Chương 101: Bloodied Descent from the Rift

We emerged from the Rift Cave broken and crying, with tears flowing down the faces of many among us in what was a truly broken state of things. Sorrow filled our minds and stomachs like a poison that refused to leave. The moment we stepped into the open air, the weight of everything crashed down with brutal finality. Fresh small tears blurred somewhat my vision as the cool breeze touched my pale skin for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

My dark red spiked hair hung limp, matted with dust, blood, and the sweat of pure terror. We had wasted our minds chasing the pearl. We had never been ready for the tribulation waiting inside that cursed place. Now we had lost so many friends, comrades, and mentors for little gain. Their faces flashed through my thoughts, each one a fresh knife-twist in my chest. The dragon had been so powerful, truly worthy of its title as an Emperor.

Its spiritual flames still burned in my memory, serving as a reminder of not mere fire, but something holy and judging that seared the soul itself. I clutched the satchel containing the pearls tight against my chest. Its faint rainbow glow pulsed mockingly under my fingers, a false promise of power that had cost us everything. Mo's agency survivors gathered in a tight, trembling cluster nearby. Many cried for their lost leader without shame.

One young fighter, his face streaked with dirt and tears, dropped to his knees. He wept openly, crying that Mo was the strongest, that he had always protected them even when they did not deserve it. His voice cracked and broke as sobs wracked his body, and he pressed his forehead hard against the ground. Others knelt beside him with their heads bowed and shoulders shaking, some whispering quiet prayers while some only let the tears fall.

The air around them felt heavier, thick with the kind of sorrow no victory could ever erase. Woushi sat completely apart on a jagged rock. His posture was entirely defeated, and his eyes were empty, looking as if all light had been drained from them.

"My father… Shiqifan… so many gone… for what? A glowing rock and some ancient promise of an Art we cannot fathom of retrieving?" Tears streamed steadily down his face. He did not bother wiping them away. His hands hung limp at his sides. The weight of leadership and loss crushed him into stillness. Our own group had the most survivors, yet even then we numbered barely over one hundred. The realization hit me like a physical blow. I looked around at the battered faces. Some stared blankly into the distance.

Some still held weapons they no longer had the strength to lift. A few checked the wounded with shaking hands, as if counting the living could undo the dead. It could not. The pearls kept pulsing against my chest, calm and beautiful, while the mountain wind carried the smell of burned flesh out of the cave behind us. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the satchel into the Rift and let the Guardian keep its prize. I did neither. I only stood there, in my thoughts with the rest, and understood the truth too late.

We had won the pearls. The pearls had not won us anything in return. Xihua and Qixian were the only ones taking action. Xihua was utilizing her pipe, puffing smoke in a desperate attempt to distress herself and quiet her racing mind, while Qixian pulled out our remaining emergency herbs to tend to the wounded. I saw them helping out and decided I wanted to be useful as well, rather than just dulling my mind within the momentum of crying. I needed to actually do something with my hands, even if they were weak.

I ground my teeth together in frustration, feeling a bitter anger gnawing at me because I had not been strong enough to change our fate. Still, I forced my trembling fingers to work while fixing someone's bandage. Through that shared effort, we finally patched our wounds as best we could with the remaining herbs. Others around us still clutched deep cuts that seeped through hasty bandages.

Fingers shook as we spread the last of our salves, and voices murmured soft encouragements that rang entirely hollow even to our own ears. We tried to make our spirits ready to leave this cursed hill, but the grief clung to us like a second skin. I turned to our leader, Zhuofing, whose mind was also waning as he stood somewhat broken by all the deaths around him, his weak Animo just barely running active out of him. My voice came out rough and desperate." Where are we? We need direction… anything."

He was too far gone to answer properly. He leaned heavily against a tree trunk. His powerful frame looked frail for the first time since I had known him. His eyes were distant. His breathing labored. It was up to the rest of us to find the path forward and fight through whatever new horrors this place still held. The location revealed itself slowly as my eyes adjusted to the natural light.

We stood on a huge hill dominated by the Rift Cave entrance behind us, a yawning wound in the earth that still seemed to breathe with malevolent energy. Around us stretched thick dark-green tea trees, their leaves dense and glossy under the weak sunlight filtering through heavy clouds. Branches hung heavy with the scent of freshly turned earth mixed with a faint bitterness that clung to the back of my throat. The terrain sloped steeply downward in treacherous angles.

Roots twisted like grasping fingers across the path. Loose stones shifted underfoot. Every step demanded careful balance, especially while supporting the wounded who leaned on shoulders or improvised crutches. The air itself felt different here. Cleaner than the suffocating Animo-thick atmosphere of the cave, yet laced with an unfamiliar tension, as if the land itself resented our presence or any for the matter. We had no time for proper rest. We were in someone else's garden. Unannounced and unwelcome.

