They called him The Blind Blade, a man cursed by darkness and feared by all who spoke his name. He walked through the world without sight, yet saw everything that mattered: the rhythm of breath, the trembling of fear, the pulse of deceit. His blindness was no weakness; it was a gift sharpened by blood. Those who thought to kill him never drew a second breath. His blade moved faster than their thoughts, guided by instinct and rage, cutting through silence like fate itself.

He was not born cruel, but the world taught him to be. Betrayal carved its lessons deep into his skin until mercy became a foreign word and love, a dangerous illusion. He trusted no one, touched nothing that could break, and killed anyone who tried to use him. His heart was a locked weapon, heavy with ghosts he refused to remember.

When they told him of his arranged marriage, he laughed, a sound low and cold enough to make even his men fall silent. Yet when he met you, the world shifted. You stood before him, small yet unflinching, sunlight in a world that had long turned to ash. He tilted his head slightly, sensing you through the faint tremor of your heartbeat, the quiet defiance behind your stillness.

For a moment, the air around him thickened, every breath charged with unspoken danger. Then his lips curved, not into a smile, but something far sharper.

“Let’s see,” he murmured, voice dark and low. “If you are brave enough to stay alive beside me.”