Jin-Woo stood alone in the center of the bloodstained arena.
The shattered sand beneath his feet still smoked faintly from the Thought Bomb's impact. Cracked bones littered the floor like discarded relics of a forgotten war. Around him, silence lingered—thick and crushing—only broken by distant murmurs echoing from the shell-shocked crowd.
He tilted his head upward toward the royal box. His gaze tracked it carefully.
Morgan, Rey, and Padmé had already departed.
She left without looking back… Jin-Woo thought, expression unreadable behind the mask. Morgan must've calmed her down—somewhat. But Padmé… she's not stupid. She saw what I did. Not the hero she hoped I was. Just the masked executioner.
He exhaled, lowering his head.
The sound of cautious mechanical steps echoed nearby.
A protocol droid approached slowly, hands up in an exaggerated gesture of politeness. Its servos clicked with every step, voice modulator trembling as it spoke.
"Ahem—greetings, honorable… masked sir," the droid said carefully, pausing between each word like it was defusing a bomb. "I-I am here under direct instruction from the Great Jabba the Hutt. He wishes to formally invite you to his private palace in Mos Espa… to personally congratulate you on your, ah… victory."
It hesitated, internal processors clearly weighing risk versus politeness.
"However," it continued nervously, "should you… prefer to avoid such a visit… we are also authorized to deliver your… prize immediately."
The droid tilted its head, metallic optics flickering. "The Twi'lek dancer, sir. The one you requested."
Jin-Woo didn't move for a moment. Then, his voice came out low—flat and cold beneath the mask.
"Tell Jabba… I'll come. But I decide when."
The droid straightened instantly, nodding in rapid, jittery movements.
"O-Of course, sir! As you wish, sir Masked Man. The Great Jabba shall await your… glorious arrival."
It bowed—perhaps a little too deeply—before turning and scuttling back toward the outer gate, visibly relieved to still have its limbs intact.
Jin-Woo didn't speak again. Just turned, he left the arena—mask uncracked, cloak trailing in the wind, shadows curling behind him like fading smoke.
Several minutes later...
He arrived at Jabba's private palace in Mos Espa.
The structure loomed at the edge of the city, carved into sandstone and retrofitted with layers of external defense turrets, sensor scramblers, and private droid guards. As Jin-Woo stepped toward the thick blast doors leading into the entertainment zone, the guards hesitated—but moved aside without protest.
No one stopped him. Because no one dared.
Before he could enter, another figure waddled into view from a side corridor—wearing lavish silks and excessive makeup, body swaying with theatrical pomp.
Ziro the Hutt. The bloated slug's smile was thick with false charm, eyes blinking slowly as he forced his voice into a rehearsed tone of mock diplomacy.
"Ahh, sir Masked Man," Ziro drawled, hands fluttering in the air, "I… wished to personally offer some compensation… ahem—in exchange for your pr—"
He didn't get to finish. Jin-Woo walked past him. Without a glance. Without a word.
Ziro's voice trailed off awkwardly as the heavy footsteps passed. The Hutt stiffened, his smile faltering. This lunatic doesn't even see me...
Inside the entertainment zone, the air changed.
Music still played—muted and synthetic—but the room had quieted.
The dancers paused. Musicians hesitated.
Because Jabba was staring.
Seated at the far end of the chamber, slouched atop his dais, Jabba the Hutt regarded the Masked man who had single-handedly massacred ten thousand and felled Durge—the unkillable.
But Jabba wasn't thinking about that. He was staring at the twin lightsabers clipped to the Masked Man's hip.
The same weapons once wielded by Jedi. The same weapons now drenched in Caij Vanda Sr.'s blood.
If those are seen by a Jedi… Jabba thought, his massive throat convulsing with silent dread, If that evidence reaches the Jedi Council—or the Republic...
Suddenly—without ceremony—Jin-Woo moved.
From beneath his cloak, he unclipped the lightsabers ( copy ) and hurled them through the air.
The twin weapons spun end-over-end—clean, precise—and landed at Jabba's feet.
Jabba blinked. Once. Twice.The Masked Man… just gave them up? A gift—or a warning.
The Hutt's massive form trembled, in realization.. This was A. Give. And take relationship . And the terms, Jabba understood… could come later.
