Alright, let's gut this stuff and see what these geniuses were carrying.
From the brutes: A few copper coins that looked like they'd been through a war, some rock-hard "journey bread" you could break a window with, and a greasy scroll called "The Dao of the Imposing Physique: Strategic Flexing for Inner Peace." Wow. Profound.
From the dagger-wielder (fished out of the nettles, still whimpering): His now-useless fancy dagger, three low-grade "Marrow-Cleansing Pills" that smelled iffy, and a vial of "Ethereal Mist Perfume." For the rogue who wants to smell mysterious while sneakily stabbing someone in the back. That sounds gay, Lu Chen figured.
From Mo Tian: The main event. A nice pouch held five decent "Body tempering Pills," a jade token for one free spirit-beast milk tea at the Nourishment Hall, and—the real kicker—a small, sleek jade slip. It was inscribed with fancy, snooty script: "One Favor – Xu Rang."
Lu Chen crouched by the paralyzed, tear-streaked Mo Tian. He dangled the jade slip right in front of his glazed eyes.
"Explain this to me," Lu Chen said, his voice flat and cold, like a teacher asking why the homework is half-burnt. "You set up this whole clown show… for a future IOU from a guy who already hates my guts? You didn't even get paid up front? Just a promise even though you're so broke?" He tapped the slip tap, tap, tap against Mo Tian's sweaty forehead. "You're not a minion. You're a bad investment. The dumb kind." He leaned in, his whisper colder than a mountain stream. "How does it feel? Knowing your big villain moment is worth less than a speck of dust?"
A raw, gut-wrenching sob was ripped straight from Mo Tian's throat. It was the sound of a man's ego being liquidated.
[ULTIMATE FACE-SLAP EXECUTED! Face-Slap bonus +1!]
A thin, sharp thread of satisfaction finally cut through Lu Chen's annoyance. Not from the fight, but from the surgical perfection of the insult. He'd salvaged something from this trash fire of an afternoon.
As he stood up, that little warmth got flash-frozen.
The last light didn't just fade—it was sucked out of the world.
The air got thick. Then plummeted immediately. It got so cold. Not the "chilly" cold. This was a graveyard-deep, soul-sucking cold that chewed right through his Level 9 Rock Body like it was tissue paper and bit into his bones.
Mist—grey, thick, and hungry—steamed out of the ground, especially from that dead black bamboo crater. It swallowed sound, leaving a silence so heavy it pressed on his eardrums. The grove turned into a faded, creepy painting.
From inside the mist, things moved. Not animals. Gloomy, pulsing shapes with too many twisty limbs with jagged mouths full of sick green light. Thousands itchy whispers started scratching at the inside of his head.
'So cold… your noise… your warmth… give it…'
'Just a little taste… of your loud, bright life…'
One of the wraithy blobs oozed closer. It brushed a bamboo stalk. The vibrant green instantly turned black, crumbling to ash in half a heartbeat.
Real, ice-cube-down-the-spine fear stabbed through Lu Chen. His Rock Hard Body was useless. His poison immunity meant nothing. This thing ate life force.
The lead wraith stretched a drippy shadow-arm toward him. The air around it just died.
Every cell in Lu Chen's body screamed RUN. He braced to bolt, strength gathering at his feet.
Then a low groan came from the dirt. The first Brute, half-awake, started shivering violently as the mist touched him. Mo Tian, in his fetal ball, let out a tiny, wet whimper of pure animal terror. They were the juiciest, warmest snacks left in the clearing.
They'll die.
The thought was crystal clear. These idiots ambushed him. They were tools. Letting the mist have them would be… efficient. Neat, even. This cruel world would just shrug.
But they were still people. And he wasn't the monster here. The part of him that remembered being a normal guy, where you didn't just watch people get killed, threw a full-on internal tantrum.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" he roared at the universe, at his own stupid conscience. "FINE! YOU OWE ME! ALL OF YOU OWE ME A NEW ROBE AND MORE LOOT!"
He moved. Not away. Back into the clearing. He grabbed the first Brute by the collar with his good hand and hooked Mo Tian under the arm. They were like two sacks of wet cement made of failure.
"GET UP OR BECOME A GHOST SNACK!" he barked at the dagger-wielder, who was frozen, staring at the approaching wall of mist and glowing jaws.
Terror works wonders. The man scrambled up. Lu Chen didn't wait. Hauling two bodies, he yelled, "GRAB THE OTHER MORON!" and started a clumsy, stumbling sprint away from the heart of the cold, the dagger-wielder dragging the second brute behind them.
The wraiths let out a collective, spirit-chilling sigh and flowed after them, silent and swift as a shadow, drawn to the clumping, noisy beacon of life force fleeing before them.
Lu Chen poured every ounce of his energy, his anger, and his profound annoyance into the Mirage Step. It wasn't pretty. With each frantic burst, he and his dumb cargo vanished and reappeared a few desperate yards ahead, the afterimages useless against those things that hunted them. It was a ragged, gasping and despairing retreat. The biting cold licked at their heels; the demonic whispers promised a nice, quiet, and eternal nap.
He wasn't making a clean getaway. He wasn't just saving his own skin.
He was doing the world's most grudging, most annoying, and most dramatically stupid rescue mission. But can he escape?
[TO BE CONTINUED…]