The trees flutter ever so slightly as the cold breeze of the ghost-quiet night brushes past their green leaves.

With only a dim sparkle from the stars giving light. 

A man beneath a pine. 

Rests his sword and his might. 

His eyes of deep blue gazed at the sky. 

Raising his arm towards them he uttered a smile.

Memories of past tears flashed through his mind. 

Of how much he had tried to become a being worthy of being able to reach such heights. 

Yet he knew it was all but a pipe dream. 

After all, 

All flesh is destined to return to the ground. 

He uttered a chuckle, 

And as it echoed among the trees.  

It soon grew farther and got lost among the leaves. 

All was silent once again. 

He took out his sword from its sheathe and started to caress the blade that sent a thousand sinners and saints to their graves.

Such a weapon was forged from aura itself. 

Auratium was what they called it and only those who had reached the peak of mortality could ever hope to forge such an armament. 

Soon the man of black hair stopped tendering to the blade. 

Taking a deep breath he stood up from the pine tree and sheathed his sword once again.

And with his shabby clothes of rags, he walked towards a place not far from where he had rested.

The stench of blood immediately fills up his nose from the corpses that lay still on the grass.

Orcs from the east, 

Elves of the north. 

Men in the middle. 

All wearing armor not easily broken by a blade. 

It was a grotesque sight and naturally attracted beasts with rumbling stomachs.

Such was the normality of war. 

Yet all the forest wolves and ravenous ravens who feasted on their remains took one look at the man and ran away.

Seeing them all retreat without a fight the man continued to walk. 

But then, he stumbled upon a body, lying on the ground his eyes devoid of life looked at the stars. 

Through his armor an arrow strengthened by mana pierced through.

As the man continued to look,

His eyes weakened for a moment for the corpse was that of a young man. 

Such a future he could've had.

Only to be lost to time by that of a sharpened stick. 

The blade that the young man wielded still rests in his hands. 

Clenched tightly unwanting to let go. 

"Even in death's dying grasp, you wanted to live," 

The man in shabby rags soon looked up in the sky again. 

"How many years, have I wielded the sword with no honor?" 

His mind flashes back, 

To the countless armies he had fought for as a mercenary. 

"How many men who simply wanted to live to see their families again have I killed for strength and mere bells?" 

He gazes back upon the rotting corpse. 

Soon he crouched down and took the sword from his hands. 

Upon inspecting the blade his eyebrows furrow.

The knight was sent to the battlefield wielding only a steel sword. 

The man wanted to speak but no words came out. 

He then took something from within his clothes. 

It was a small empty vial. 

Closing his eyes he started to concentrate. 

Having mastered his mind a thousand times. 

It took him no less than a minute for him to rip out a piece of his strength onto the vial. 

Piercing a small hole in the leather handle with his finger he put the vial inside the steel sword. 

And covered it up by tearing a small piece of his clothes.

Caressing the sword made from ordinary metal he soon spoke. 

"I hope,"  

"That whoever wields you next,"  

"May it lead you home,"

He then placed back the sword into the young man's hand. 

And walked once again. 

Through the corpses and through the trees. 

Forever wandering and forever lost. 

Such was the fate of the man who wielded the wind. 
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Underneath a white ceiling. 

A man slept soundly on a soft bed. 

Yet his loud snores stopped so suddenly as he felt his face start to be pecked. 

'Huh?' 

'What the hell?' 

Slowly he opened his eyes. 

And a familiar feathered friend met his gaze. 

Black was their color and their eyes were brown. 

It was Maggie, and Mcfly trying to desperately wake up their master. 

'Oh, I forgot to deactivate my skill," 

'But why were they trying to wake me up?'

Troi instinctively tried to pet them. 

But then he finally noticed the sound of knocking coming from behind the door.

"Student Troi, are you there?" 

Through it, he could hear a voice that came from a woman. 

Slowly Troi got up and before answering the door he took a quick glance at the crows resting on the blanket of his bed.

He debated in his mind whether to send them back or let them be. 

But then he noticed one of his crows was missing.

'Huh? Where's Cotton?'

Yet before he could think about where his other crow went.

"Student Troi, are you there?"

The person outside the door was getting impatient.

Troi let out a sigh and finally deactivated his skill.

[Companion of Crows have been deactivated]

Instantly the two crows vanished and Troi finally turned the handle of the door. 

A woman in her 30s with blonde hair and lime eyes appeared before him.

One who bore the same blood as that of a renowned inventor.

Miranda Tesla, the right hand of the Braum. 

'They already want to interrogate me huh?' 

'Okay, let's do this.' 

[Mind of a Murderer has been activated.]