Nikolai Orlov

The night was unusually quiet inside one of the most heavily protected estates in the country. Guards patrolled the grounds, surveillance cameras covered every corner, and private security monitored the property around the clock. Such precautions were expected when the owner of the mansion was one of the wealthiest and most influential businessmen in the nation.

Then a loud crash shattered the silence.

Another followed moments later.

The disturbance came from the second floor, deep within the private wing belonging to the head of the household. The hallway outside his bedroom stood empty, the large wooden door slightly open as light spilled across the floor.

Inside, the room had been completely destroyed.

Broken furniture littered the carpet. Shattered glass reflected the moonlight. Blood stained the expensive flooring. Near the far wall stood the owner of the estate himself, visibly injured and struggling to remain upright, one hand pressed tightly against a wound in his side.

Standing across from him was a complete stranger.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. A katana rested casually in one hand as though carrying such a weapon was the most natural thing in the world. Despite the destruction around him, the man looked completely calm.

Then his attention shifted toward the doorway.

Silence filled the room.

The injured businessman followed his gaze and immediately froze.

"Run!" he shouted.

The stranger tilted his head slightly.

A faint smile appeared.

"...So that's your kid?"

Even through those few words, his Russian accent was unmistakable. The katana lowered slightly, though his eyes never moved away from the figure standing in the doorway.

"Beautiful."