her unshaken belief, had finally come to collect its due.


    If she had not fled to the East, such moments of kindness would have been unthinkable. In other lands, no one saw her as human anymore. To them, she was something far worse—something more accursed than even the vilest demons.


    Adira stood on the path, watching the old man’s silhouette grow smaller and fainter until it disappeared entirely into the horizon.


    For a moment, she lingered, clutching the sturdy piece of wood he had given her. Stolen novel; please report.


    With newfound resolve, she cast aside her fragile old branch and gripped the new staff firmly in hand.


    The journey ahead felt lighter somehow. Shadows of rooftops began to emerge on the horizon, and she realized she had reached the village far sooner than she’d anticipated.


    She glanced down at the wood in her hand, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Thank you for making my journey smoother. she thought silently, her gratitude directed toward the kind stranger who had, in his own small way, reminded her that humanity still lingered in the world.


    She silently bowed her mind in reverence to the old man, wishing him and his descendants a perpetual bounty of apples, flourishing both now and for generations to come.


    Her gaze drifted over the village, quaint and imbued with the unmistakable charm of the countryside.


    The unpaved roads, the soft clucking of livestock, and the warm breeze brought a rare sense of peace to her.


    Yet, beneath the calm, a deep unease stirred—there was no visible security. No guards patrolled the perimeter, no checkpoints to impede her entry.


    Someone as dangerous as her could easily annihilate the entire town, and no one would even notice, let alone stop her.


    She scoffed at the negligence of those who governed this land. “Utterly irresponsible,” she muttered under her breath.


    A flare of irritation welled within her. If the kind old man she had encountered earlier were to suffer due to this lack of protection, it would be yet another grievance she would carry in this world.


    A lesson from the church echoed in her mind: “The great Heaven favors no one, aiding only the virtuous.” How laughable. It certainly didn’t reflect reality, where the righteous didn’t always receive the aid they deserved.


    How dare these wealthy nobles, entrusted with the governance of the land, squander the very funds they took from the people—funds they should use to safeguard them. Truly, irresponsible indeed.


    Shaking off the thought, she wandered aimlessly, her only desire to find a place to rest. Occasionally, she muttered a soft “tsk” at the sights that displeased her.


    Passing an inn, she overheard the raucous laughter of soldiers reveling in drunken excess. Her eyes rolled. So much for protecting the people.


    After some time, she stumbled upon a secluded alleyway. The ground was unexpectedly clean—a perfect place to remain undisturbed until morning.


    She laid her cloak down as makeshift bedding and began to settle in for the night.


    “THIEF! THIEF! THAT MAN STOLE MY CHICKENS!”


    Adira bolted upright at the commotion. Noises came from the other end of the alley, the opposite side to where her sleeping spot is.


    Then a man running for his life, holding 2 chickens at each hand by their feet--was soon followed by an angry mob of villagers led by a woman holding a machete in the air.


    A machete!?


    However, much to their commotion--the thief clad in red had an inhuman speed.


    He pushed Adira aside but because of how fast he was going, the force he exerted became much stronger making the fall even heavier than normal.


    Feeling something on her left leg tear, Adira''s face darkened.


    The villagers in pursuit saw Adira struggling to get up so they tried to help her up, however Adira tried to swallow the pain and gestured to them that she is okay.


    She never intended to block his path. With her battered body, she would be helpless against even a bundle of chickens. But it turned out that way simply because she was in his way!


    Pain flared in her injured leg, and tears welled up instinctively from the sharp ache. Her jaw clenched as she fought to steady herself, struggling to stand.


    “Leave him!” an elder called out, breathless. “It’s only chickens!”


    " What a brute man! Pushing a woman like that!"


    The woman with the machete screamed in frustration.  " No! Why did you stop!? Don''t let him get away!" The woman with a machete screamed but looking at the thief, he had good legs. It seems like he''s unconsciously putting mana on it that''s why he''s unbelievably fast.


    "He''s too fast! Look—there''s not even a shadow left!" an old man exclaimed.


    “Are you okay, young lady!?” A concerned elder woman called out from the crowd, her voice mixed with the voice of others.


    “Oof! She got hit really bad!” someone else commented, their tone laced with sympathy.


    Adira dusted off her clothes, wearing the cloak back on as she spoke," You won''t be able to close the distance at your speed."


    The mob murmured in agreement. “It’s just chickens. Just raise another flock with what you have left.”


    “Would I be chasing him for dear life if I could? How will we make it through this month? Not only are the eggs broken, but my husband has gone to another village. It’ll be a while before he returns! My young son is the only one left to help!”


    The woman’s voice wavered with desperation before she suddenly collapsed to her knees, weeping uncontrollably, like a child overcome with grief.


    The villagers crowded around her, offering comforting words. But those words could not provide the sustenance she so desperately needed.


