Book 1 Chapter 29 The Great Escape
…
The damp, sunless air of the Stonefang Stronghold's dungeon usually smelled of wet earth and despair. Today, however, it smelled of something far more potent and considerably more pungent. It was a scent that defied easy categorization—somewhere between rotting swamp cabbage and a very old, very sick goat.
Kang Hana, daughter of the Mayor of Slow Turtle Town, pressed her face against the iron bars of her cell, not to peer out, but to find a singular draft of air that didn't make her eyes water.
"Hajin," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Do you hear that?"
From the adjacent cell, her brother, Kang Hajin, shifted. A renowned swordsman in their town, he currently looked less like a warrior and more like a discarded pile of laundry. "Hear what? The sound of my dignity evaporating? Or the sound of the guard in the hallway currently trying to turn his internal organs inside out?"
Hrr-uuu-agh! A wet, thumping sound echoed from the guardroom down the hall, followed by a low, pathetic moan.
Hana grimaced. For three days, they had been held in this hole. After their defeat near the town borders—an ambush they'd walked right into—they had been dragged here to the stronghold. She had spent the first forty-eight hours in a state of high-octane fury, plotting ways to strangle the bandit leader, Stonefang, with her own hair ribbons. But the last twenty-four hours had changed the atmosphere of the prison entirely.
The fierce, terrifying bandits who had captured them were no longer fierce. They were barely vertical.
"It's the plague," Hajin hissed, his eyes wide in the gloom. "Hana, it's a curse. Hong Tong finally did it. He made a deal with a demon, and now the demon is collecting its due by liquefying everyone's bowels."
Hana shook her head. She had heard the guards whispering before they became too ill to speak. They had mentioned Hong Tong's name frequently. The wealthiest merchant in Slow Turtle Town was indeed the mastermind behind the Stonefang bandits, using them to destabilize her father's rule. But a demon? No. This felt... different.
"I didn't eat the stew today," Hana said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Did you?"
"Are you joking? I saw the guard who delivered it. He looked like he was vibrating. He dropped the ladle and started weeping. I'm not eating anything that comes out of that kitchen."
Hana looked at the corridor. The guard who was supposed to be watching them, a man nicknamed 'The Butcher' for his supposed cruelty, was currently slumped against the wall, his face a delicate shade of pea-soup green. His spear lay three feet away, abandoned.
"Hajin," Hana said, her spirit suddenly igniting. "This is it. This is our chance. Look at them! They can't even hold their heads up, let alone a sword."
Hajin sat up, his chains rattling. "You want to escape? Now? What if it is a plague? If we leave, we might catch it. I'd rather be executed than die while... while making those noises."
"We're already in the thick of it, you coward! If we stay, we're just waiting to turn green. If we leave, we can get back to Father and warn him about Hong Tong." She reached through the bars, her fingers straining toward the keys hanging from the Butcher's belt. He was only a few feet away, but he was currently occupied with a series of rhythmic, soul-crushing hiccups.
"Hurry," Hajin urged, his voice rising in an excited, panicked trill. "Hana, he's looking this way! No, wait, his eyes are rolling back. He's fine. He's just passing out. Go, go, go!"
With a final, desperate stretch, Hana's fingertips brushed the cold iron of the key ring. She hooked it and pulled. The keys jangled—a sound that should have been a death knell in a fortress of fifty bandits.
The Butcher didn't even flinch. He just let out a long, whistling sigh and muttered something about "the soup... why the soup..." before his head lolled to the side.
"Got it!" Hana whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She fumbled with the lock, her hands shaking. Click. The door swung open with a groan. She didn't waste a second, rushing to Hajin's cell and freeing him. The two of them stood in the hallway, two of the town's finest warriors, now reduced to tiptoeing past a line of unconscious, groaning bandits.
"Wait," Hajin stopped, eyeing the Butcher's spear. "Should we take their weapons?"
Hana looked at the spear, then at the Butcher, who had a suspicious-looking stain on his tunic. "Don't touch anything. For all we know, the handles are contaminated. We use our fists if we have to. Or we just run very, very fast."
"Running sounds good," Hajin agreed. "I'm a big fan of running."