A group of four savage chimpanzee warriors burst from the dense thorn thickets. Flayskin Thornapes. Each stood 1. 55 meters tall. Their muscular bodies rippled with raw power, adorned with ripped human skins as grotesque trophies that still carried faint stains of old blood. Red eyes blazed with feral bloodlust. Each gripped two wide, blood-stained swords, blades already lifted for brutal sweeping arcs that promised quick and messy deaths. The fight erupted with shocking suddenness. It was powerful.

It was deeply emotional. We were already broken from the Rift Cave. Bodies exhausted. Minds fractured by grief. Yet we fought with everything we had left. Adrenaline surged through me as the first Thornape charged. Its sword whistled through the air, aimed straight at my head. I barely raised my Elsa di Fuoco in time. The clash sent painful vibrations up my arms.

"Not today you wont kill more of us... i cant allow it!" I snarled through gritted teeth. The second blade came immediately after the first. I twisted, let the edge scrape past my shoulder, and drove the pick-side of my sword-axe into the beast's ribs. Bone cracked. Hot blood sprayed across my already ruined clothes. The Thornape screamed, a raw animal sound, and still tried to bite my face even as it staggered. Around me the hill exploded into motion. Wounded men who could barely stand lifted swords anyway.

A Golden Tooth fighter used his own broken spear as a crutch and a weapon in the same breath. One of Mo's survivors threw himself in front of a falling comrade and took a slash meant for a throat. The tea trees shook. Leaves ripped free. Roots tripped the living and the dying alike. My Heart Flame answered before I fully called it. Heat punched through my chest. Yellow-orange pressure crawled down my veins. Not a full Vestuto. I did not have the luxury of a clean transformation.

Just enough fire to keep my arms from failing. The second Thornape leapt from a branch and came down like a falling anvil. I rolled, felt the twin swords bury themselves in the dirt where my skull had been, and kicked its knee sideways. Something popped. It dropped to one leg and still swung.

"Stay on your feet!" I shouted at the nearest wounded.

"If you fall here, you stay here and thats what they want!" Zhuofing still had not moved from the tree. His eyes tracked the fight, but his body would not follow. That sight hurt worse than the blades. We had crawled out of an Emperor's cave. Now four skin-wearing apes were trying to finish what the dragon had started. I set my stance on the shifting stones, raised my weapon again, and let the grief turn into something sharper. If this garden wanted us gone, it would have to cut us out of it.

Flames erupted along my blade in a desperate burst of my Elsa di Fuoco. I drove the fiery edge forward. It carved a burning gash across the creature's chest. The smell of scorched flesh and stolen skin filled the air. Xhife finally leaped into the fray beside me. His Wind Demon Monkey Vestuto activated in a swirl of emerald wind.

"You won't take any more of us!" he shouted. His voice carried the same raw pain everyone else felt. He spun his staff in a whirlwind of strikes. Each blow landed with bone-cracking force. One Thornape tried to flank him. Xhife flipped over its swing, planted his feet on its shoulders, and drove the staff downward like a spear. It pierced straight through. Xihua moved with calculated grace despite her exhaustion. Her Phantasmal Incense Vestuto filled the immediate area with thick, choking smoke.

"Stay in the formation! I will protect the wounded!" she called in desperate tone. Her voice was steady in sound, but edged with barely contained tears. Smoke whips lashed out from unexpected angles. They wrapped around limbs and throats. One Thornape roared as her incense blade severed its sword arm. It staggered. She finished it with a precise thrust through the eye. The battle stretched on far longer than it should have. Every swing of our weapons felt heavier. Every dodge came slower.

The Thornapes were fast and vicious. Their stolen-skin cloaks flapped like macabre banners as they pressed the attack. One of them caught a young fighter from Mo's group. Its sword bit deep into his side. He screamed once before collapsing. I watched helplessly as the light faded from his eyes. Fresh grief fueled my next strikes. I roared and unleashed a wider Ignis Ardente aura for the first time. Flames burst outward in a short-lived storm that burned two Thornapes severely.

They howled, and their red eyes dimmed as I followed up with brutal slashes from my now stronger arcs. My counterattack created a sudden fear within them as they witnessed a fiery beast raging across the ground. We lost thirty of us in the chaos, good men and women who had survived the Longrong only to fall here on this unforgiving hill. Their bodies lay scattered among the thorns, and blood soaked the glossy leaves. Zhuofing could still only watch from the side, too weakened to intervene.

His face twisted in helpless rage as he pleaded with us to fight for those we lost, begging us not to let their sacrifice be in vain. His voice was hoarse and breaking. We eventually killed the last Thornape, its body slumping forward with my blade buried deep in its chest. The victory felt utterly hollow. The ground around us ran red, and the scent of death mixed with the bitter tea-leaf aroma in a nauseating blend.

We could not rest long, as the breaking point was already gone for many of us and the potential for new beasts to appear was far too high. A small pond nearby offered the only mercy this hill would give. Its water was clear and surprisingly clean. We washed our wounds as best we could. The cool liquid stung fiercely, but it brought a slight relief. We looted the monsters for anything usable. Their swords were crude, yet sharp enough to serve as spares.

