In the depths of the forest, a group of armed men walked in darkness, illuminated only by the moonlight penetrating the leaves, creating intricate patterns on the ground.
As they were about to proceed, they saw a wooden fence surrounding a house, about forty steps from where they stood. They stopped.
The one-eared man, standing behind the Captain, asked, "Captain, is this the venue for our party?"
The Captain reached into the pocket of his long coat, took out a cigar, lit it, and took a puff. "You, crew of the Rose Avenger, surround that house. Do not let a single person escape. Massacre them all. If you don't, it is you whom I will hunt."
The crew members hearing this moved in unison, slow and silent as the night, dark as shadows, beginning to surround the house.
The Captain stepped slowly until he was right in front of the fence. Opening it, he finally stood before the wooden door of the house in the forest.
He knocked. The door slowly opened, revealing a man with a face like a tiger, his hair almost entirely turned white, with a muscular build, standing upright before the Captain as if he had been awaiting his arrival.
The Captain inhaled his cigar and blew white smoke right into the man's face. He dropped the cigar to the ground.
A cold wind blew hard at that moment. Green leaves swayed to the wind's melody. The scent of dampness filled their noses.
Without any signal, the Captain swung his sword at the neck of the man before him. Unfortunately, the man dodged by spreading his arms downward while splitting his legs like scissors. The sword merely sliced the air.
The man quickly pulled his legs back, clenched his fist, and launched a punch toward the Captain's stomach.
With a calm face, the Captain blocked the punch with his palm in front of his stomach, dampening the impact. He then gripped the man's hand while simultaneously twisting his sword, aiming for the man's neck.
The man evaded by pulling his muscular arm back forcefully, giving himself enough time to dodge. The sword's edge slashed and cut the air.
The man stabilized himself, taking advantage of the close range. He didn't try to create distance; instead, he lunged forward, grabbing the Captain's sword-wielding hand with both his large hands. This move was brutal and full of power, intended to disarm the Captain.
The Captain, with excellent balance, rotated his body following the man's pull. Instead of resisting, he jumped, letting the man's own momentum pull him, while his other leg kicked hard at the side of the man's head.
The man staggered, but his grip didn't loosen. Instead, with overflowing rage, he lifted and twisted his body, throwing the Captain like a doll. The Captain was flung a few steps before landing smoothly like a cat, but his sword slipped from his grasp and fell several meters away.
The man didn't waste this opportunity. Like a raging bull, he charged with heavy steps. His clenched fist was ready to strike.
The Captain, now unarmed, took a low stance. When the punch came, he didn't block it directly but deflected it with his forearm, diverting the blow to the side. The sound of bone impact was loud, but the Captain seemed to feel no pain.
He allowed himself to be pushed by the force of the punch, spun on his axis, and using the full power of his body rotation, his other hand struck like a sledgehammer into the man's ribs.
The distinct sound of cracking was heard. The man grunted in pain, his body hunching over. But he was tough. His right elbow, with his remaining strength, swung backward toward the Captain's temple.
The Captain parried hard, blocking the elbow strike. This time, he gave no room. He strangled the neck of the hunched man.
The man writhed, trying to break free. His large hands clawed at the Captain's arms, trying to relieve the pressure on his neck.
His breath was already ragged, his face turning blue. He tried to throw his body backward, to crush the Captain beneath him. But, perhaps due to age or something else, he failed.
Meanwhile, the Captain had anticipated it. His feet were planted firmly on the floor, his body remained upright. He tightened his chokehold, twisting his body slightly to add pressure.
It was at that moment he heard screams from outside.
The screams of two women and one man.
Hearing this, the man went even more berserk, like a mad dog. With all his might, he clenched his massive fist and punched the Captain's face.
The sound of impact and bone cracking was clearly audible to the ears. The man let out a small scream of excruciating pain. The Captain, however, remained healthy and stood tall. For some reason, his body had become as hard as iron, making the man's punch feel like the hit of a nine-month-old baby.
The man's hand dropped; he no longer had the strength to lift it.
The one-eared man arrived, his clothes wet and red, carrying a revolver and a head with an aged face and white hair. "Captain, we have caught everyone who tried to escape."
The head was pouring blood in large amounts from a messy cut. White bone was clearly visible to the eye, the flesh mixed with fresh red blood, looking vivid from the perspective of a wild beast.
Seeing this, the strangled man went completely insane. He shed tears while grinning, and with clenched fists, he struck the Captain's body repeatedly and violently, not caring whether it hurt him or not.
