Chapter 77: A Blessing in Disguise?

As nightfall descended in the west, Stormhold sounded the first curfew whistle. By the third whistle, all four city gates would drop simultaneously, sealing the city so tightly that not even the gravest of reasons could open them—unless one bore the Grand Duke’s personal command or a unified signed pass from the three branches of Stormhold’s administration and military. Due to these strict regulations, most travelers began returning well before the first whistle. As it echoed across the city, a group of four riders approached the northern gate, dusty and weary, sweeping into the entrance like the wind. The lead soldier flashed a token; the gate guards performed a customary, brief inspection before allowing them through.

“Ah, we made it just before the gates closed,” Juen sighed as he laboriously dismounted.

A guard, seeing his struggle, reached out to help, chuckling, “Sir, your horsemanship could use some work. You’ve hurried for less than half a day and you’re already like this. If you ever join a forced march, it’ll be much worse.”

Juen, always good-natured, thanked the soldier, then hobbled toward North District Guard Post No. 3 to report on the mission assigned earlier. It was shift-change time; only two clerks remained in the post, overwhelmed by their duties. Not wishing to linger, Juen quickly handed over the task, submitted the required amount of magical black taro extract, exchanged it for military points, and then limped home.

Upon entering, he was met by Carol’s stern face and sharp questioning: “Where did you go today? Where’s Tess? What has she been up to? Both of you were gone all day without a word. When did you become so careless?”

Stunned by the interrogation, Juen replied, “Theresa and I received an urgent task at noon—to gather magical black taro extract in the northern outskirts. Before we left, we asked a guard to pass you a message. Didn’t you see him?”

As he spoke, Juen removed the bulging pouch from his waist, took out two or three crystal bottles, and showed the extract to Carol, briefly explaining the mission.

Carol’s sternness eased a little but remained tense. “Where’s Tess? Has she returned?”

“I don’t know—she should be back. Her route was much shorter than mine. It’s unlikely she’s still not home…” Seeing Carol’s increasingly serious expression, Juen’s voice faltered. After a moment of silence, he declared, “I’ll go ask at the post!”

He was about to limp out when Carol stopped him, summoned two attendants with a wave. One was dispatched to check the entry records and task returns at the guard post; the other was sent to Amos and Betty’s quarters to relay the situation and gather information. After sending them off, Carol placed a hand on Juen’s shoulder, gazed into his eyes, and spoke with earnest gravity: “Stormhold, as the foremost fortress of the northwest frontier, is entangled in countless complex affairs… From now on, whatever you do, always inform someone you trust first. Never leave important news with strangers as you did today.”

Juen opened his mouth, wishing to ask for more details, but Carol shook his head, stopping him: “You’re still young. Improving your alchemy skills is most important. Just be a bit more cautious in daily affairs—often, the more you know, the more trouble you’ll find. You’re fine as you are.”

Waiting is always agonizing, especially when burdened with worries. Each second seemed an eternity. Finally, after an uncertain span, the door swung open under Juen’s anxious gaze, and Betty strode in, her face somber. Juen rose nervously, unable to voice his question.

Betty offered Carol a half-bow, then spoke: “Amos has already taken a team out of the city to investigate overnight. Juen, please recount everything that happened in detail—the more, the better.”

☆☆☆

Juen’s account was clear, and the task records at the guard post were equally precise. Thus, Amos led his team straight for Northern Outskirts Zone 107. They crossed the city gates just as the echo of the second curfew whistle faded. No one lingered near the gates except the watchmen. Riding into the dying sunlight, Amos and his group raced out, their pace as swift as the wind. Yet Amos’s face was stone-hard, his heart iron-willed, his entire being taut as a drawn bow, ready to unleash a deadly strike at any moment.

Zone 107 in the northern outskirts, beside the cliff’s edge of the canyon, was strewn with chaos—blood, severed limbs, traces of battle, and the aftermath of small chain explosions, all evidence of a fierce fight. Amos’s expression was grave as he first examined several mutilated bodies. He relaxed slightly—the dead were all robust men.