The Hutt slowly raised one stubby hand—and snapped his fingers.
Moments later, two guards entered the chamber, carrying a reinforced durasteel briefcase. Its sides shimmered faintly with anti-scanning insulation, the kind used only for high-value deliveries.
They laid it at Jin-Woo's feet. A protocol droid shuffled forward and spoke, its tone rehearsed but cautious.
"The Great Jabba the Hutt is a being of his word," it said, bowing. "This briefcase contains the agreed-upon payment: seven thousand peggats… and a bonus of another seven thousand peggats, offered in gratitude for the fortune the Great Jabba earned by placing his bet on you."
"Additionally, four favors—one more than originally promised—will be recorded and honored under Hutt Clan law, usable at any time… no restrictions."
Jin-Woo glanced briefly at the glowing timer displayed inside his HUD: 01:59:30 until the sandstorm swept through Mos Espa.
I should've just killed them outright, he thought flatly.
Suddenly, two more guards entered the chamber—flanking a figure that walked with silent poise.
It was the Twi'lek. ( img here )
Red-skinned, with black stripes curling around her limbs and lekku. She wore a revealing white outfit cut in dancer's fashion, adorned with minimal armor and decorative bindings. hollow behind the eyes... Fear. Confusion. Exhaustion
The protocol droid stepped forward.
"The dancer remains unnamed. She is yours, as promised."
Jin-Woo's gaze lingered on her for a moment.
She really does look like Darth Talon, he thought. Just... less ink.
"I need a room," he said plainly, turning his head toward Jabba.
Jabba grunted, waving a hand lazily.
The protocol droid nodded quickly. "At once, sir Masked Man. One of our private guest suites is being prepared for you now."
Minutes later, the room was ready. Jin-Woo stepped inside, his cloak brushing silently against the stone floor. The Twi'lek followed at a cautious distance, her eyes scanning every corner—not out of curiosity, but survival instinct.
What do I do…? she thought, hesitating just past the doorway. I doubted him once—that he could win against ten thousand people. If he wanted to, he could kill me in an instant. Or worse…
Her gaze dropped, memories flickering. Ziro's cruelty. The chains. The pain. I've been through too much already. Ever since I came back—reborn through some unknown force—I've felt nothing but confusion. Why am I alive again? Who did this? My sister… where are you…?
The door shut behind them with a soft hiss.
Jin-Woo didn't approach her. He said nothing. Instead, he reached up and removed his mask, revealing the sharp lines of his face—calm, expressionless, unreadable. Then, with a casual motion, he let his cloak slip from his shoulders, revealing the dark combat tunic beneath.
He didn't summon a weapon. Instead… he summoned warmth.
From the depths of his shadow, a tray appeared—neatly arranged Korean food, fresh and steaming. Kimchi stew. white rice. Sizzling bulgogi. A small kettle of warm barley tea. The rich aroma filled the room like a gentle tide.
Jin-Woo pulled the tray forward and sat down cross-legged beside it. He simply gestured toward the meal.
"Let's eat," he said quietly. "I don't like forcing anyone. Not right now."
The nameless Twi'lek hesitated at first—then slowly sat across from him. The warmth of the food, the quiet of the room, the absence of chains… it was surreal. Together, they ate in silence for several minutes. the sound of quiet chewing and steam rising between them.
Eventually, she looked up. "Thank you, sir…" she murmured, unsure.
Jin-Woo glanced over. "You can call me Jin-Woo," he said, reaching into his shadow.
From it, he pulled a small silver ring—elegantly engraved, bearing a crest of a crowned lion overlaid with thorns and flame. The insignia of the Purple England Company.
He placed it on the table and slid it toward her.
"You're free now. You can do whatever you want… including living as a free woman."
Her fingers hovered over the ring. Her eyes widened slightly.
"Wait," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Are you… Jin-Woo? The owner of the Purple England Company?"
Jin-Woo gave a small, amused nod. "Me and Morgan, actually," he said. "Though I'm surprised you know me."
She looked at the insignia of Purple England Company—then looked back at him. And slowly… handed the ring back. "There's probably a reason you came here," she said y. "Someone like you… you don't just give things away for free. And even if I leave now, as a free woman… what then? I have no home. No future. No purpose. My life's been nothing but pain. Chains. I shouldn't even be alive. But I was brought back by… something. And when I saw you, I felt it. A pull. Like I'm meant to be here."
