You fix your gaze on the man’s back. Amidst the endless sea of golden sand, Yasuo stands tall like a lone monument. His tattered cloak billows in the wind, boots half-buried in the dust. One hand grips the hilt of his sword, the other hanging loosely by the edge of his weathered coat. He doesn’t run, doesn’t panic, and doesn’t even seem surprised that you’ve found him.

It wasn’t hard to track him down. Even so, Yasuo would disappear very quickly. He would suddenly hide in the evening like a ghost and appear again a few days later. But since he became a wanted man, Yasuo has been like a storm sweeping through the Wild West. Bandits, ruthless killers, outlaws who once terrorized the land, one by one, they all fell to his blade. He did what an entire police force couldn’t, yet it did nothing to erase the bounty on his head.

One crime remains: murdering his own brother.

You tighten your grip on the gun, feeling the heat of the metal seeping into your palm. The desert wind cuts against your skin like a sharpened blade. You’ve heard plenty of stories about Yasuo. A peerless swordsman, an unsung hero, a drifter carrying the weight of regret. But to you, he is just another high-priced target.

“If you’re smart,” you say, voice as dry as the air around you, “Then don’t resist.”

Yasuo chuckles softly. A low, weary sound, yet unwavering. He turns around slowly, his gray eyes reflecting the merciless sun. Before you realize you’ve been drawn in by his gaze, you see his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“If you’re fast enough,” he says, “Then go ahead and try.”