They crept toward the stairs leading to the upper levels. The stronghold was unnaturally quiet, save for the chorus of misery echoing through the stone halls. As they reached the main mess hall, the scene was even more surreal. Bandits were draped over tables like discarded coats. One man was trying to crawl toward the water barrel, but he was moving at the speed of a particularly lethargic snail.
"It's like a battlefield," Hajin whispered, "but without the blood. Just... a lot of regret."
"Shut up and keep moving," Hana hissed.
They were nearly at the heavy oak gates of the inner sanctum when a voice croaked out.
"Hey... you..."
Hana and Hajin froze. Standing by the gate was a massive man, a lieutenant by the look of his leather armor. He held a notched broadsword, but his knees were knocking together so loudly it sounded like a drumroll.
"Halt..." the bandit said, then immediately doubled over, clutching his stomach. "By the gods... my insides are dancing the jig..."
"We are leaving!" Hana shouted, her bravado returning as she realized the man could barely stand. "Try and stop us!"
Hajin, feeling a surge of sudden courage, struck a heroic pose. "Yes! Tremble before the might of the Kang siblings! We shall return with the town guard and—Hana, why are we running? I was doing the speech!"
"He's projectile vomiting, Hajin! Run!"
The two sprinted through the courtyard. A few bandits on the battlements saw them and feebly reached for their bows, but the effort of drawing a string seemed too much. One bandit managed to release an arrow, but it wobbled through the air and landed harmlessly in a mud puddle ten feet away.
They burst through the main gates and didn't stop until the gray stone walls of the stronghold were swallowed by the dense foliage of the surrounding forest.
…
A day later…
The river trail was the quickest way back toward the town's borders, though it was treacherous. The rushing water of the Silverflow River provided a constant, roaring backdrop as Hana and Hajin scrambled over moss-covered rocks and through thickets of brambles.
"We did it," Hajin panted, leaning against a willow tree. "We actually escaped the Stonefang Stronghold. Wait until the town hears about this. I'll be a legend. 'The Man Who Defied the Plague Fort.'"
"You didn't defy anything, you ran away from a man throwing up on his shoes," Hana reminded him, wiping sweat from her brow. "But we need to move. If Hong Tong finds out we're out, he'll be sending his private mercenaries he's been hiring."
"The mercenaries? They're probably all sick too! Whatever that was, it was airborne. Or waterborne. Or just pure evil."
They continued down the trail for another hour, the adrenaline slowly fading and leaving them exhausted and hungry. The river curved sharply ahead, creating a small, pebbled beach where the current slowed.
Hana stopped suddenly, her hand flying to the hilt of the non-existent sword at her waist. "Hajin, look."
Lying face down in the shallow water near the bank was a body. The clothes were tattered—a simple merchant's robe, now soaked and covered in silt.
"Another victim of the plague?" Hajin whispered, hanging back.
"No... wait." Hana stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. She recognized that robe. And that messy, dark hair. "I know him. That's the new guy. The one who took over Elder Jing's shop."
"The new herbalist? Rowan? That one you were investigating before?" Hajin joined her, his curiosity overcoming his fear of 'the plague.' "What's he doing out here? Did the bandits get him, too?"
Hana knelt by the figure, carefully flipping him over. It was indeed Rowan. He looked terrible. His face was pale, his breathing shallow, and he was covered in bruises.
"He's alive," she said, checking his pulse. "Rowan! Rowan, wake up!"
She shook him, perhaps a bit harder than necessary. Rowan's eyes fluttered open. For a moment, they were unfocused, staring up at the canopy of trees with a look of profound confusion. Then, he blinked, and his gaze landed on Hana.
"Oh," he croaked. "The Mayor's daughter. Did I die? Is this the afterlife? It's surprisingly damp."
"You're not dead," Hana said, helping him sit up. "You're on the riverbank. What happened to you? We thought you were back in town running the Green Herb shop."
Rowan groaned, clutching his head. As he moved, the fabric of his robe shifted, revealing a glimpse of a strange, dark vest underneath. It looked far more durable than anything a simple herbalist should be wearing.
"The shop..." Rowan muttered, his memory slowly returning. "Right. Master Cui. The mercenaries. It's been a very long week."
"Mercenaries?" Hajin asked, stepping forward. "What mercenaries? We heard Hong Tong was hiring people, but why would they be after you?"
