An Unwritten Story [LitRPG, Evil MCs]

Plsh…

Warm, crimson liquid struck Noa’s face—blood. It was the dark baptism of the very first human life he had stolen in this new world.

He expected a heavy anchor of guilt to drag his heart into the abyss, or at least a frantic horror to claw at the fraying edges of his sanity. Yet the sound of steel tearing flesh, the metallic taste, and the liquid touch of blood all somehow felt normal, even familiar.

Before even processing the emotions of killing, he realized he could have planned to knock the knight unconscious, or that he could have shattered the man's limbs to neutralize the incoming strikes, escaping into the shadows without leaving a corpse behind.

He knew he could have done it, but one simple yet cruel question arose:

‘Why would I let him live?’

Glass exploded outward as he vaulted through the window, the shards catching the fading sunlight and throwing dancing, amber prisms across the cold royal grounds like a shattered constellation cascading to earth.

The crisp evening air tore into his lungs, stinging like a leather whip. For a fleeting second, he tasted an unadulterated flavor of the ‘freedom’ he so desperately craved.

I still have to get past the royal castle’s walls, Noa thought, his teeth gritting as he absorbed the impact with a heavy roll that rattled his ribcage before pushing himself up.

Knights spun toward him, confusion over what was happening inside the royal hall briefly slowing their movements as they closed in on the boy who had just shattered his way out.

Their eyes tracked him, analyzing whether he was a friend or a foe, but Noa didn’t want to wait for them to figure it out. He just wanted to escape, so he bolted sideways, away from the guards and toward the surrounding royal buildings.

Seeing him run, the knights realized his intent and started chasing after him, while the ones ahead braced to capture him. He slipped past some knights, while others who got in his way were slain by the cracked sword he held.

Finally, he jumped through another window and entered one of the royal buildings—the servants' quarters.

Grab!

His hand shot out to catch the brass handle of the door, throwing it open to reveal a long, dimly lit corridor lined with identical wooden entryways. The rhythmic thud of combat boots already echoed through the broken window behind him.

To break the line of sight of the knights tailing him, Noa sprinted forward, picked a door at random, and ducked inside before a single eye could track his direction.

“KYAA!!!” A loud scream tore through the small room, shattering the tense silence. “W-who are you?!”

A maid was sitting on the edge of a small cot, clearly resting during her free time. Her sudden scream was so loud it felt like an iron spike driven straight into Noa’s eardrums.

“Shut the hell up!” Noa snarled, his face contorting into an expression of pure irritation.

He raised his bloody blade with both hands, pointing it directly at her trembling throat, and—

Stab!

The screams got cut off instantly, her mouth freezing mid-syllable as the cold iron silenced her permanently.

“The sound came from here! He must be inside!” A knight’s muffled voice erupted from the corridor, followed by the rattle of a doorknob just two rooms down.

“You bitch. Should’ve stayed silent before you died,” Noa clicked his tongue, his breath ragged as he wiped a smear of blood from his cheek.

Crossing to the room's window, he forced it open to face the royal gardens once more, but before he vaulted out, he gave an annoyed kick to the dead body of the maid out of sheer spite for the noise she had made.

…

DHUM!

Noa slammed a door behind him immediately after entering the room. He had doubled back into the same building and entered another room, this time one that was completely empty.

Old crates, dust motes, some swords, and ingredients… is this a storage room?

Needing to catch even a glimmer of breath, his knees buckled and he slid down onto the cold stone floor. His hands were slick with blood and his eyes were exhausted, feeling as if he could sleep and rest right now.

But just as he set his sword down and placed his palm on the ground, it didn’t touch stone—it pressed into a thick, blood-red fluid.

Mmm…?

He turned toward the source of the pooling blood, and there he was: a young man wearing a black shirt, a black chestplate over it, and a tattered brown robe over them. His entire outfit was ruined, showing the brutal battles he had been in. Near him lay a fresh dead body, the source of the blood.

“T-the hell?! Who are you?” Noa whispered hoarsely, his fingers instantly scrambling to snatch his sword back up.

“That’s what I should be asking,” came the reply as the stranger pointed his longsword at Noa.

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

The two froze, mirroring each other’s wide, caught-red-handed expressions in the dim light of the storeroom.

The stranger was clearly older—around eighteen years old. He had short, messy black hair and a pair of striking red eyes that perfectly matched the color of the fluid pooling between them.

In his hand, his longsword caught the faint light with a lethal gleam that Noa’s half-broken piece of junk entirely lacked.

“Are you one of the knights?” the young man asked, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits as he assessed Noa's tattered appearance.

“No. I’m trying to escape from here,” Noa muttered, wiping a streak of sweat from his forehead with his forearm.

