CHAPTER 18: THE BLOOD THAT SPOKE
- Jun 5
- 2 min read
The Shaolin grounds were never meant to be loud at night.
That was why the security guard noticed them immediately.
Ten men stood near the service gate, dressed in grey uniforms marked with cleaning insignias. Their shoes were dusty. Their faces tired. One of them stepped forward, thin-lipped, eyes too alert for the hour.
“We’re sorry, sir,” the man said politely. “Our bus broke down. That’s why we’re late.”
The guard hesitated. He checked the list again. Everything matched.
After a moment, he waved them in.
The gates closed behind them.
Morning came like any other.
Students moved through the halls in clusters. Hari walked with Lin Mei, Faris, and Iniyan, still stiff from the previous day’s discipline. His body ached, but his mind was lighter than it had been in weeks.
Then the shout came.
“All students—here! Now!”
The voice carried urgency, sharp enough to cut through the noise.
Conversations died mid-sentence.
Hari felt it before he saw it—the heaviness in the air, the tightening in his chest. He pushed forward with the others, his heart beginning to race.
They reached the inner courtyard.
Someone screamed.
Blood stains were on the stone floor.
It wasn’t splattered.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It was simply there—dark, thick, undeniable.
At the centre lay a body.
Han A Rin.
The North Korean instructor’s eyes were open, unseeing. His expression was calm, almost confused, as if death had come mid-thought. His clothes were soaked through at the chest, blood pooled beneath him, still fresh.
Hari stopped breathing.
This was the second time he had seen blood like this.
The ground seemed to tilt beneath his feet.
Teachers rushed forward, forming a barrier, voices overlapping.
“We seal the area.”
“No one leaves.”
“This must be reported to the officials immediately.”
Students backed away in shock. Some cried. Some froze. Others whispered desperately, trying to understand how something like this could happen here.
Then Katsuro Shinji stepped forward.
The crowd parted instinctively.
He crouched beside the body without hesitation. Calmly. Deliberately. He pressed two fingers into the blood pooled on the stone.
And lifted them to his tongue.
The courtyard froze.
A murmur rippled through the students—fear sharpening into something else.
“What is he doing…?”
“That’s blood—”
“Is he insane?”
Hari’s stomach twisted.
For a brief second, Katsuro Shinji closed his eyes.
Then he stood.
No reaction.
No explanation.
To the students watching, it was unmistakable.
A psychopath.
Hari’s mind raced. Why would someone do that?
Unless…
The thought slipped in before he could stop it.
What if he’s the killer?
The cleaning crew from the night before was gone.
No one could find them.
No records.
No answers.
The inner courtyard was sealed before noon. Training was suspended. Students were escorted away in tense silence.
As Hari walked back, he glanced once more at the dark stain on the stone.
Something had entered Shaolin last night.
And it was still here.
Comments