Chapter 282

"Catch him!"

The guard captain's hoarse voice exploded in the darkness.

Teresa's green eyes glimmered faintly in the dark, clearly seeing the slave ahead trying to flee.

He was a thin boy, his ankles already raw and bleeding from the iron chains, yet he still ran desperately forward.

Teresa felt her heart pounding against her throat; she instinctively stepped back, nearly tripping over the chain beneath her feet.

At that moment, a bony but strong hand seized her wrist.

"Don't move."

Quinna's voice sounded beside her ear, low and calm.

"Ahh—"

The whip cracked through the air; the fleeing boy let out a piercing scream.

Not just him.

Teresa saw guards swinging spiked whips, lashing brutally at slaves who tried to resist.

Blood sprayed; the air reeked of rust-like iron and piercing wails.

"Close your eyes," Quinna whispered.

But Teresa couldn't—her single eye saw too clearly in the dark—she saw a guard raising his whip, walking toward them.

"What are you staring at? You want a lash too!? You two cursed bastards!"

Just as the whip was about to fall, Quinna moved.

Though frail and gaunt, she moved like a swift cat, yanking Teresa sideways—the whip sliced the ground where they'd stood.

"Tch! Fast little dodgers!"

Teresa heard the guard curse, but Quinna had already dragged her into the shadows at the rear of the line.

"Miss Quinna… thank you," Teresa murmured, lips pressed tight.

Without her, I'd already been whipped.

"Your eyes?"

But Quinna ignored her thanks, instead lowering her voice to ask: "Can you see clearly in the dark?"

Teresa hesitated, then nodded.

The next moment, she saw a flicker of unusual light in Quinna's eyes.

The guards' roars gradually faded; all fleeing slaves had been recaptured.

Teresa faintly heard them discussing giving the escapees "special treatment"; her stomach twisted.

"Don't be afraid."

Quinna patted her shoulder, whispering: "We won't stay here forever."

Her voice carried a resolve Teresa couldn't understand.

"Remember, no matter what happens, never reveal your ability."

Teresa didn't know what it meant, but silently nodded.

As the line moved forward, the torches grew fewer, the light gradually shifting to dim bioluminescent plants.

When the last ember of torchlight vanished into a crack in the rock, she saw dark purple moss on the stone walls slowly writhing.

She had never told anyone but Quinna that she possessed this night vision.

The caravan guards' boots crushed a glowing slug; its luminescent fluid splashed onto the bare ankle of a nearby slave, glittering like stardust, making him gasp.

They had been moved from their previous location, heading toward the caravan master's trading destination.

The Shadowed Realm.

No—they had already entered the region of the Shadowed Realm.

The cavern's interior was pitch-black, blind as night, with only faint glimmers far off.

That light did not come from the sun outside, but from the cavern's unique bioluminescent plants.

These plants had bizarre forms: some twisted like vines, others like giant mushrooms.

Their surfaces were coated in a faint glow, shifting between eerie blue and sickly green, as if born from the depths of hell.

The bioluminescent glow swayed in the dark, casting strange shadows that seemed like countless eyes watching from the shadows.

The air reeked of damp mildew and an indescribable rot, sending chills down the spine.

The ground beneath their feet was uneven, littered with slippery stones and unknown plant debris; every step required caution, as if they might sink into some unknown abyss at any moment.

Deep in the cavern, occasional low hums echoed—like some creature whispering in the dark, or wind moaning through narrow rock fissures.

The sound came and went, as if luring one deeper, yet filling the heart with dread.

Occasionally, ancient symbols and patterns could be seen on the cavern walls, but in this sinister environment, they looked like cursed marks, too dreadful to stare at long.

Even for cultivators, this was a terrifying place requiring vigilance.

For a village girl raised in the countryside, such a place existed only in legends.

Rumors said it harbored dreadful shadow creatures, elves with dark skin, even dragons that manipulated shadows!

In most tales, the Shadowed Realm was synonymous with evil—each time, one of its races had launched an assault upon the surface.

Burning, killing, looting, committing every atrocity.

And the truth was much the same, little different.

What fate awaited these slaves?

Even Teresa, a simple village girl, could imagine it.

The more she imagined, the more fear gripped her.

If sold to other humans, these slaves might suffer cruel treatment, but still had a chance to survive.

But if they were really sold to those inhuman races, to those monsters' hands...

Then their future, apart from endless labor, might also end buried in the monsters' jaws, becoming their food!

That kind of cruel future was simply too terrifying for her!

And to distract herself, to keep from letting her thoughts run wild, she chose to count.

"One, two... seventeen."

The torch's last halo flickered between the rock walls; Teresa watched her shadow shatter into seventeen pieces among the stalactites.

The iron chain rubbed against her wrist with every movement, sending waves of burning pain, leaving her mind somewhat dazed.

She looked once more at the slaves on the other side, trying to continue using counting to distract her spirit.

"One, two..."

"Sigh, enough, stop counting."

Behind her, Quinna's hoarse voice mingled with the light clink of chains, carrying a note of helplessness: "Your counting is giving me a headache."