The young man paused for a few seconds, his red eyes analyzing the younger boy who had just burst into his hiding spot covered in fresh gore. Slowly, the tension left his shoulders.

He lowered his sword, stood up from his crouch, and reached into the inner pocket of his tattered brown robe.

“Sigh… figures. Looks like we’re on the same boat after all.” Pulling out a small glass bottle filled with a vibrant orange liquid, he tossed it across the small gap. “Drink this and heal.”

Noa caught the vial, staring at the swirling orange fluid with skepticism.

 ...If he wanted to kill me, my wounded ass would’ve already said goodbye to my dreams. I guess this is a healing potion…?

He didn't have the luxury of better choices. Popping the cork, he downed the bitter liquid in one go. A sudden, searing heat bloomed in his chest, traveling to his limbs like fire cauterizing open meat, forcing his torn skin to knit together and instantly halt the bleeding.

“Thanks,” Noa gasped, tossing the empty vial aside.

He discarded his cracked blade and grabbed a fresh, standard-issue weapon from one of the open racks in the storage room.

“And who are you? You can call me Noa.”

“Name’s Leon,” the older teen replied, adjusting his grip on his longsword.

Weird… I’m sure I got info about some skills when I first got to this world, but I can’t use any of them no matter how hard I try, Noa thought, flexing his fingers around the new leather hilt. And in that assess report too…

Suddenly, the heavy thud of iron armor started echoing from the corridor, heading straight toward their door. Noa and Leon locked eyes and shared a silent, mutual nod.

Leon raised his longsword into a classic, disciplined guard, but Noa did something different—he scrambled over to the rack, grabbing as many spare swords as his arms could carry.

...?

Leon stared at him in utter confusion, his brow furrowing as Noa walked right up to the wooden door, balancing two drawn blades in his hands while the extra weapons leaned against his legs.

“Come on, come closer~” Noa whispered, a manic, unhinged smile spreading across his face.

The moment the door clicked and began to creak open, he thrust the blades straight through the thin wood of the door. The steel punched through, sinking directly into the skull of the leading knight outside.

The other guards in the hallway instantly panicked, their armor clanking as they tried to raise their shields, but before they could react to the blind attack, Noa grabbed two more spare blades from his pile and hurled them through the gap, piercing two more knights in the throat and chest.

“Get back—”

BHAAM!

Before the remaining knights could organize a retreat, Leon kicked the punctured door wide open. He and Noa lunged forward into the narrow hallway like two wolves unleashed, carving through every guard within arm's reach.

What a weird way of fighting, Leon thought, catching a glimpse of Noa out of the corner of his eye.

But before they could finish off the squad, a loud yell echoed from the end of the long hall. Another massive wave of heavy backup knights was sprinting toward them, their spears leveled.

“Holy shit, there’s more coming in?!” Noa barked, his eyes widening as he looked at the oncoming wall of steel. “Got any wise plans?”

Leon paused for a few seconds, listening intently to the layout of the corridor and the sound of approaching numbers. Then, without a hint of shame—

“Run!” Leon shouted, already spinning on his heel and fleeing down the opposite end of the hallway like a startled chicken.

Noa’s jaw dropped. Huuuuh? What now?!

Left with no choice, he bolted right after him.

…

“Huff—huff.”

The architecture of the castle behind them became nothing more than a blur of desperate movements, chaotic hiding places, and the constant splashing of steel.

Noa and Leon had cleaved their way through every single patrol they encountered—either outrunning them through narrow service corridors or slaughtering them when cornered—until they finally reached the perimeter wall.

Noa leaned against a stone pillar, gasping for air, his lungs burning. His sword is definitely something else. And the skills he used… man, I wish I could use mine too.

In contrast to Noa’s wild, chaotic style, Leon’s swordsmanship was highly refined. He moved with precise footwork, extreme blade efficiency, and an undeniable mastery over his weapon.

Ahead of them, the evening sunlight spilled through the reinforced castle gates, washing the courtyard in a contrast of amber light and deep shadow. But those heavy iron gates were completely shut, acting as a final, immovable wall standing between them and the freedom they desired. At least thirty soldiers stood waiting in front of those very gates—shields braced, spears lowered, and swords half-drawn.

Leon glanced back; the guards they had escaped from were closing in from behind as well. They were completely pinned.

“There’s no other way,” Leon said, his voice taut and strained as he tightened his grip around his longsword. “You go from the right, I’ll go from the left. If a path opens up, don’t look back and just run.”

“Good. Don’t expect me to wait for you then,” Noa replied, a grin cutting through the dirt on his face as he raised his stolen sword.

Without another word, the two black-haired swordsmen stepped forward into their respective paths, their weapons heavy in their hands—one a masterwork, the other stolen.