Rowan looked at them, his eyes finally sharpening. He seemed to take in their disheveled appearance, their lack of weapons, and the direction they had come from.
"You two... You escaped?" Rowan asked, a hint of genuine surprise in his voice. "On your own? I thought... well, I thought we'd have to rescue you. Eventually."
"We walked right out the front door," Hajin bragged. "The bandits are all dying of some mysterious illness. It was gruesome. Truly, a divine intervention."
Rowan's expression went through a series of rapid changes—surprise, realization, and then a very small, very guilty-looking twitch of the lips.
"Mysterious illness, you say?" Rowan coughed into his hand. "Did they... perhaps... look a bit green? Constant trips to the latrine? A general sense of wanting to crawl into a hole and perish?"
Hana stared at him. "How do you know that?"
Rowan sighed, leaning back against a rock. "That wasn't a plague. That was my... special project. I call it the Bull-Gorilla sludge. I might have... smuggled a few barrels of it into their supply line before I got intercepted."
Hana's jaw dropped. "You poisoned the entire stronghold?"
"'Poison' is such a harsh word," Rowan corrected, wagging a finger. "It's more of an... aggressive digestive catalyst. It's made from fermented swamp roots and a very specific type of mold I found in the forest. It's completely non-lethal. It just makes you wish you were dead for about forty-eight hours."
Hajin started to laugh—a high-pitched, hysterical sound. "You! The little herbalist! You took down a stronghold with fermented mold?"
"I had to do something," Rowan said defensively.
"But it seems that the town is now in trouble. I got spotted by a group of mercenaries. About fifty of them. I fought my way to escape until I fell on a cliff."
"Fifty mercenaries?" Hana's face went pale. "Where are they now?"
"I'm… not too sure," Rowan said, wincing as he touched a bruise on his ribs. "I thought I could lose them in the forest, but I got into an accident. Fell right off the cliff and into the river. I must have hit my head. The next thing I know, you're shaking me."
He looked around nervously. "We shouldn't stay here. Those mercenaries aren't sick. They didn't get sick with the sludge."
Although Rowan was planning to now use his system weapons to deal with those guys, he decided that it was not the time as the two siblings are present.
"He's right," Hana said, standing up and scanning the treeline. "If they're still hunting him, they'll find this trail eventually."
As if on cue, a rustle came from the bushes further up the slope. A group of men in mismatched armor—rough-looking types with heavy swords and crossbows—stepped out into the clearing.
"He's not dead yet!" one of them shouted, pointing a finger at Rowan. "The little rat! Get him!"
Rowan scrambled to his feet, his hand instinctively going to the travel bag strapped to his waist.
Hostile Entities Detected. Engaging Automatic Battle System. [Han Rowan (Level 2). HP: 3/3/3/3/3/3. Qi: 5: Status: Normal.]
The lead mercenary, a scarred man with a massive iron mace, lunged forward. Rowan didn't panic. To Hana and Hajin's utter bewilderment, the 'helpless' herbalist reached into his bag and pulled out a rusty-looking sword.
"Wait, Rowan, no!" Hajin cried. "They have real steel!"
But Rowan was already moving. He didn't move like a master swordsman; he moved with a strange, jerky efficiency, as if he knew exactly where the mace was going to land before the mercenary even swung it.
The mace whistled through the air, missing Rowan's head by an inch. Rowan stepped inside the man's guard and delivered a sharp, stinging blow with the rusty sword to the mercenary's wrist. The man roared in pain, his fingers numbing as the wood connected with a precise pressure point.
"Behind you!" Hana screamed.
Two more mercenaries were closing in. Rowan spun, his hand dipping into a small pouch. He flicked his wrist, and something small and dark flew through the air.
Thwack!
A mercenary clutched his neck, pulling out a long, wicked-looking thorn. His eyes widened as his knees buckled.
"What is in those things?" Hajin muttered, watching as the mercenary slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Rowan didn't answer. He was a whirlwind of frantic, desperate movement. He pulled a wooden shield from his sackcloth, using it to deflect a crossbow bolt with a loud thwunk. He then used his rusty sword, parrying a sword thrust with a spray of sparks.
The mercenaries were confused. They were professionals, but they were being held at bay by a man with a rusty toy and a spike. Rowan's movements were clumsy; he even tripped once over a root, but every time he stumbled, he seemed to accidentally dodge a lethal blow.