Teresa turned her head to look. Beneath Quinna's tattered linen prison garb, her gaunt shoulder blades rose and fell with each step, as if the bones might pierce through the skin at any moment.

This woman who claimed to come from the northern lands seemed to be a warrior, only reduced to her current consumptive appearance because of a curse.

And although Quinna very much wanted Teresa to call her "sister," the village girl did not agree.

"Miss Quinna, did I disturb you?" Teresa lowered her head apologetically.

Quinna shook her head and said helplessly, "No, no, I just got a bit tired of listening."

Because of the curse they bore, the two were deliberately separated from the slave column, but not placed at the very end—instead they were sandwiched in the middle, with an empty gap both ahead and behind.

Because there were quite a few slaves, the column did not advance quickly.

That mysterious owner of the caravan also remained seated inside the carriage the whole time, never showing his face.

"Don't be thinking about escaping! You won't succeed! I absolutely will not let you run away!"

Swish—Crack!

The whip's crack tore through the silence, lashing across the slave who had fallen behind, splitting flesh and leaving streak after streak of bloody welts.

"These fellows are your example."

"Move faster, or I'll whip you to death—"

Suddenly, the guard captain's rolling curse in his throat jammed.

The entire caravan was as if pressed into a pool of asphalt by an invisible hand; even the clashing of chains was swallowed clean by the darkness.

"Lights out!"

The guard captain squeezed two syllables through his teeth, a rare tremor in his voice.

Teresa saw the bulging veins on his neck pulsing.

Trembling.

That was an irresistible physiological response, like the instinctive fear of a herbivore hearing a predator sharpening its claws.

"Put away all the torches! For this stretch ahead, we must pass through carefully!"

Hiss, hiss, hiss—

The rest of the caravan reacted swiftly; the hissing of torches being pressed into mud rose one after another.

The slaves didn't know what had happened ahead—only that as the torchlight dwindled, the fear in their hearts swelled ever larger.

Teresa was the same, not knowing what was about to happen.

At that moment, Quinna suddenly tightened her grip on Teresa's wrist and traced quickly across her palm: "Shadow Bat nest."

Shadow Bats?

Unfortunately, although the other had told her what lay ahead, as a village girl of limited experience, she didn't know what this actually meant.

Teresa only roughly understood that these guards, who had been swaggering before the slaves, had also encountered a monster that inspired fear in them.

As she was thinking, the sound of liquid dripping came from ahead.

Not water droplets hitting the ground, but the motion of some sticky substance hanging down from the cave ceiling.

Teresa's night vision grew clearer instead in the absolute darkness; she raised her head and saw, among the stalactite clusters hanging ahead, countless spindle-shaped black shadows suspended upside down.

Those creatures had no skin; dark purple fascia wrapped streamlined bodies, and where a head should be split open into three rings of jagged teeth.

Were those the Shadow Bats?

Strangely, this usually timid village girl, upon seeing such creatures, unexpectedly did not feel afraid.

A moment later, after all the torchlight was extinguished and the guards finished their various preparations, the area around the column fell into complete darkness—even the carriage's lamps were put out.

Teresa didn't know how the others felt, but when she found herself in the darkness, she actually felt considerably more at ease.

The guards smeared some special liquid on their eyelids, and after a moment they seemed to gain brief night vision.

Only this night vision was not strong—it seemed to grant them only a dim, vague ability to see.

"No one is to make noise, no one is to produce any light!"

The guard captain of the slave caravan growled in a low voice:

"These beasts have fed. As long as we don't make any light, they won't attack us."

"If I catch anyone making any light, don't blame me for being rude."

No one knew whether his threat actually worked; in the darkness even the guards couldn't make out every expression on the slaves' faces.

The guard captain walked to the very front of the column, picked up the lead chain, and dragged the people behind him forward.

"Stay close behind me, no one falls behind!"

Just as the column slowly advanced through the darkness, when most thought they were about to pass safely through this stretch... a sharp crack of a chain snapping came from the rear of the column.

Snap.

Teresa's single eye contracted sharply—in the absolute darkness where ordinary people could see nothing, she saw three hunched figures sawing through their shackles with sharpened finger bones.

The damp air carried the smell of blood — the "tool" some prisoner had obtained by gnawing through his own wrist.

!!!

Teresa's body jolted; she realized what was about to happen…

Someone was going to take advantage of the darkness to escape!

The battle erupted in an instant.

"Ah!!!"

When the first slave drove a broken rib through a guard's ankle, Teresa was being pulled by Quinna flat against the rock wall.

Hot drops of blood spattered across the patch over her single eye; through the blood-soaked silk she saw a section of the prisoner line suddenly blow apart into countless fragments.

Boom!

And in that instant of explosion, firelight burst forth!

Fwshhhhh—

The light startled the colony of shadow bats overhead!

Thousands of enormous bats plummeted from above, rushing toward the firelight.

"Here they come."

And just as panic set in, Quinna behind her suddenly seized Teresa's wrist; her dry, cracked lips moved, yet her voice was taut as a drawn bowstring.

