Chapter 29: Price Of Survival

Chapter 29: Chapter 29: Price Of Survival

"The hunter who sets a pit for the lamb often finds his own grave at the bottom of the trench, dug deep by his own certainty." — unknown

The air in the four-way intersection reeked of blood, viscera, and burnt hair.

The bodies of half a dozen burrow-rats were sprawled throughout the chamber. Some still twitched, their limbs jerking weakly as they died. Others had been torn apart so badly that it was difficult to tell where one ended and another began.

But the swarm hadn’t stopped.

Three more rats came rushing out of the eastern tunnel, drawn by the overwhelming scent of blood and the screams of their brethren. Their claws scraped against the stone as they scrambled over the bodies of their dead companions.

Gorn stumbled backward, breathing in ragged gasps. Blood soaked through his leather trousers, running down his left leg where one of the rats had bitten him. His short sword trembled in his hand.

"There’s too many!" he screamed.

Boulder was still fighting, but even his strength was beginning to fail. His heavy battle-axe had already crushed several rats, yet more kept coming. The faint blue mana coating its blade flickered with every swing.

Gorn tried to retreat toward the western tunnel, but a massive rat lunged at him from the side.

He barely managed to turn.

The beast slammed into his chest, knocking him onto his back. His sword clattered across the floor, sliding out of reach.

"Get it off me!"

The rat ignored his cries. It snapped its jaws toward his face, and Gorn threw up his arms to protect himself. His struggles only delayed the inevitable.

The beast caught him by the throat.

There was a wet crunch.

Gorn’s body jerked violently. His boots scraped against the stone as he desperately tried to push the rat away, but his strength quickly faded. Within seconds, his limbs went limp.

The rat began tearing into his neck.

Boulder roared and brought his axe down on the creature’s skull. The blow crushed it against the stone, sending fragments of bone and blood across the floor.

For a moment, the remaining rats hesitated.

Then they turned toward the fallen men.

Boulder swung again, but his movements had become sluggish. His breathing was heavy, and blood ran down his side from a wound beneath his armor. He tried to raise his axe for another strike, only for his arms to tremble under its weight.

He was exhausted.

Rather than continue attacking the armed man, they began dragging pieces of flesh from Gorn’s body. One by one, they retreated into the tunnels, disappearing into the darkness with their grisly prizes.

Boulder stood alone in the intersection.

His chest rose and fell as he struggled to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat and blood from his eyes, then looked down at Gorn’s body.

"Dammit..."

His voice was barely more than a whisper.

He had expected the rats to be a problem. That was why they had brought the boy. Riven was supposed to crawl into the nest, draw the creatures out, and give them an opportunity to collect the bounty.

They hadn’t expected him to survive.

And they certainly hadn’t expected the rats to overwhelm them.

A faint sound interrupted his thoughts.

Footsteps.

Slow and deliberate, they echoed from the eastern tunnel.

Boulder immediately tightened his grip on his axe. He turned toward the sound, expecting another rat to emerge from the darkness.

Instead, a small figure appeared at the mouth of the tunnel.

Riven.

The boy stood beneath the dim light of the brass lantern, his black cloak stained with blood. His oversized sword hung at his side, its blade darkened by the blood of the creatures he had killed.

His face was difficult to read.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t trembling. He simply watched Boulder, his expression almost completely blank.

Boulder stared at him in disbelief.

Then his expression twisted with rage.

"You..."

He clutched his bleeding side, struggling to remain upright.

"You little bastard..."

Riven said nothing.

Boulder spat blood onto the floor.

"You were supposed to die in that hole!"

His voice echoed through the intersection. The sudden outburst made his injured body sway, but he forced himself to remain standing.

"You were supposed to be the easy sacrifice!"

Riven’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"Why?"

The question was quiet, almost lost beneath Boulder’s ragged breathing.

For a moment, the mercenary simply stared at him. Then he laughed bitterly.

"Why? Because you’re a nobody!"

He pointed his axe toward the boy.

"You’re a nameless stray! Nobody would care if you disappeared. We needed the guild bounty, but we couldn’t risk taking a proper crew down here. So we picked up a throwaway kid to feed the nest!"

Riven remained still.

The words confirmed what he had already suspected.

The fresh claw marks. The blood in the tunnel. Gorn’s insistence that the passage had been cleared.

They had known.

They had sent him in expecting him to die.

Boulder continued, his face reddening as his anger grew.

"You were supposed to crawl in there, get torn apart, and give us enough time to finish the job! We would have collected the bounty and gone home!"

He took a shaky breath, then raised his axe.

"But somehow, you managed to make a mess of everything!"

Riven’s fingers tightened around his sword.

He had been suspicious of the two men from the moment they sent him into the tunnel. Still, some part of him had hoped he was wrong.

Now he knew.

There was no point asking anything else.

Boulder took a step forward. His eyes were bloodshot, and his breathing came in short, painful bursts.

"I’LL KILL YOU!", He roared.

He charged.

Despite his injuries, the mercenary was still a large man. His heavy boots struck the stone as he rushed forward, raising his battle-axe above his head.

Riven didn’t try to meet him head-on.

He knew he couldn’t overpower someone like Boulder. Even if his shoulder had been fully healed, his small body wouldn’t have been able to withstand the force of that weapon.

Instead, he watched the axe.

Boulder brought it down with a furious roar.

Riven threw himself to the side.

The blade slammed into the stone where he had been standing, sending sparks and fragments of rock into the air. Boulder stumbled forward, his momentum carrying him past the boy.

Riven seized the opening.

