Chris sat against the room corner with knees clenched close. He had not been spoken to by anyone after that interview. He had gone pale with black circles around the eyes.
From time to time, a loaf of moldy bread and an ale-pitcher of water were cast into the dungeon. His eyes grew blank, but anger spawned of his insatiable hunger continued to smolder within.
He had only spoken with that ominous voice for these days, relating tales of Earth. He barely moved his mouth by the tenth day—words jammed up before they could escape from his lips.
He looked at the System window, thought: Can I withstand a while longer if I invest points in Endurance?
Then there was a loud whistle across the room. Chris clenched fists over his ears as the dungeon trembled. From outside there were the crashing of boots and yelling. One after another, the figures of guards ran towards the door.
A booming voice thundered across the dungeon, echoing in his head:
"Enemies are approaching. All of you to the walls. Two of you will guard the dungeon door!"
The words literally imprinted upon his mind. Chris's expression brightened. He trembled and got up from the bed, holding onto the wall.
Spend 5 skill points on Endurance, 5 on Agility, 10 on Strength.
His body complied. His limbs and body ceased their shaking but felt heavy, as if they were full of lead.
Chris threw himself on the floor and attempted to look beneath the door. Down the hallway, the footsteps disappeared, leaving only gray wet walls.
Another explosion. Dust streamed out of the ceiling, cracks appeared in the stone. The door creaked and trembled.
He took hold of the vacant pail, folded it over like a wedge, and kicked at it against the door. It moved an inch. Another inch and it could swing open— but that next inch was out of the question.
Chris walked the cell, thoughts racing through scenarios. He would have no second chance.
Another detonation boomed outside the door of the dungeon. Further cracks spread throughout the walls. The doorframe dropped. Chris rushed at the door and kicked at the door with every bit of strength he had.
Then out of the narrow passage appeared the face of a guard. White-faced, holding his side with one hand, blood leaking between his fingers.
He forced a hoarse smile. "Sorry. I won't be able to release you even if the dungeon falls. It's my job…"
A thought cut through Chris: He's dying… and grinning. He won't back down, not even now.
He panted for breath, then went on:
My strength has left me. I will hold the door.
He took out the wedge Chris had placed in the lock and spun around, sitting with his back against the door.
Chris was paralyzed by shock. Before him was a man who might die on the job. Loyalty he did not understand.
They tortured me. They shackled me. It's not time for pity.
He trembled with resistance. Nonetheless, he moved another step towards the door. Gazing through the crack he noticed the guard's sword and key at his belt.
The man's breath faltered. Chris stretched out tentatively, as if not to wake a sleeper, and released the keys.
The lock was too high. He tore off his external shirt, secured that to the lock, lifted—and felt for the appropriate key.
There were too many. He felt a moment of panicking sweep over him. He was breathing roughly. Minutes felt like an eternity.
Finally, the click of the lock. The door jammed against the body of a guard. Chris pushed it out of the way as far as he could and opened the door.
Leaving the corridor, Chris remained frozen. The corpse of the guard still slumped against the door, a grin across his lips. Shuddering once more, Chris went on.
He had taken only a few steps towards the door when he paused. Outside there thundered the crash of battle—yells, ringing steel, tramping of countless feet.
Chris turned around. His heart pounded, breathing hoarse. He ran to the next cell and opened the door with shaking hands.
He found an odd sight before him: a man sat cross-legged in lotus posture, fastened utterly in chains. Each finger, each limb was gripped in iron, nailed against the walls.
Goose bumps trailed down Chris's spine. He'd heard this voice once before, but actually witnessing its wearer was another thing. His hair stood from its roots.
A loud, assured voice echoed out over the dungeon:
"Actually you made it out? I assumed you had already given up."
Chris gulped and looked away.
"Well… I told you, I've got a strange character. In a tough spot, sometimes I just… snap into focus."
He attempted a smile but could only shake.
The chained old man with deep wrinkles also smiled.
"Strange indeed… But you broke free—what now? Out there are hundreds of enemies."
Chris managed a smile of his own, but his lips quivered.
"And you propose we sit here waiting for the gods to come and rescue us? In this existence, nobody's coming after me."
"Then we work together?" the old man offered. "You release me, then I will help you escape."
Chris froze, eyes widening.
What if you're crazy? Or a murderer? Just look at how many chains you're wearing—this can't be for nothing…"
A vein protruded above the old man's brow. "Are you stupid? I'm a prisoner of war, like most people here. Where would killers come from?"
"Most but not all…" Chris said mumbly, purposefully looking away.
"Bah, you're intolerable!" The old man twitched his head to one side. "Go out, then."
Chris almost laughed but realized he couldn't do that alone. His hands shook as he released fastener after fastener.
When the last chain fell, the old man rose, stretching his limbs. Chris opened his mouth to speak—only to get smacked on the head.
"That's for calling me a killer." The old man smirked. "Now wait. I need to cleanse my qi points. Sit quiet."
Massaging his head, Chris sat by the door.
"Uh… what's qi
"Shut up already."
Chris squinted at him.
Why am I wasting my time listening to this grouchy old guy…?
An hour passed in silence. Outside the war raged on, but inside of Chris's head screamed over and over again: We need to run. We need…
Then the old man got up. His voice boomed out strong:
"Go. You're gonna just hold us back anyway."
It hurt Chris but he did not say anything.
In the course of that, they opened other cells and released whoever could walk and fight. Prisoners swarmed around Chris—and that made him angry too.
The front door had been blown off its tracks by an explosion. No guards anywhere.
The instant they went outside, Chris was struck by the flash of flame. The city was ablaze. The wind carried the keening of blades and screams.
Li Tan spoke briefly:
"Protect the kid who opened our path. I must help my disciples." He stepped forward—and vanished. Chris froze, cheeks pale. "And I'm making jokes about this old man…" Two men gripped him by the shoulders and pulled him after them. Although exhausted, phrases of his made the escapees laugh.
At that time, Li Tan was already at the plaza, wherein Gu Yan was battering two junior fighters, who were a girl and a boy.