He lunged forward, the rusty sword catching the lead mercenary in the solar plexus. The man gasped, the air leaving his lungs in a wheezing rush, and he collapsed into the dirt.
The remaining four mercenaries looked at their fallen comrades, then at Rowan, who was currently panting heavily, holding his rusty sword upside down, and looking like he was about to faint.
"He's... he's a demon!" one of the mercenaries yelled, his voice cracking. "Look at him! He's using forbidden arts!"
They didn't wait for a second round. The four of them turned tail and sprinted back into the woods, leaving their unconscious leaders behind.
The clearing fell silent, save for the sound of the rushing river. Rowan let out a long, shaky breath and dropped the rusty sword. His HP bar, visible only to him, flickered back to full as the 'battle' ended.
Hana and Hajin stared at him, their mouths hanging open.
"You..." Hana started, pointing at the unconscious men. "You just... with a rusty sword?"
Rowan wiped sweat from his forehead and quickly shoved his weapons back into his bags. "It's a very sturdy type of rusty sword," he lied, his voice still a bit high-pitched. "And, uh, I've been practicing. Herbalism requires a lot of... wrist strength."
Hajin walked over to the lead mercenary and poked him with his foot. "Rowan, you're not just an herbalist. No herbalist moves like that. You didn't even have martial arts, but you took them down like they were children."
"I'm just a guy who wants to keep his shop," Rowan insisted, though he knew the act was wearing thin. "Look, we don't have time for a debrief. There are still forty-some mercenaries out there, and they'll be back once they realize I'm not actually dead."
He turned to Hana. "You're the Mayor's daughter. You know these woods. How do we get back to Slow Turtle Town without running into those mercenaries?"
Hana shook off her shock, her tactical mind taking over. "The main roads are suicide. I think more mercenaries will be patrolling the trade routes. And we can't stay by the river; it's too open."
She looked up at the towering cliffs flanking the valley. "There's an old hunter's path. It's overgrown and dangerous—it passes through the territory of the Iron-Beak Hawks—but it leads directly to the back orchards of the Mayor's estate."
"Hawks?" Hajin asked, looking nervous. "How big are we talking?"
"Big enough to carry off a small pig," Hana said. "But I'd take my chances with those birds over fifty mercenaries."
Rowan nodded, checking his inventory. He did not equip his weapons yet, as he dared not show them to the two.
"The hunter's path it is. But we need to be smart. If we get caught now, we don't just lose our lives—we lose the chance to stop what really is happening with the town."
"Wait," Hajin said, looking at Rowan's tattered robes. "If we're going to be sneaking, we need to look less like... well, like we just fell off a cliff and escaped a plague fort."
Rowan looked at his own mud-stained clothes, then at the siblings' torn silks. "He's right. We look like a walking advertisement for 'Please Arrest Us.'"
Rowan reached into his Travel bag and pulled out a spare sackcloth. He began tearing it into strips. "Here. We'll use these to wrap our boots and muffle our footsteps. We'll cover our bright clothes with mud and leaves. If we move at dusk, we'll just look like shadows."
As they worked, Hana watched Rowan. He was methodical, his hands moving with a precision that belied his 'clumsy' performance earlier. She noticed the way he checked the perimeter every few seconds, his eyes sharp and calculating.
"Rowan," she said softly.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. For the sludge. I think you might have saved our lives before we even met you out here."
Rowan paused, a small, genuine smile crossing his face. "Well, don't thank me yet. We still have to get past the giant hawks. And I'm fresh out of fermented mold."
"Don't worry," Hajin said, slapping Rowan on the back. "I've got you this time, and Hana's got her brains, and you've got... whatever weird luck you're carrying around in those bags. Those guys won't know what hit them."
The three of them stood up, looking toward the dark, looming silhouette of the mountains. They were an unlikely trio: a mayor's daughter, a boastful swordsman, and an 'herbalist' with a secret system.
"Alright," Hana said, her voice firm. "Let's go home."
They slipped into the shadows of the forest, moving toward the hidden path, leaving the groaning mercenaries and the stench of the Stonefang Stronghold far behind. The battle for Slow Turtle Town was just beginning, but for the first time in days, the odds felt like they might just be shifting.