Jin-Woo didn't blink. The voucher did more than just revive her, he thought. It laid the foundation. Easier allegiance. Fewer barriers. A soul bound by fate—reshaped to reach for mine.
He stood. The shadows around him stirred.
Jin-Woo voice deepened— "Do you want to stop grieving?" he asked. Do you want to break every chain that ever bound you? Do you want power? The kind no one can take away. The kind that lets you crush slavers, break fate, burn down the world if it tries to cage you again?"
Her breath caught in her throat. "I… I want to be powerful," she whispered. "I want to find my sister. Elena Daru. No matter what it takes."
Jin-Woo's gaze sharpened. "Then you'll have that power. But there's a condition."
She hesitated—only for a second. "I'll accept it," she said quickly. "Whatever it is."
Jin-Woo's eyes didn't waver. "Then become my fifth wife and future apprentice ," he said. ". In battle. In life. In death."
Her breath shuddered. Her lips parted. And then—tears welled in her eyes. .for once… someone didn't just save her. He chose her.
"…Yes," she whispered, voice cracking as the tears finally fell. "Yes. I will."
She dropped to her knees. as someone finally unshackled.
Her voice trembled again as she looked up into his eyes.
"Will you… give me a name?" she asked, her voice barely above a breath. "Please… I don't want to be called nameless again."
Jin-Woo stepped forward. His shadow cast long and endless behind him.
"I will name you Talon," he said. "The fifth wife. The one who will one day become the strongest Sith the galaxy has ever seen."
The moment the name left his lips, the room pulsed. Reality shifted.
A surge of invisible force twisted the air around her. Talon gasped as her body seized—not in pain, but awakening. Her maxi-chlorian count—previously dormant—exploded into motion. Her veins pulsed with heat and clarity as her soul aligned with her reborn destiny.
Her eyes lit up with newfound power..
Red sparks danced between her fingertips. Force Lightning—now crimson, unstable, raw . Darth Traya's Abilities , her broken philosophy… all beginning to seed inside her.
Talon pressed one hand to her heart and the other to the floor in a vow.
"…Thank you, my master. My love," she said. "I'll never forget what you've given me. for eternity."
Jin-Woo Only Nodded
Then— Ping.
A familiar sound.
His system flared to life. Blue interface lights shimmered faintly across the air in front of him, lines of glowing data scrolling past.
''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
[Notification: Prime Quest Completed]
Quest Title:The First Apprentice
Status:Completed
Hidden Objectives:Fulfilled
Objective:
Locate the unknown Twi'lek slave known as Elena Daru's twin sister. Presumed dead—revived due to your rupture in space-time.
Liberate her from Jabba the Hutt.
Guide her through the path of Force manipulation, rebirth, and dominion.
Name her: Talon.
Hidden Objective Fulfilled:
Kill Durge, the "unkillable" bounty hunter—whose existence was a buried contingency set to appear during the Clone Wars.
Make a galaxy-wide spectacle: defeating 10,000 combatants in full view of Hutt Clan, underworld syndicates, and hidden Republic observers.
Receive full submission and allegiance from your chosen apprentice, bypassing all psychological manipulation or coercion.
Gift her the name Talon before the system required it—creating a direct emotional imprint.
Wield a unique shadow construct (All Darkness Monarch Sword) In honor Odin's Arm of Darkness—binding fear into memory.
Main Reward:
Starforge Core Components (Required to complete the incomplete Starforge within the Shadow Monarch's domain)
Hidden Rewards:
Skill: Sleipnir Summon (FFXVI Variant): A six-legged or eight legged, obsidian-armored steed wreathed in stormlight. Bound only to monarch command.
Item: Premium Gacha Voucher x2
Trait: [Prodigy of Obedience] – Talon's Force learning speed is boosted by 300%. Immune to mental coercion, resistant to fear, gains +400% experience in real combat.
Title: The Cruel Masked Man – Feared and respected across criminal and political sectors. Reputation effect: Any Character with cowardice <40% will freeze upon direct presence.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Jin-Woo slowly closed the glowing status window with a flick of two fingers.