NARUTO: The Saga of Crimson Monarch

The air was cold and heavy under the cloudy night sky. Ares sat by a small campfire with his companion's, the faint crackling of the flames the only sound in the stillness of the forest. He stared into the dancing fire, its flickering light reflecting the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. The shadows of the trees around him seemed to reach out like specters, a reminder of the life he once led—a life filled with blood and death.

Ares' hand unconsciously tightened around the hilt of his blade, resting beside him. His journey had been long, stretching across lands filled with people of different cultures, environments, and ways of life. Yet, no matter how far he traveled, his past followed him like an unshakable shadow.

"I've seen so much," he muttered to himself, his voice low and weary. "New faces, new lives, new dreams... yet I can't forget the mountain of corpses I've left behind."

The memories were vivid, etched into his mind like scars on his body. He remembered the screams of bandits as they fell under his blade, their sins written across their faces. He wasn't a bloodthirsty demon who relished in killing—he never killed for sport or pleasure. But when someone crossed the line, when their sins weighed too heavily, he became their executioner.

"I don't even remember their faces anymore, same as my past life memories" Ares murmured, his voice almost a whisper. "How many have I killed? How many sins have I devoured to send them to rest?"

He closed his eyes, the flickering firelight turning the darkness of his mind into a battlefield of flashing blades, blood, and tears. The weight of his past actions bore down on him like an iron chain, and for a moment, he felt like he was suffocating under the memory of their screams.

"But that's over," he said firmly, forcing his eyes open. "That's not who I am anymore."

Ares had sworn to change. He was no longer a man who killed indiscriminately. His blade was now reserved for those who truly deserved it—the wicked, the corrupt, and those who preyed upon the weak. And even then, he didn't act without cause.

His thoughts drifted back to earlier days on his journey. He had stumbled upon villages plagued by bandits—homes burned, families torn apart, and children left orphaned. Ares had stepped in, not as a savior but as a force of reckoning. He had slaughtered the bandits, showing them no mercy. For their sins, he devoured them, carrying the weight of their deeds so that the villagers could live in peace.

But it wasn't all death and blood. Ares had found beauty in the world, too. He had marveled at the vibrant markets of small towns, where merchants bartered with smiles and laughter. He had sat with elders who shared stories of their ancestors, painting vivid pictures of a time long forgotten. He had watched children chase each other through fields, their laughter ringing like bells in the air.

"Not everything is darkness," Ares muttered, his lips curling into a faint smile.

Yet, the darkness always seemed to find him.

One evening, he had come across a group of bandits terrorizing a defenseless family on a dirt road. The father had been beaten bloody, the mother dragged by her hair, and the children screaming for help. Ares had arrived like a phantom, his blade gleaming in the dying light.

The fight had been quick but brutal. Ares didn't hesitate. The bandits' sins were written all over their actions, and he delivered judgment without remorse. Blood soaked the ground, and when it was over, the family stood trembling, their savior cloaked in crimson shadow.

"Thank you," the father had said, his voice shaking.

Ares had only nodded, sheathing his sword. "Stay safe and live a better life," he had replied before disappearing into the night.

Now, as he sat by the campfire, Ares couldn't help but wonder if his actions had truly made a difference. The faces of the grateful villagers and the joyful children replayed in his mind, battling against the memories of blood and death.

His thoughts were interrupted by a rustling in the bushes. Instinctively, Ares reached for his sword, his senses sharpening like a blade. A figure emerged—a lone traveler, their hands raised in a gesture of peace.

"I mean no harm," the traveler said, their voice trembling. "I saw the fire and thought I might join you for warmth."

Ares hesitated for a moment before lowering his weapon. "Come," he said simply, motioning to the fire.

The traveler sat across from him, their eyes wary. "You're not from around here, are you?" as he see Ares and his pet puppy dog resting

"No," Ares replied, staring into the flames. "I'm just passing through."

The traveler nodded, falling silent. For a while, they simply sat there, the fire crackling between them.

"You've seen a lot, haven't you?" the traveler finally asked, their voice hesitant.

Ares chuckled darkly and smirked. "More than I care to admit."

The traveler didn't press further, sensing the weight in Ares' words.

As the night deepened, Ares leaned back, gazing at the cloudy sky. His journey was far from over, and he knew the road ahead would be fraught with challenges. But for now, he allowed himself a moment of quiet, the fire's warmth a small comfort against the coldness of the past.

In the stillness of the forest, Ares made a silent vow: he would continue to help those in need, to bring light to the darkest corners of the world. And though the shadow of his past loomed over him, he would carry it with strength, using it as a reminder of the man he had chosen to become.