***
The leader of the guard troop grit his teeth, gripping his horsehair spear so hard his knuckles turned white. He hoped and prayed he would not regret bringing his noisy scale armor, made from several layers of bronze and tanned leather pieces. He looked to his left and right at the trembling young men before him and shook his head. They marched into a dark cavern, filled with the sounds of water dripping from the stalactites above into the puddles of water below their feet.
An older mercenary, a rear guard, walked up to his right side and whispered, instilling Qi into his whispering voice to make it nearly impossible to detect by anyone unfamiliar with the art of Stealth Speaking.
"Leader, moving quick's tough when nobody's good with stealth arts other than me 'n you. They'll all get found anyways, yeah? Why don't me, you, 'n the rest of the vets go in all stealthlike?"
The leader swallowed some of his saliva.
"Though that is true, I've found that this is the best chance we have to make it out of this exchange alive."
Both clenched their teeth and continued marching forward in silence, the veteran fighter remaining attentive to every detail around them while the leader calmed himself down, mulling over his plan to stop himself from turning tail and running.
If we fail to deliver the product, the Salamander Escort Agency will lose face, and all of our and our families' necks will be on the line. If there's a powerful enough martial artist to not only escape our detection but kill one of our own, take our product, and kill the merchant we were protecting, they are likely at least First-Rate. How could that be? There is no way a warrior that powerful would be without backing, but there is no existing organization that would dare to mess with an affiliate of one of the Seven Great Orthodox sects, unless it was… could it have been a Demonic Cultist? Weren't they supposed to be wiped out? How did any of them escape? Why did they decide to fight us so soon, when their forces are decimated?
He would have wiped the sweat off his brow if he were not holding the morale of his men atop his cast-iron spear. His sweat trickled down his forehead and down his lips until it hit the ground along with the water droplets from the stalactites in the cave around him. He gulped some saliva and exhaled as calmly as he could.
No, that's a foolish decision when they're so weakened. That means that the one that attacked us was a rogue, meaning they are lower on the totem pole, which means they likely only know some basic breathing techniques and forms. With this many people, it's at least possible to take one on. Still, we'll need some-
He glanced at the young Tian, the newest in his troupe. He looked entirely different from every other member, being as fair-skinned as a newborn babe, short enough to be entirely obscured by a horse when standing upright, and as thin as a river reed. Unlike the rest of his cohorts, the young boy smiled anticipatedly, shifting to a more immobile, combat-ready stance as they marched into the cavern. He was preparing to drop his torch and hold his spear with both hands. The leader sighed.
There's no way around it. We'll need some sacrifices. That Tian… he might be quick on his feet, but he runs out of energy too quickly. He's by far the most inexperienced and foolhardy of all the newest members, barely better than a common porter. He's the most expendable of them all.
He resolved himself.
Don't hold a grudge against me. Blame your bad luck.
Such thoughts ran through his head, and as he was about to call the young Tian to stay the distance of a spear's thrust to the group, they heard a scream so guttural that their blood ceased to flow from their hearts, instead flowing in from some Baltic sea. A common thought ran through all of their minds:
Did someone just die?
The vanguard continued to look forward, their feet petrified and fused with the ground, while the rearguard took stock of their men, recounting over and over as they could barely see past the violent shivering of their heads. One spoke.
"W-we've lost none, Leader."
The leader then wondered again.
Then who screamed? Was it the thief? Or if it was truly a Demonic Cultist, perhaps it was a human sacrifice? Wait… that means we've stepped into an area where an altar was set up, which means that in the worst case…
His eyes widened, and his veins began to bulge from his grip strength, his weapon rising up and down. He cursed under his breath.
We've walked right into their home base.
He shook off his fear for a moment and looked deeper into the cave, hoping that the former was true instead of the latter.
Suddenly, a silhouette bounced between the stalactites over their heads, bringing darkness in its wake and blowing out all of their torches as it rushed past. The guard leader hesitated for a moment, confused as to what he should do. He smiled a bit, eager to leave the cavern.
"Everyone, move out! Do not let our face be so easily lost!"
They all deftly ran after the assailant, remembering the paths they took to reach that part of the cave, quickly making their way up to the surface. That is, all except one: Tian. Upon seeing the sheer speed of the murderer, he tripped and fell into the puddle beneath him along with his and the rest of the guards' torches. He looked around and saw nothing but darkness.
He stumbled about, trying to feel any dry torches nearby for him to light with his left hand while his right hand reached into his leather bag, but his emergency talismans, soaked, tore as his hands clawed at them. He began to panic, sweat dripping from him and his chest heaving as if his entire body were weeping, while his face stayed still. From deep within the maw of the darkness, he heard a scratching noise, forcing him to quickly realize he was making too much noise while rummaging around. He tried to calm himself.
It was foolish to assume that someone who attacked the Salamander Troupe had no backup at all. Why didn't I think of that? Should I find a place to hide and wait for my group to come back? No, who am I kidding? They were the ones who left me behind in this place when there was another voice from deeper in the cave, meaning there could have been an accomplice, which they left me, the weakest warrior, alone to deal with. They're not trying to get to the bottom of this or find out who stole from us, it's only face that they're saving. There won't be any search party for a recruit as new and weak as me, so I can't stay still. I can't go back because I don't know the path, and I'll probably end up starving to death if I take blind guesses. If I go deeper into the cave, I might find someone in need of help or I might find someone hostile. If they need help and are this deep in the cave, they are probably either not able-bodied or are imprisoned, which means in either case that I can eat their supplies or body if worse comes to worst. If they are hostile, then this is likely a home base for the thief, meaning I could hide in the dark and take from their food source when I'm sure they aren't looking, then steal a light talisman and try to track the thief's footsteps to get out of here.