Trust was not spoken; it was simply assumed through the shared desperation.

Noa ran toward the right side of the military formation while Leon split toward the left. The moment he entered their attack range, the first soldier lunged forward, thrusting a gleaming spear straight at his ribs.

“Gueh!”

Noa intercepted the shaft with his blade, the force of the impact ringing up his arms and rattling the bones in his shoulders. He twisted his body inside the soldier’s guard, slipping past the spear point, and drove his blade deep into the man’s unprotected throat.

Before he could pull the weapon free, a second soldier—a female knight holding a massive longsword—came swinging at his flank.

Noa parried blindly, his stance completely off-balance.

The heavy enemy blade slipped past his guard, tearing through his shoulder and striking the exact spot where Darius had wounded him previously, making the agony double in an instant.

The white-hot pain made his vision swim, but Noa rotated his body with the momentum, his purple irises intensely focused not on saving his own life, but entirely on ending the enemy's.

Falling directly into her guard, he clamped his jaws shut, tightly biting the knight's hand with his bloodied teeth.

“AHHHH!”

Shocked by the animalistic attack, the knight lost her grip on her heavy longsword. Noa didn't waste a millisecond; he snatched her weapon out of her hand and drove it straight down into her skull.

As another guard rushed him from the side, Noa threw the heavy longsword like a javelin right into the man's heart, stepping forward to claim yet another weapon from the fallen.

Blood spilled down his cheek—whether it was his own or his enemies' didn't matter anymore.

On and on it went, a chaotic grinder of survival where steel and armor collided in a deafening music, until—

This is the last one!

The iron gate was only a few feet away, but the ground was rushing up to meet him. His legs felt like lead.

CLANG!

A lone knight blocked the final gap in the gate. Noa threw his weapon up to block the descending strike, his hands trembling violently.

Left? Right? Above? Below? His mind raced, his eyes moving faster than the knight’s physical blade could track.

The next strike came down from above in a heavy executioner's arc. Noa threw his weight to the side, narrowly avoiding the cleave, using his sword pushed against the earth as a pillar to keep himself from collapsing. Using the momentum of his fall, he lunged forward, slamming his body into the knight until his chest clanked hard against the man's armor.

Pure terror radiated off the knight as he found himself staring directly into Noa's unholy purple irises at point-blank range.

“GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY!” Noa roared, screaming into the man's face.

Drop-Drop.

Before the knight could raise his weapon, Noa's blade sank straight into the man's chest, the blood spreading like spilled ink across the polished silver armor.

The final obstacle collapsed, and the path to the outside world opened up at last.

…

Noa ran.

He ran without looking back once, his steps heavy and dragging, his senses dulled by the massive blood loss, his vision nothing more than a watery, gray smear.

If fate allows it, we’ll meet again, my friend, Noa thought, a weak chuckle escaping his throat as his breath grew shallow.

Slowly, the stone beneath his boots began to change. The pristine paved roads of the street grounds gave way to cracked, dry earth and uneven, broken bricks. The crisp evening air thickened, turning foul with the stench of stagnant water, heavy smoke, and something rotting slowly just beyond the reach of the dim streetlights.

He had entered the slums.

He kept moving, though it could barely be called running anymore. It was an awkward motion somewhere between a fast walk and a collapse, propelled forward purely by stubborn habit rather than conscious thought. The steel sword he had stolen from the knight dragged uselessly behind him, its tip scraping faint, jagged lines into the dirt road.

The impoverished people lingering in the streets quickly noticed the bleeding stranger. Wooden doors cracked open for a brief second before slamming shut with iron latches; dark shadows moved in the alleys, and tense whispers passed between the shanties without a single clear word being spoken aloud.

Well… this treatment feels damn familiar, Noa thought bitterly, a phantom memory of his past life back on Earth flashing through his fading mind.

Thick droplets of blood leaked from his ruined school uniform’s sleeve, each splash against the dirt sounding incredibly loud, echoing in his ears like a ticking clock. His vision pulsed—the edges dimming into total blackness, sharpening for a desperate second, then dimming again.

Don’t stop! I just need to get away… He willed his legs to take another step, but they obeyed with agonizing reluctance.

For a moment, Noa turned his blurry gaze toward a dark alleyway. Standing in the corner was a small child with bright pink hair, her wide eyes staring at his bloody form in shock. He ripped his eyes away instantly, refusing to look at her.

Tsk… how embarrassing, he thought, his pride stinging more than his flesh.

His breathing grew shallow and ragged, his fingers went completely numb, and his limbs no longer felt like they belonged to him.

Needing a reprieve, he leaned his shoulder against a damp brick wall without thinking. The cold stone held his weight upright when his own bones could no longer manage the task.

Just… a little more.

