Chapter 114

It turned out that even the strangest things still followed certain basic rules—at least in the normal world.

Then again, what even counted as a normal world? Kraft had no particularly commendable understanding of it; if he wasn’t dreaming, could a world where a “person” could vanish into thin air and reappear behind him really be called normal?

But this ability clearly didn’t come with any enhanced vitality or resurrection effects—the hunched attacker still obeyed the principle that the brain couldn’t function once embedded with iron shards.

Kraft sidestepped Yin Feng, his left arm hanging limp, and approached the fallen enemy, kicked the dagger from his grip, and brought down another hammer blow to his sunken, moldy-pumpkin-like skull, ensuring he wouldn’t wake again.

His left shoulder wound had worsened from overexertion, and the slash on his waist restricted his power; driven by irrational fear of insufficient force, he struck the corpse several more times until Yin Feng’s uncomfortable cough made him realize the man’s upper body now bore a startling resemblance to ground meat.

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To ensure both of them could still enjoy this meal in the years ahead, he ought to stop now, lest he provoke even worse associations.

“You’ve been a tremendous help,” he said while holding the weapon still smeared with unknown substances—his appearance hardly matched the words. He wiped the hammer head casually on the attacker’s clothes; they wouldn’t be complaining anymore.

With all targets down, the adrenaline-fueled energy drained from his body, replaced swiftly by exhaustion and dread; it had been that close—if not for Yin Feng’s bold move, he’d likely already be personally verifying whether heaven existed.

He immediately realized he shouldn’t be praising her for doing well, but considering whether this scene might harm a child psychologically.

“You know they got what they deserved,” Kraft flipped each corpse over, observing Yin Feng’s reaction.

She merely frowned, pressed a hand to her mouth, and coughed—a dry, sour, throat-irritating sound—appearing only slightly nauseated, far from the terrified girl he’d imagined.

In some ways, she was even better off than he was; he wasn’t sure how many more glances at those sunken, scattered features he could take before vomiting.

Yin Feng didn’t need comforting. She pinched the wooden hilt of the dagger between two fingers, wiped the blood from its damp, rusted surface, and said, “Thank you. I know.”

When this too-young colleague arrived, Kraft had privately questioned Kraft’s intentions—but her insensitivity to the loss of normal human form and consciousness suggested something deeper behind her.

He didn’t want to know the specifics of this desensitization process; if anyone asked why he disliked dreaming, he wouldn’t answer.

“Go check on Peter? I saw him get stabbed.” Kraft leaned against the bed’s edge, tentatively touching his lower back—the blood hadn’t fully stopped.

His body felt no warmth after exertion; instead, his fingertips grew cold. The loss of warm bodily fluid took far more than just body heat.

The captured woman had long since fled; only three living people remained. If no action was taken, by morning there’d be only two.

Yin Feng placed her fingers beneath Peter’s nose, waited a few seconds, then nodded to Kraft and turned to examine his back wound.

Fibers of the coarse cloth had tangled inside the wound, sticking and knotting; she tugged twice, then decisively abandoned the futile attempt, drawing the dagger to cut the clothing away.

The weapon seemed already regarded by her as a trophy, like certain bird species that instinctively carry off small objects of interest.

“I don’t know. If he pulls through, maybe he’ll be okay?”

Kraft didn’t want to stand. He glanced from afar at the torn-back wound and thought the girl handled things efficiently. Peter’s wound still bled, but not in a gushing torrent—thankfully, he hadn’t bled out yet.

“Wrap a bandage around his waist—tighten it well.” The spot near his spine, he vaguely recalled from training, housed vital organs—if injured, disaster followed. He pondered a moment: was it the kidneys?

It didn’t help; the instruction had only covered protection, not treatment. Bandaging had to be done by Yin Feng.

His assessment: if Peter survived tonight, he’d make it to morning. Then let Kraft come see if there was still a chance.

No, that wasn’t right. Kraft suddenly sensed the paradox—if he’d been attacked like this, then Kraft and William’s side would face far more than this.

…

…

“Run!”

Kraft yanked William, who had just snapped out of his daze, staring blankly at the faces rising one after another like bubbles from the darkness, his hand unconsciously reaching to touch them.

Had he not been awakened, he’d probably have kissed one.

Without another word, William sprinted after Kraft, both of them racing through the gray-white cavern.

“Can you send us back?” William’s soul nearly fled his body; if the previous place had been hell, this one now exceeded his knowledge entirely. “Shouldn’t that digging thing be gone by now?”

“No, I need time!” The man holding the torch turned sharply around a wide bend, gasping between breaths. “Watch your step!”

William leapt reflexively over a transverse stone threshold shaped like intestinal folds, hidden in tangled shadows, waiting to deliver its final lesson to the unwary: always watch your footing.

As he landed, a pebble struck his toe—through his boot, it felt like his toe had broken. “Ow!”

“Can’t you try now?”

“Can you read a sea chart while running?” Kraft retorted. Wasting precious breath during escape was playing with death.

“If you get me out of here, I might consider it!” The captain gripped his belt—the frantic leap had loosened it, and his pants kept sliding down his belly, the cold wind chilling his navel.

Kraft ignored him. The needle-like headache still pierced behind his skull, spreading toward his forehead and behind his nose. The cavern’s confined space intensified the claustrophobia; running at full speed felt like crawling through an endless, stitched-together tunnel.

The numb flight became more agonizing when a fork appeared ahead—intersecting paths, another tunnel slanting through as if rotated and returning to the original mine shaft.

But Kraft clearly remembered it wasn’t like that; they’d been moving away from the mine. This was a different junction.

Ahead, he saw white impurities rising from the dark: flat nasal ridges emerged, extending pale, supple white far paler than the gray rock, and several unfamiliar local faces smiled faintly at them.

“Left!” Kraft decisively turned left.

He didn’t know what lay left, but it seemed slightly uphill—better than continuing downward.

“Wait… wait for me…”

The uphill path grew harder. William panted desperately, but the terror of facing those pale, broad faces unlocked a latent strength his youth had never possessed, keeping him close to the torch ahead.

As long as there was a sliver of hope, no one wanted their own face among them.

Thus, the hellish race gained a bonus leg. The two front-runners squeezed every alveolus until they tasted rust in their breath, deciding that if they couldn’t gain enough distance, they might as well spend their last strength pondering how to die with dignity.

When they finally halted on this endless uphill stretch, only uneven gasps and coughs remained in the cavern—the clattering of chitinous limbs had receded.

Kraft lit a second torch and handed it to William. The expanding light circle showed no sign of the faces.

“Are we… safe for now?” William wiped his damp face with his sleeve. “Should we try your ‘magic’? I’ve decided—I’d rather be crushed to death.”

“I disagree.” The young “wizard” shook his head, pressing his hand on William’s shoulder, closing his eyes and gripping something inside his sleeve. William guessed this was the prelude to casting—a ritual like the wizards in legends who chanted before their spells.

But Kraft needed no incantation. Did that mean his skill was higher?

“Damn it!” A curse shattered the idle speculation. The hand on William’s shoulder released, and for the first time, confusion and alarm dominated Kraft’s expression.

“That’s not right—we have no opening above us.”