He punched his right leg, having made up his mind.
Further in it is. I'll wait for a bit for my eyes to adjust and move.
He cupped his hands over his ears, listening for any more signs of life from within the cavern. However, he heard nothing more, only the constant dripping and flowing of water from around him.
Maybe they're dead? No, I've still got to go forward. I haven't come across any forks in the road, so I'm still going in the right direction.
He gathered his spear and made sure his knife was still in his pocket, then marched forward.
He slowly made his way down the cavern, being careful not to kick any rocks he saw, though he often still did by mistake. The pebbles would bounce further and further down the declining path, echoing as they went. As he continued, the path grew far too narrow for him to bring his spear with him, but having any armament would be instrumental to his survival. He cursed his circumstance and sat down on a large stone.
He held his trusty weapon gingerly, reminiscing. The wood was on the verge of breaking, rot from its many years of refuse encroaching on the duramen of the spear. Beneath the red, twisted cord he tied near its tip was a carving of a crest in the ancient language. He could barely see it, but he felt it with his hand, holding back tears. He whispered the name beneath his breath.
"Lotus."
I'm sorry, I'll have a new one made soon.
He raised his dagger above his head, breathing out and preparing to strike the shaft of the javelin.
"...No."
He relented, and instead hid the spear behind the stone he sat on, since he could still take on an injured person with just a dagger. He gulped, hoping he made the right decision, and crawled into the gap to continue his journey.
He saw at the end of the tunnel a clearing, illuminated by a deep blue glow, as if moonlight had entered the cave after passing through a sapphire. He heard shaky breaths from within, and tried to back out of the tunnel, but quickly realized his overzealous mistake.
He had entered the narrow tunnel face-first in order to see incoming threats. However, he did not have the space to effectively use his legs to push himself out, and his arms were exceptionally weak, so he could not go back. He now had to sustain himself nearly upside down using only his arm and leg strength. If he had to wait for long, his blood would enter his brain, incapacitating him for life. Still, he had to wait for a chance to see the caliber of his opponent, or wait for them to sleep. He listened and heard groan after groan, as well as the shifting of clothing that was… satin? What was a noble doing here? Though most were harmless, there were a few from clans that prided themselves on their fighting strength, meaning Tian would either be able to confidently win a one-on-one fight or he would be killed quicker than he could react, even if the martial artist were injured. He stayed there to see which one was the case.
Cold cave water washed past his body, depriving him of warmth and more strength.
He held his position for as long as he could, but his consciousness began to escape him from the steep incline. He spat his saliva down with the next wave of water, trying to stop his arms from convulsing.
I… how can… I can't… No…
Suddenly, his hand slipped.
***
The gash on his arm felt like it was burning up in flame. He kept screaming, watching it as it smoked, as if his body were on Earth but his arm tasted Hell. He begged in indiscernible gibberish for the pain to go away, but he knew no one was left to listen. However, the prospect terrified him far more than this newly discovered sensation of "pain," and so he continued howling.
His blood slithered across the floor and up his arm into his smoking gash. Beneath the rising plumes from his wound, the sinews in his arm reached out to those on the other side of his exposed bone, wriggling towards each other like maggots that had burrowed through his flesh to find one another. As they connected, they expanded outwards until his bone was covered, then his skin began to likewise stretch out, until finally he recovered.
He gasped for air, lying down on the ground, his face half stooped in a cold puddle. Instead of the burning pain, he now felt a strange numbness, as if nothing ever happened. He looked at the wound and found nothing other than his skin.
He struggled, picking himself up with his arms, and after he had lifted his torso, he saw his mirror image in the water in the ground below him. He leaned his back against the stone pedestal that he had rolled off of, staring at the rippling reflection as it stabilized. He did not know what he was looking at, yet he still knew it was himself.
He reached up to his pallid countenance, gliding his fingers down his cheek. It felt as cold as the stone pedestal he leaned his back against. His skin was the pale blue of an early morning's sky, and his glossy, yellow eyes looked as if they were two full moons, suspended in this azure canvas. His pupils blended into his opaque, foggy irises, with barely any semblance of their once-hazel hue. The white of his eyes had dried out near those ocular apertures, leaving benighted gashes across his eyes in their wake and making it look as if each of his pupils had metamorphosed into the silhouettes of cicadas, pinned to boards.
His body was slim but well-built, covered in scars from before he was raised from the dead. His hair was as dark as midnight, disheveled and wet from his tumble into the puddle.
He looked around the water, and saw a white, curved slab the size of his face, with openings where his eyes would be if he put it on. It almost looked as if it were a molded replica of a stalwart quartz citadel, and from the openings for his eyes, archers could fire their bolts.
He reached for it, instinct controlling his body, and picked it up, kneeling on the ground as if he were a beggar, searching for any morsel that the earth would deign to give him. He touched the surface of the simple object, and shivered. He knew what this was meant to be. It was a-
"Mask."
He put it on his face, and bandages unfurled from within the mask, fastening it to him, and wrapping around his whole body beneath his clothes, concealing his skin. The wrapping of the mask was so quick that it sent ripples through the water like a tropical storm over the sea, obscuring his reflection. The water in the puddle calmed.
Every part of his skin other than his yellow eyes and his thick hair were covered, but it perfectly covered his ears such that they were perfectly visible, not pressed against his skull as other bandaging would have done. He looked like a ghost, haunting the caverns he had awoken in.
He stood up, but just as he did, he heard a splash, and hid behind the rock once more. He looked beyond it. In the water lay a strange creature, who had the same form as him, yet it was fundamentally different from him.
Ah, that was it. Though unconscious, it was still alive.
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