The one-eared man handed the revolver to the Captain, knowing the Captain would ask for it.
Taking it, he aimed the revolver at the man's right thigh and pulled the trigger.
A loud sound, like a scream from hell, echoed through the forest, waking the birds resting comfortably in their nests.
A brief, sharp pain pierced the ears, the smell of gunpowder hung in the air, and his whole body felt as if it were being shattered by a tone unlike any other sound.
A small hole formed perfectly in the man's right thigh, revealing slightly charred flesh and blood dripping onto the floor.
The man screamed in agony within the Captain's grip. For some reason, even though the man's body was muscular like a gorilla, he still couldn't break free from the Captain's grasp, who had an average build.
The man's eyes glazed over before tears finally fell onto his veiny, blue-turning face.
The Captain then aimed again at the man's left thigh. A gunshot rang out, piercing the man's large thigh, creating a hole through the leg and into the floor.
After that, the Captain released his chokehold, dropping the man's body to the floor like a corpse that still held remnants of a soul.
Staggering, the man turned and crawled toward the interior of the house.
Meanwhile, the Captain had retrieved his cutlass-style sword. He approached the crawling man and slowly thrust his sword into the man's back, piercing through his stomach and pinning him to the floor.
The man writhed like a worm, blood gushing from his mouth, soaking his lips. The Captain pulled his sword out. He then stood beside the helpless man, placing his sword against the man's neck.
With a face as calm as the sound of bamboo, he spoke in his deep voice, "Because I am a good man, I will let you say your final words."
"Ha. Haha. Hahaha..." The man, hearing the Captain's words, suddenly laughed out loud; he seemed to have truly gone mad. "Cough! Why? Why must something like this happen to me, Why? Why do the heavens always torture me? Why do the heavens always curse me? I destroyed and threw away my past, even after I had a family and could finally feel what life is, why do the heavens always target me? How much longer must I suffer? How much more desperate must I become? How much do the heavens want to torture me? Even at the lowest moments of my life, I still believed in the heavens, so why? Why didn't the heavens help me? WHY???"
After he finished speaking, the Captain swung his sword, severing the man's neck—the father's neck.
His head detached from its place, pouring out thick, dark red blood, soaking the floor into a puddle.
The Captain then swung his sword forcefully and quickly to flick off the remaining blood clinging to it. He sheathed his sword back.
A moment later, the Captain snapped his fingers.
An orange-golden flame appeared suddenly above his index finger; he then dropped the flame onto the floor, into the pool of blood.
The orange flame turned into a giant, soaring high upwards. Since the house was made of wood, the fire easily consumed it.
.....
"FATHER!" Lian screamed as he woke up suddenly from his sleep. His eyes darted around; the sun was already quite high, making the air feel hot even though it had rained last night. He fell silent for a few seconds, staring at Meilin who was still fast asleep.
A moment later, he finally realized what had happened. With quick steps, he ran away from his little sister and headed toward the Land of Memories.
When he got there, all he saw were the remnants of the Land of Memories: the house had collapsed and was charred, and several surrounding trees were burnt.
His eyes widened in disbelief at what he witnessed. His eyes began to water, and he staggered as he walked toward the ruins of the Land of Memories.
There, he saw a pile of wood that had been charred into charcoal. He then cleared away the burnt wood to search for his family.
After searching for a while, he found the body of a man with a crushed and charred head, burned by intense heat. The pungent smell of cooked meat pierced his nose.
He continued searching for his family among the debris, until finally, he found the heads of both his parents, which were now completely shapeless, looking like monsters from the deepest hell.
With trembling hands, Lian lifted the heads of his parents, hugging them so tightly that a cracking sound was heard.
"Ha. Ha. Ha." Lian laughed bitterly. Tears flowed from his emerald green eyes.
"Hahaha. Hahaha. Hahaha."
Every laugh, every dream, every reason to be happy—all the roses—had been devoured. The sheep might have only bitten a few petals, but it didn't just eat the flower; it ate the hope growing among the thorns, traced the stem down to the roots, and uprooted everything that had ever lived in the Land of Memories.
For the gardener, the loss was not merely a loss of form or color, but a loss of the meaning of something that once made the world feel beautiful. Those roses might have looked small in the eyes of the world, but to his heart, each flower was a world of its own.
Now, all that remained was silent earth and the shadow of a scent long gone. For him, it was as if all the roses had withered. And it no longer mattered.