The splash was cold, heavy, and reeked of iron and mold.
Allen, Bram, and the purple-haired boy hit the knee-deep subterranean pool at the bottom of the chasm together, sent skidding through the filthy water by the sheer velocity of their jump. The overseers who were already there, watching over their own group of dark elf slaves, scrambled to regain their footing, drawing their blades in a panic.
Immediately, the narrow cavern erupted into chaos.
The purple-haired boy lunged forward, swinging his borrowed broadsword in a desperate, heavy arc. He missed completely, the weight of the raw steel throwing him off balance.
"Keep your grip lower on the hilt, brat!" Allen shouted, parrying a sword strike from his right and casually shoving the guard back. "If you swing like you're swinging a pickaxe, you'll break your own wrists!"
"Mind your own business!" the boy snapped, ducking under a spear thrust. He ignored the advice, trying to force his way through with raw speed, but his foot slipped against the slick stones beneath the water.
Nearby, Bram was having an even worse time. He held his stolen spear like a wooden club, flailing wildly as a seasoned guard pressed him hard. "How do you even aim this stupid stick?!" Bram yelled, stumbling backward.
In desperation, as the guard lunged forward, Bram planted the butt of the spear into the mud and let the man's own charging momentum drive his chest directly onto the iron tip. The spear bit deep. The guard gasped, blood spraying across the water before he collapsed.
Bram yanked the shaft free, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Okay... that works."
Allen, meanwhile, was fighting like a man enjoying a casual stroll.
"Hey, ugly!" Allen called out to a guard rushing him. "Your stance is wider than Crass's waistline!"
The guard roared in rage, lunging blindly. As soon as the man got close, Allen brought his boot down into the filthy water, splashing a heavy wave of mud and grit straight into the guard's eyes. The guard shrieked, clutching his face—and Allen calmly thrust his sword forward, running him clean through the throat.
"You have no shame!" another overseer screamed from across the pool, horrified. "Fighting dirty like a dog!"
"You're enslaving kids and forcing dark elves to mine!" Allen shouted back, wiping blood off his cheek. "You don't get to talk to me about shame!"
He glanced sideways, watching the purple-haired boy fumble through another exchange, and filed something away. The kid has the basics already... he just needs to read what's coming instead of swinging blind.
"Keep them off-balance!" Allen called over the noise. "Stay moving! A calm mind beats a rattled one every time—so rattle them!"
"How?!" the boy yelled back.
"Talk! Taunt! Say something that gets under their skin!" Allen grinned, ducking under a strike. "Everything's fair in love and war, my friend!"
(Fight like him...?) the boy thought, grimacing.
"Don't call me your friend," the boy muttered under his breath.
As a guard pressed him into a tight corner, the boy didn't try to overpower him with steel. Instead, he brought his boot down, kicking a spray of muddy water straight into the guard's face—exact as Allen had done.
The guard flinched, blinded. Taking a breath to calm his racing heart, the purple-haired boy remembered Allen's words: (A calm mind is stronger than a riled-up one. Taunt the heck out of them.)
The boy smirked, leaning in close to the blinded guard. "Your mother raises pigs, but somehow you turned out worse."
The sheer, absurd audacity of the line echoed across the subterranean cavern.
For a single second, the entire battle froze. Overseers stopped mid-swing. The guard attacking him stood paralyzed in utter shock. Even the dark elf slaves watching from the upper ledge blinked in total bewilderment, wondering who this kid was.
Allen burst out laughing, parrying a blow without even looking. "HA! Nice one, kid!"
Meanwhile, Bram was backed against the rock wall by a towering overseer wielding a notched spear. The man twirled his weapon with theatrical flair, grinning arrogantly. "I am the strongest spear user in these mines, boy! Prepare to witness true—"
Bram didn't wait for him to finish his speech. While the man was boasting, Bram simply stepped forward and thrust his spear straight into the guard's chest.
The overseer barely managed to bring his shaft down in time to block it, stumbling back with wide eyes. "You filthy cheat—!"
"Yeah, I knew listening to you was a bad idea," Bram grunted, throwing his weight into a follow-up strike.
High above on the ledge, Crass peered over the drop, his face purple with rage as he watched his men falling into the red-stained water. "I can't wait anymore!" Crass roared, raising his boots to jump down.
"BOSS! DON'T JUMP!" three overseers frantically tackled Crass from behind, grabbing his belt and pulling him back.
