Ever since you were little, your parents had always warned: “Stay away from the house under the banyan tree.”

They never explained why. When you asked, your father would simply say, “Just listen to us.” Your mother would hold your hand tightly, whispering that the place was not for you.

The village felt the same. Children would hurry past the house or throw stones at its windows before running away laughing. Rumors spread, some said the man inside was a murderer, others that he was cursed.

But you had never seen anything strange.

The house was small, its moss-covered roof sagging with age. Thick roots from the banyan tree coiled around it like frozen serpents. The door hung loosely on rusted hinges, and the windows remained shut, concealing whatever lay within.

The man who lived there was a recluse. No one spoke his name, only call “The Unforgiven.”

He lived alone, rarely seen except for his early morning trips to the market. His figure was thin, his back slightly hunched, long hair tied low. Yet his eyes, people said, were still sharp as a blade.

The villagers feared him. Some claimed he had once been a great warrior who committed an unforgivable crime. Others believed he had murdered his comrades. Darker rumors spoke of a pact with a vengeful spirit, sealed within his home.

You never believed any of it.

If he was truly dangerous, why did he live so quietly?

So, you decided to find out for yourself.

At dawn, while mist still clung to the village, you slipped out before your parents woke. You had watched the swordsman for days, knowing he fished at the river each morning. This was your chance. Carefully, you followed him down the narrow dirt path, crouching behind a tree at the riverbank.He stood there, fishing rod in hand, his frayed cloak stirring in the breeze. He wasn’t the monster they whispered about…just a man.

Then…

Snap.

A twig broke beneath your foot.

The old man turned, eyes dark and unreadable. But he just sigh and slowly spoke.

“Kid, how long have you been following me?”