Away from the gate. Away from the soldiers. Away from the endless, deafening noise of clashing steel. He just wanted to run away from his entire past like a coward.

Thud…

The stolen sword finally slipped from his numb fingers, hitting the packed earth with a dull clatter. Even though a weapon of that quality could be sold to a fence for a small fortune, none of the watching eyes in the shadows moved to claim it.

Finally, Noa’s knees buckled completely.

THUD!

He threw one hand out to catch himself against the ground, but his fingers slipped. The second impact rattled his teeth, sending a wave of vibration through his skull. The entire world tilted sideways, the ambient noises of the slums becoming muffled as if he were underwater.

Wrapped in blood-wet cloth, he sank fully to the dirt, his back resting against the stone wall, his legs folded awkwardly beneath his torso.

At a safe distance, a crowd of lowlifes and beggars began to gather, their curiosity overriding their fear, though they lacked the courage to step into the stretch of his shadow.

Noa’s vision narrowed down to a fine point. The faces of the crowd blurred into shapeless, monstrous forms, and the fading evening light stretched above the slums much farther than it naturally should have.

Shit… If I sleep now… I might not wake up.

Before the thought could finish forming, his strength failed entirely, and his head fell forward onto his chest.

***

A boy sat alone in the third row, fourth line of a busy classroom, staring blankly out the glass window.

The gentle wind blowing in from the outside waved his messy black hair in a playful, rhythmic motion. But his eyes—deep, void-like pools filled with pitch-black sclera and purple irises—were not playful at all; they were lonely and bored with everything around him.

Another student—the one who had just transferred to the school yesterday—watched him silently from across the room before he finally approached the isolated, black-haired boy.

“Hey,” the transfer student said. His voice sounded distant and muffled, passing through his ears as if the words traveled through deep water. “What are you looking at so seriously over there?”

The black-haired boy slowly lifted his head, his gaze landing on the student’s uniform. His expression didn't change a bit, convinced that this conversation would turn out exactly the same as every other interaction he'd ever had.

“…Nothing,” he replied, his tone flat and uninterested. “Just thinking of what to do.”

“Thinking about what to do, huh?” The blue-haired student chuckled, dragging a spare wooden chair over to the desk and sitting down next to him. “What a dreamer you are.”

The black-haired boy finally shifted his gaze upward, looking at the blue-haired student’s face.

Except, it was completely blurred. The stranger's entire face was a shifting mass of static—the edges softening, fading, and warping as if reality itself were actively trying to forget his existence.

But even through the surreal distortion, the black-haired boy could still see the warm, genuine smiling expression behind the blur, like the blur never truly existed to begin with.

***

“Gasp!”

Noa sat up in a wild panic, his torso flying forward as his eyes snapped open.

The moment he regained consciousness, a wave of agony bloomed in every single corner of his battered body, forcing a groan from his throat.

What the hell was that? A dream? He gritted his teeth. A shitty one at that.

“You’re awake!” A cheerful, high-pitched voice echoed right beside his ear.

Noa flinched, turning his head. A young girl stood next to the bed. She had bright pink hair tied up into bouncing twin-tails, and her vibrant blue eyes shone with a light that seemed brighter than the flickering candle resting on the bedside table.

A massive, energetic smile played on her lips—a look entirely too bright for the dim, dreary room they were in. She wore a simple dress crafted from cheap fabric, and a pair of slightly worn leather boots.

“Hey, mister, why aren’t you saying anything?” She waved her small hand rapidly back and forth in front of his face, tilting her head. “Did you hit your head when you fell down?”

“…No,” Noa muttered, his voice cracking as he looked away from her intense stare. “Just a bad dream.”

“A bad dream?” The girl nodded her head earnestly, her twin-tails swaying. “I sometimes have those too! You should always pray to a god before sleeping if you don’t want to have bad dreams.”

Noa blinked, staring at the ceiling. Pray to a god? I’m not sure I believe in one of those.

“Oh my, he’s finally awake?”

The sound of a creaking door drew his attention away from the girl. A mature woman entered the small room, her long, rich brown hair falling elegantly down below her hips, her warm brown eyes framed softly by a set of neat curtain bangs.

Her appearance was ordinary, yet undeniably beautiful, carrying a quiet, grounded gravity that seemed to anchor the entire room. She looked to be perhaps ten years older than Noa.

“Where… am I?” Noa asked, his voice a low rasp as he finally looked down to inspect his own body.

White bandages were wrapped tightly around his chest, arms, and injured torso, holding his broken skin together. A bowl of steaming food rested on a wooden table across from the bed next to a clean glass of clear water, and he could feel the cooling sensation of a small, wet cloth resting over his forehead to keep his fever down.

...They treated me?

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