    “-LINDA! AUNTIE LINDA, YOUR SON!”


    Everyone turned to see a young boy approaching, pale and wheezing, his face twisted with terror.


    “What!? What about my son?” The woman immediately stopped crying. She stood up and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.


    “He… I… I don’t know! He suddenly started screaming, and I don’t know why! He’s been scratching his face! He needs help! Quick!”


    Without hesitation, the villagers rushed to the boy’s side.


    Adira, left alone on the ground, watched as they scurried off in a flurry, like a herd of frightened sheep.


    She groaned, feeling the bruises from the collision settle into a dull ache. With a sigh, she turned her gaze toward the direction the villagers had gone, her curiosity now piqued.


    With nothing better to occupy her time, Adira decided to follow the villagers, her gaze flickering toward nearby alleys in search of another place to rest. Her supposed bed had been trampled by these very people, leaving her to limp after them with a mix of irritation and resignation.


    It had been a long time since she''d encountered a crowd that wasn’t hostile, so she figured she might as well see what the commotion was about while she still could.


    Soon, she found herself at the back of a weathered wooden house, and the sight that greeted her was nothing short of horrifying.


    Broken eggs lay scattered across the ground, and the cages that should have held the chickens were now left wide open.


    The aftermath of the crime was still fresh, but what truly struck terror into the onlookers was the sight of a boy, no older than six or seven, rolling on the ground, screaming in sharp excruciating pain.


    The child''s screams echoed a haunting memory for Adira, reminiscent of a baby''s wailing and a woman begging on her knees.


    She clenched her eyes shut, desperately trying to shove the horrible memory away, only to be jolted back to the present by the boy’s piercing screams.


    Blood covered his hands, which he used to claw at his face. “IT HURTS! MAMA, IT HURTS SO MUCH!!!”


    The woman who had been in a meltdown earlier rushed to his side, cradling him against her thighs. She tried to pull his hands away from his face, but the boy fought her, writhing and struggling to escape her grip.


    “YOU HAVE TO SHOW ME, OR ELSE MAMA WON’T KNOW WHAT’S HURTING! MY CHILD! PLEASE!” she cried, helpless and lost, tears streaming down her face as she begged her son for something—anything—to stop the pain.


    With so much blood around his hands, one could only wonder what had happened on his face.


    At last, the villagers took matters into their own hands. They pinned the child down and forced his hands away from his face, despite his desperate screams.


    The sight that met them made them all wince in revulsion. The boy wasn’t scratching his face at all—he was clutching at the skin peeling away from it! Blood poured from his eyes, staining his cheeks in a macabre stream.


    His eyes were bloodshot and raw, the skin around them blistered and melting. The sight was so grotesque that even Adira, battle-hardened as she was, felt her stomach churn at the horror of it.


    " OH GOD!” The mother exclaimed,” WHAT IS THIS!? WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED WHEN WE WERE GONE!?"


    “It was... It was the thief!” the boy who had led them earlier spoke up. “The thief—he... he was doing something to the cage! We saw him, so we tried to stop him! But then he threw something at us. Truff was at the front, so it didn''t reach me. It was some kind of liquid! I don’t know what it was, so I didn’t think much of it at the time. But then Truff... he started complaining, saying his eyes felt hot. We tried pouring water on them, but it just got worse! His skin turned red all of a sudden, and then... then it started falling off!”


    The villagers were thrown into chaos, calling for the absent village doctor. But one of them shouted back that the doctor had gone to the capital to replenish supplies and was not present.


    Adira knelt by the broken locks on the chicken cages, the faint chemical odour confirming her suspicions.


    The child''s mother pounded the ground in despair, crying out in agony. Then, suddenly, as if splashed with cold water, she knelt properly and began to pray.


    The villagers attempted to calm her while others carried the now unconscious child inside the house, his cries now reduced to feeble whimpers.


    His future, she knew, was bleak. In a poor household, a blind child was a burden few could afford to bear. Many would see someone with such a disability as little more than dead weight.


    Hunger would soon tighten its grip on them all. For a family already teetering on the edge of survival, food was a luxury—reserved only for those who could work to secure it. As he grew older, his chances of receiving even that meager share would dwindle further.


    Suddenly, as if time itself slowed, Adira’s gaze locked on the mother who was wailing in despair, and on the small child who had led them here, standing beside her, crying helplessly, unsure of what to do.


    Her heartbeat quickened, thudding wildly in her chest at such an abnormal pace.


    Her grip on the apple tightened, her fingers pressing deep into its flesh. A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. A fair exchange of karma, was it?


    “At this point...” she muttered, “I have nothing left to lose.”


    Her eyes, flashing with sudden intensity, darted from the bleeding child to the apple in her hand.


    An absurd, wild idea began to take root in her mind.


    “Perhaps,” she whispered to no one, “These eyes might serve a better purpose elsewhere.”