Amos’s escorts were skilled and efficient, spreading out to investigate. Soon, all intelligence was gathered and presented to Amos, leaving him grinding his teeth in frustration—someone had ambushed Theresa’s party!

It was a plot—a scheme aimed at Theresa!

But the most urgent matter now was Theresa’s disappearance!

…

While Amos and his guards searched the chaotic scene in Zone 107, deep beneath them, perhaps a hundred fathoms down, on a damp mossy platform, a humanoid creature twitched faintly, emitting a barely audible groan…

Theresa felt as if her entire body was trapped inside a furnace—scorching pain everywhere, suffering unrelenting. Her consciousness was consumed by flames, burning wildly, as if intent on drying her out completely. Sometimes lucid, sometimes muddled, after several bouts of torment, she finally managed to sense her own body… Though it was heavy and agonizing, she felt a surge of unprecedented emotion—she was alive. What could be more important than that?

The heat and pain deep in her bones felt like her whole body was being crushed inch by inch by a burning stone roller, then pieced back together, only to be crushed again… The agony was endless, but her consciousness grew ever sharper—keenly aware of her suffering, moment after moment… Who knew how much time had passed before Theresa sensed a sweet coolness trickling over her lips and tongue. In the dim light, she couldn’t see what it was, but instinctively she struggled to open her mouth, craving every precious drop of coolness—

Daylight had long faded, but at the bottom of this remote cliff, a faint blue glow rippled like drifting ribbons, gently undulating across the floor. Within the cold light, a pale golden figure darted tirelessly between two platforms. Eight slender golden legs gripped the stone cracks, making its movements swift and steady. This creature shuttled back and forth between platforms separated by nearly a hundred meters, a small leaf atop its head. It would draw water from a recess on one platform, carry it to the other, and pour the palm-sized leaf’s water into someone’s mouth. Dozens, hundreds of times, this little helper never wavered, never gave up…

Whether the water roused her dulled body or rest had finally restored some strength, Theresa managed to open her eyes, gazing at her temporary haven. The cliff’s top, hundreds of fathoms above, was out of sight, but she could still hear water rushing nearby—an underground river must be flowing just below. Thanks to the moisture, the vegetation remained lush enough—she owed her survival to these plants.

Those men wanted her dead… Yet, the traps she set weren’t strong enough—she likely hadn’t killed a single one… At this thought, Theresa’s eyes darkened—this debt, she would demand repayment someday!

But first, she had to find a way to survive. In her current state, calling for help would be nearly impossible. Evidence of her fall had probably been erased, and even if someone tracked her descent, the odds of finding her among these hundreds of fathoms were slim. After all, during her fall, she used the wolf fang necklace’s explosive power to repeatedly change course, likely drifting far from Zone 107…

Thinking of the wolf fang necklace, she couldn’t help but smile bitterly. Her survival owed much to its power—by repeatedly activating its totem magic, she buffered her fall and saved her life. But this forced use of totem magic had ravaged her body with wild, destructive force, leaving her so battered she couldn’t even lift a finger…

Her thoughts drained what little energy she had left. Overcome by exhaustion, Theresa drifted into sleep, while the busy golden spider finally curled up beside her, eight legs tucked tight, resting quietly in a ball. The blue glow hovered gently, enveloping the spider in a faint blue haze…

…

The next day, Theresa was woken by a ray of sunlight. Opening her eyes, she found that even the narrow strip of sky above allowed sunlight to reach the bottom of the cliff. Though only half the platform was bathed in light, it filled her with hope—humans yearn for sunlight and warmth; with them, despair is kept at bay.

Beneath the sun, the pale golden creature gleamed even more brightly. Theresa stared, eyes widening—her golden spider was carrying a small round fruit, origin unknown, toward her!

After a night’s rest, Theresa realized something crucial—she hadn’t given the spider any commands yesterday, yet the alchemical automaton had fetched water without instruction, and now it had found fruit for her to eat!

Whose orders was it obeying? Who was secretly controlling her alchemical automaton? What did “he” intend?

A surge of unease and suspicion swept through Theresa, and as if sensing her alertness, the golden spider halted with its fruit midway. At that moment, a faint, thread-like thought brushed her mind—

“Master…” (To be continued)