What is she going to do?

Quinna's withered fingers gripped the chain at Teresa's wrist, the force wedged precisely into the gap where the links joined.

Crack!

Then Teresa felt her wrist suddenly grow lighter.

Only now did Teresa see clearly that what was lodged under the woman's fingernails was not grime at all, but some kind of dark-silver metal filings.

"Ahhhhh—"

The next instant, as the shadow bats' shrill shrieks tore through the air above, Quinna had already dragged her down flat against the ground.

"Damn it! No one runs!"

The whip's crack exploded overhead, but it struck empty air — it didn't lash them.

But a second later, he was targeted by the shadow bats.

"No, no! No!!!"

"You damned monsters, stay away from me! Don't come any closer!"

"Ahhhh—"

His resistance was futile; soon came the sounds of chewing and devouring.

In the darkness, Teresa saw the glowing slime on that guard's tall boots — the crushed luminescent slug's juices had exposed his position!

Someone's dead.

This wasn't Teresa's first time seeing a dead person, but it was the first time someone had died in front of her.

Compared to fear, a strange flutter of excitement flickered through her heart.

It was… excitement.

Excitement?

Why am I excited?

Just as she was puzzling, somewhat bewildered, over why she felt such an emotion… she suddenly felt a gust of wind rushing toward her.

She turned her head and saw, just in time, an enormous black shadow hurtling toward her!

"What!?"

At the very end of her consciousness, she heard Quinna's anxious shout.

"Watch out!!!"

Darkness fell before Teresa's eyes.

"Hsss…"

When Herbert regained consciousness, he found himself already standing on the surface ground of the monastery.

Sunlight filtered through the monastery's stained glass and fell across his face, warm and gentle, giving him an unreal feeling.

As if everything that had happened before was nothing more than an absurd dream he'd had before entering the underground sanctuary.

But another sensation kept reminding him that those things were absolutely not fake — they were real.

What was it?

It was pain.

A piercing ache from the top of his head made Herbert bare his teeth.

He slowly raised a hand and gently touched the newly grown "horn" on his crown.

"Hsss!"

Right at the center of the top of his head, where he'd been struck, a small bump half a finger's height had risen…

Hey, why is the top of my head pointy?

"It's swollen…"

Herbert blinked, then gave a wry smile and shook his head.

Well then, he's truly become a little dragon-person with horns jutting from his head.

"No, wait — if there's only one horn… then I should be a unicorn!"

Herbert patted the nonexistent dust from his body while muttering complaints, then shook himself.

He bore the pain and rubbed the top of his head, and the swelling vanished in an instant.

As a "pseudo-master" well-versed in the lore of flesh and blood, such an ability was still a cinch.

The Bishop of Ashes hadn't gone for the kill either, only giving him a punishment that was neither light nor heavy.

You're messing with me, right?

Then I'll knock on your skull!

In this second bout between the two, both sides had essentially fought to a draw.

Herbert turned his head back, glancing at the long staircase behind him leading down underground, as if he could faintly make out, at the very deepest point, that tall figure who had stood quietly before the Sanctum.

He also seemed to see the Chief Inquisitor, who, just like the Wife-Waiting Stone, was waiting bitterly to continue chatting with him once he left the Bishop of Ashes.

Chief Inquisitor: Waiting, eternal waiting.

At this, Herbert fell silent for a moment, then decisively, without the slightest hesitation, without an ounce of dragging his feet, simply turned his head away.

As if he had seen nothing at all, as if he had completely forgotten the Chief Inquisitor's existence, he strode away.

What Chief Inquisitor?

Didn't see him, didn't see him, don't know.

None of my business!

Herbert had originally come out to find food to fill his stomach, but ended up being dragged off and wasting a stretch of time, and on top of that was intercepted halfway and taken away.

Your Excellency Chief Inquisitor, it's really not that I'm ignoring you—it's that you yourself didn't know how to cherish the chance.

If you had fought the Bishop of Ashes for me back then, argued your case and insisted on keeping me here, wouldn't all this trouble have been avoided?

Whatever—Herbert is hungry now, time to go eat.

And after Herbert had walked for a while in great strides and once again returned to the sunlight, he gently let out a breath.

"Huu…"

He didn't know why, but after experiencing temptation and a vast fear, he felt his mood had become inexplicably much lighter.

Between life and death lies great terror, and also great wisdom.

Although the Bishop of Ashes hadn't let Herbert feel the great terror of true death, that momentary instinctive, intense fear his body had given him still brought him a flash of insight.

"No matter what, I still have to stick to the path I've chosen."

Herbert nodded, muttering to himself: "Next time I see her, I'll behave… like hell I will."

Perhaps, this was just his own style.

Even in the most solemn moments, he couldn't help but look for a bit of fun.

Even if it cost him something for it, he felt it was worth it.

"Alright, now, time to go find my travel buddy~ Who should I take out with me this time?"

"Ah, no, no, that's wrong! I should eat first!"

(End of chapter)