He stepped in and thrust his sword toward Boulder’s exposed side.

The blade struck beneath the man’s ribs.

For a moment, it seemed to catch against something. Then Riven pushed forward with both hands, using his entire body to drive the weapon deeper twisting as he pushed.

Pain exploded through his injured shoulder.

His grip nearly failed, but he held on.

Boulder froze.

His eyes widened as he looked down at the sword protruding from his chest. The blue mana coating his axe flickered once before disappearing completely.

He tried to speak, but only a wet, choking sound came out.

Riven released the sword and stepped backward.

Boulder dropped to his knees. His axe slipped from his hand and struck the floor with a heavy clang.

For a few seconds, he remained there, swaying.

Then his massive body toppled forward.

The impact shook the loose gravel beneath him.

Riven stood motionless, staring at the fallen mercenary.

He had killed another person.

The first time, it had been a guard at the slave camp. That death had been desperate and chaotic, driven by the fear of being dragged back into captivity.

This time was different.

Boulder had been trying to kill him, but Riven had made the decision to strike. He had known exactly what would happen if his sword found its mark.

His stomach tightened.

He looked away.

There was no time to dwell on it. The quarry was still dangerous, and the noise of the fight might have attracted other creatures.

He needed to leave.

Riven retrieved his sword and wiped the blood from its blade against Boulder’s clothing. His shoulder throbbed, and his fingers were beginning to ache from gripping the weapon so tightly.

He forced himself to move.

First, he checked the two bodies for anything useful.

Boulder carried a heavy battle-axe. It was far too large for Riven to use comfortably, but the weapon was clearly valuable. Its edge was chipped in several places, though seemed to have been maintained well.

Gorn’s short sword was in better condition. Riven picked it up and examined the blade. It was well-balanced, considerably lighter than his own sword, and would be easier for him to handle.

He set both weapons aside.

Next came the armor.

Boulder’s leather chest piece was thick and reinforced with metal plates. It was much too large for Riven, but he could still sell it. Gorn’s armor was lighter and better fitted, though it was stained with blood and had several deep scratches.

Riven collected both sets.

He also took their belts, pouches, and anything else that looked valuable. He wasn’t sure what the Guild would buy, but he could ask when he returned.

As he searched Gorn’s belongings, his fingers brushed against something unusual.

A small leather bag hung beneath the man’s tunic. Its surface shimmered faintly, almost as though a thin layer of water covered it.

Riven recognized it immediately.

The spatial storage bag.

He remembered Gorn using it to retrieve the brass lantern earlier that morning. The bag had seemed ordinary until the man reached inside and pulled out an object far larger than its opening should have allowed.

Riven untied it and examined the stitching.

There was a faint mana presence coming from within.

He opened the bag and cautiously reached inside. His hand disappeared farther than it should have, and he felt a strange resistance around his arm, as though he were reaching through a layer of thick water.

His fingers brushed against several objects.

He pulled out a handful of coins.

Five silver pieces and forty-five copper coins.

Riven stared at them for a moment.

It was more money than he had expected. Combined with what he already had, it would give him enough to buy food and pay for a room for quite some time.

He put the coins away.

There were other items inside the bag, too. A few tools, some dried food, spare clothing, and a small collection of supplies. Most of it wasn’t particularly valuable, but he decided to keep anything that might prove useful.

Then he found a book.

It was buried near the bottom of the bag, wrapped in a piece of oilskin. The cover was made of dark leather, and a faint crimson glow pulsed beneath its surface.

Riven carefully unwrapped it.

A grimoire.

He opened the cover and examined the first few pages. Strange symbols and intricate patterns had been drawn across them. Even without understanding the language, he could recognize the mana patterns.

He remembered the explanation Boulder and Gorn had given him on the way to the quarry.

Spell tomes contained the patterns needed to cast magic. A person had to study them and learn how to channel mana through their core. The spell’s tier also had to match the user’s core level, or the strain could damage their mana channels.

The book’s title was written in faded lettering.

Tier 1 Fire Arrow.

Riven carefully closed it.

He had a Level 1 core and a Shadow affinity. He couldn’t use fire magic himself, at least not according to what he knew. Still, the grimoire might be worth something.

He slipped it back into the storage bag.

One by one, he placed the weapons, armor, coins, and other supplies inside. Each item disappeared into the bag with a faint spatial hum.

The storage bag was an unexpected prize.

It would make carrying his belongings much easier, especially considering how poorly his body could handle heavy equipment. He could also keep his supplies hidden from anyone who might try to steal them.

Once he had finished searching the bodies, he tightened the bag’s drawstring and tucked it beneath his cloak.

Then he picked up the brass lantern.

The intersection was quiet again.

The dead rats lay scattered across the floor, and the two mercenaries who had planned to sacrifice him were now lying among them. Their blood had begun to mix with the grime and dirt beneath his boots.

Riven glanced toward the eastern tunnel.

He could still hear faint scratching somewhere in the darkness.

There was no reason to stay.

He turned away from the bodies and began walking toward the quarry entrance.

His shoulder hurt with every step. The fight had reopened the soreness left behind by the horned wolf’s attack, and he could feel his grip weakening.

He ignored it.

He had survived the slave camp. He had survived the forest. And now he had survived the men who had tried to use him as bait.

But he knew better than to think he was safe.

The world hadn’t suddenly become kinder. There would be more monsters, more dangerous people, and more situations where he would have to choose between killing and dying.

For now, he had money, weapons, and a place to return to.

That was enough.

Riven adjusted his hood and continued toward the surface, leaving the bodies behind in the darkness.