In the back ranks, two guards whispered to each other. (Man... if he dropped from this height, it would've been a massive splash...)
Crass coughed violently, shoving his men off him, and leaned over the railing to scream down into the pit: "KEEP THEM THERE! IF THEY ESCAPE BEFORE I GET DOWN THERE, I'LL KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!" He turned on his heel and began sprinting down the winding stairs.
Far away from the blood and mud of the pit...
Chloe and the old dark elf elder were hurrying through a pitch-black, twisting tunnel.
"Do you even know where we're going?!" Chloe asked, her voice echoing in the gloom as she caught her breath.
"Not a clue!" the elder admitted freely, leaning on his wooden staff. "But as long as we keep following the sound of clashing metal, we'll get there eventually!"
Chloe sighed, following him as they took turn after turn through the subterranean labyrinth. They rounded another sharp corner—and suddenly, Chloe's foot stepped into empty air.
The ground beneath her vanished into absolute darkness.
"Ah—!"
Chloe screamed as she plummeted into the abyss, her vision spinning wildly—until the dark world around her suddenly froze, shattering like glass.
A bizarre figure wearing a tall, crooked top hat floated into her view, holding a teacup with what appeared to be floating, empty gloves, speaking with theatrical grandeur.
"Well, well, well! I think that's quite enough for today, don't you think?!" the Mad Hatter announced, twirling his floating eyes.
Chloe blinked, realizing the illusion. "You... why did you show me all of that?! And how do you even know what was happening on Allen's side?!"
The Hatter took a slow sip from his cup, grinning wildly, and then throwing the cup away. "My dear girl, one must simply fill in the blanks of a story to entertain the audience! Am I right? Besides, if you had moved your butt and stayed with them, I wouldn't have had to make up my own version! So really, the fault is entirely yours!"
The Hatter cackled. "So, how did you like my additions? I hope that made the story fun for you—you know, before the whole shit hits the roof!"
"You—!" Chloe gritted her teeth. "Did you stop because you gave up on breaking me?!"
"Perish the thought!" the Hatter scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Someone is simply waking you up out there. And as I told you before—though your tiny brain probably forgot—I can only chat with you while you're unconscious. So... bye-bye!"
"Wait! Will you be back—?!"
"Chloe! Chloe, wake up!"
Lilian's voice broke through the haze. Chloe slowly opened her one remaining eye, her vision clearing to see Lilian hovering over her inside the wooden shed, gently shaking her shoulders.
"Good! You're awake!" Lilian breathed a massive sigh of relief. "Come on, sit up. You need to eat."
As Lilian helped her lean forward, a sharp sting flared through Chloe's chest. She winced, holding her breath.
"Are you alright?" Lilian asked gently, supporting her back.
"My... my mind is a complete mess," Chloe muttered, rubbing her temples. Outside the shed, loud metal thuds and Shiri's rough voice barking orders echoed across the grounds. "What's happening out there?"
Lilian smiled faintly, handing her a steaming wooden bowl. "Well... you could say we're doing some renovations."
"Renovations...?"
"Here, drink this," Lilian said. "Shiri made it himself using herbs we managed to scavenge from outside the ruins."
"Outside...?" Chloe took a small sip. The soup was surprisingly warm and rich.
"Yes," Lilian nodded, rubbing her chin. "We've officially set up a permanent outpost."
Chloe looked down at the broth, then looked up at Lilian. "What about Kairo...? Did his party reach their destination?"
Lilian tilted her head, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Well... probably..."
"...HELL NO!"
Far away across the land, a desperate shout shattered the quiet field.
The trade caravan—pulled by giant silver-furred spiders—was completely stuck in the middle of a massive, waterlogged mud pit. The spiders' long legs were submerged up to their joints, and the heavy wooden wheels of the wagon were buried past the rims, causing the entire carriage to tilt dangerously to one side.
High on the slanted roof of the caravan, Onyx stood vigilant, dark shadow lance in hand. Inside the tilted cabin, Claymond sat with a dead-pan, serious expression while Varen offered a strained, deeply nervous smile.
Outside in the pouring rain, Theo and Fallon stood ankle-deep in the thick sludge, looking up at a nearby muddy mound.
A massive gang of grinning, heavily armed bandits stood atop the ridge, weapons drawn, looking down at the helpless caravan like vultures eyeing a feast.
Kairo stood near the rear wheel, wiping wet mud off his coat, staring up at the bandits with a long, exhausted sigh.
"This is gonna be a long journey..."
To be continued...