Some of the tougher skins served as makeshift bandages or padding for a carriage we still hoped to find later. After moving as quickly as our battered bodies allowed, we pushed deeper into the dense woodland. The tea trees gave way to steeper slopes dotted with jagged rocks and thorny underbrush that tore at our clothes and skin. We found a relatively silent clearing where fresh edible sprouts and pale flowers grew in sparse clusters. We gathered what we could.

The food was bland and carried an earthy bitterness that matched our moods perfectly. Yet each bite gave us a tiny spark of strength. I sat on a fallen log, chewing slowly while staring at the faces around me.

"We keep moving no matter what," I said quietly to those nearby.

"Mo fought until the end. So did the others. We honor them by surviving, by reaching whatever comes next." A few nodded, while others simply ate in silence. The pearls still pulsed in the satchel at my side, faint and rainbow-bright, as if none of the blood on this hill belonged to it. After twenty minutes of that meager meal and brief rest, six more monsters attacked. These were larger and more aggressive variants, drawn entirely by the noise and the scent of blood.

We were more experienced now, meaning our movements carried the hard-won lessons from our previous fights. Yet, in the final chaotic swing of one hulking brute, its claw raked violently across the back of the Mo Agency prodigy, a young, talented fighter named Lianfeng. He cried out once, a sharp, heartbreaking sound, and then he fell completely still. We could not mourn him properly. More creatures roared from the deep trees, angry at the death of their kin.

We had to move again, our hearts heavier than ever before. This time fortune granted us a river. Wide, but mercifully calm. Our last real hope for distance. We gathered wooden bark and sturdy branches and fashioned crude floats to help the wounded cross. The water was cold. It soaked through clothes and reopened smaller cuts with stinging insistence. I paddled with one arm while supporting a limping comrade with the other.

"Hold on… we are almost across," I muttered through chattering teeth. The far bank felt like salvation. We dragged ourselves onto it. Our numbers were down to seventy-eight. The monsters' furious howls echoed from the opposite side. They did not dare follow the water's flow. We finally took a break in a small sheltered hollow. A quickly made campfire crackled softly. Its light danced across exhausted faces. We hoped for even a short slumber. I volunteered for first watch.

My body ached, and my mind replayed every single loss in vivid detail. The fire's warmth did little to chase away the inner cold. Soon, movement on the far treeline caught my eye. Bandits were loitering for easy loot, and our fire had acted like a beacon to them. They appeared in force. They were weak individually, but they were numerous. The fight was desperate and ugly. We lost twelve more companions in the swirling melee of blades and improvised weapons.

"Push them back!" I yelled. My flames lit the night as I cut down two attackers in quick succession. We eventually drove them off, but our rest lasted only one hour before they returned, bolder than they had been before. This place truly felt like hell. We fought again, losing seventeen precious lives in the brutal exchange. Pain and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm us completely before the bandits finally fled once more. This time I gave chase with a small group. Rage and grief fueled our steps.

We killed several more. In the aftermath we claimed a battered carriage once used for slave transport. Its wheels creaked loudly, but they held. We loaded our weakest members inside, then rode away into the unknown. The carriage jolted over rough ground. Every bump drew groans from the injured. Yet it allowed us to move faster than before. The road ahead stretched through darkening woodland. Thick canopies blocked much of the sky. Occasional clearings revealed more of the same desolate beauty. Twisted trees.

Thorny vines. Distant hills that promised only further trials. I rode near the front. One hand on the reins. The other resting near my sword-axe. My thoughts turned inward. The pearls in the satchel felt heavier with every mile. A reminder of sacrifice. Of the friends whose voices I would never hear again. Grief sat like a stone in my gut. Yet beneath it burned determination. Siegfried's shadow still waited in my dreams. These losses only sharpened my resolve to grow stronger.

To ensure their sacrifices meant something in the end. The alliance around me felt fragile, held together by shared pain and stubborn will. Conversations were sparse but meaningful during brief stops.

"We will tell their stories," Xihua said softly one night around another small fire.

"Mo. Lianfeng. All of them. They do not vanish just because we keep moving." Her pipe smoke curled upward like gentle prayers. Xhife nodded beside her. His usual energy was subdued.

"And we get stronger. For them." Zhuofing, still recovering, spoke rarely. When he did, his words carried quiet authority.

"The road tests us. It breaks the weak. But we are still here. That means something." I listened to them all. Added my own thoughts when I could.

"The dragon took much. The Thornapes and bandits took more. But we carry their strength with us now. In every step. Every fight." The words helped. A little. Enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Or one wheel-turn after another. The carriage creaked onward through the night and into the next grey dawn. The landscape shifted slowly. Thicker forests gave way to rolling hills dotted with ancient ruins. Moss-covered stones hinted at civilizations long swallowed by time and monsters.

The air carried new scents. Damp earth after rain. Faint wild herbs. Occasional hints of smoke from distant fires that warned of more people. Or more threats. We survived the Rift Cave. The descent had cost us dearly, but the road ahead remained filled with darkness. And somehow, despite everything, we kept moving forward. One painful, determined step at a time.