Flight, Chen Mo discovered, was a different kind of calculus than survival. Survival was about patience, fortification, and cautious resource management. Flight was about speed, sacrifice, and ruthless prioritization.
They moved. Alena, despite her lingering weakness and the splinted arm, set a punishing pace. Her movements were fluid and silent, an art born of a lifetime in wilder places than this. Chen Mo, powered by adrenaline and the raw, adaptive fitness of a man fighting for his life, matched her. He let her lead; she knew the direction, and her senses, even injured, were sharper than his Keen Eye.
The forest became a green-grey blur. They splashed through icy streams, scrambled up rocky embankments, and wove through dense thickets. Chen Mo abandoned any thought of stealth. The goal was distance. He watched their backtrail constantly, expecting at any moment to see the glint of mail or hear the baying of hounds.
[Hostile Signatures: Distance 750 meters. Status: Converging.]
[Environmental Analysis: River acoustics providing cover. Pursuit speed estimated at 75% of host's maximum.]
The system's cold updates were his only comfort. They were gaining ground, but slowly. The Watchers were methodical, sweeping their trail. They hadn't broken into a full sprint. Yet.
After an hour of relentless movement, Alena signaled a halt behind a tumble of mossy boulders. She was breathing hard, her face pale. The brilliant healing of the potion had its limits; she was burning through her remaining energy at a dangerous rate.
"They will not give up," she gasped, peering back through the trees. "They will send trackers ahead, light scouts. The main group will follow our clear trail."
"How many?" Chen Mo asked, his own breath steaming in the cold air.
"The party that ambushed me was six. I killed two. They may have summoned more from the Outpost."
Four, then. Possibly more. "These scouts. Are they… like you? Magical?"
She shook her head, a flash of disdain in her violet eyes. "No. The Watchers reject such gifts. They are men. Hardy, well-armed, fanatical. Their leaders may wield blessed weapons or tokens, but the rank and file rely on strength, numbers, and poison." She touched her shoulder.
Strength and numbers they had. Chen Mo had a bone knife and a deep-seated terror. But he also had a Protocol. He pulled up his interface. 125 PP. The Marketplace's Essentials list scrolled before his mind's eye. Nothing there was a game-changer. But the Knowledge tab…
Think. They're trackers. They follow signs.
"Protocol. Purchase Local Flora & Fauna Primer (Rustspine Foothills)."
[Transaction Confirmed. 80 PP deducted. Remaining: 45 PP.]
Instantly, a more detailed catalog of the forest life loaded into his awareness. He saw the names and properties of plants he'd passed: Slickwood Moss (releases irritant spores when crushed), Bloodthorn Vine (barbs cause lingering numbness), Ghost Cap Mushroom (when dried and powdered, creates a disorienting, faintly luminous mist if burned).
An idea, desperate and dirty, formed.
"We need to buy time, not just distance," he said, turning to Alena. "I can lay a false trail, maybe slow the scouts. Do you know the Ghost Cap mushroom?"
Her eyes narrowed, then gleamed with understanding. "The pale, glowing ones near deadfall. Yes. Their dust clouds the mind for a short time."
"Where is the next defensible spot before the bridge? Somewhere we can hold them if they catch up."
She thought for a moment. "A mile ahead. The river narrows into a stone canyon. The old game trail passes through it. High walls. One easy path. A killing ground… or a place to be trapped."
"We'll use the canyon. You go. Gather these." He quickly used a stick to draw the distinct shapes of Slickwood Moss and Bloodthorn Vine in the dirt. "As much as you can carry. Meet me at the canyon entrance. I'll get the mushrooms and catch up."
She didn't waste time with argument. Nodding sharply, she melted back into the trees, moving with renewed purpose.
Chen Mo went the opposite direction, parallel to their original path but fifty yards south. He moved quickly, his Primitive Toolcraft knowledge guiding his hands. He found a patch of Ghost Caps, their pale, translucent caps glowing faintly in the gloom. Using a broad leaf, he carefully collected them, avoiding breathing in the dust. He found a rotted log, hollow and dry inside. Perfect.
He worked with frantic speed. He created a small pile of dry tinder inside the log. He crushed the Ghost Caps into a fine powder on a flat stone and piled it atop the tinder. Then, using his flint and steel, he sparked a tiny, smoldering coal into the heart of it. He didn't let it catch into flame—just a slow, smoking ember. He covered the log's opening with a stone, leaving only a thin crack. A crude, delayed-action smoke bomb.
He placed the log just off what looked like a faint game trail, one a tracker might check. He then backtracked, scattering a few deliberate scuffs and broken branches, leading towards the log before carefully veering off and erasing his trail as best he could, moving over rock and through a shallow stream.
He repeated the process twice more with smaller distractions: a patch of Slickwood Moss placed on a handhold on a steep section, a loop of Bloodthorn Vine strung at ankle-height across a dark part of the trail. They were petty, irritating traps, not deadly. But they would sow caution, anger, and hopefully, cause minor injuries that required attention.
[Skill Progress: Wilderness Survival (Novice) proficiency increased. 25%. Application: Tracking and counter-tracking.]
[New Sub-Skill Recognized: Improvised Trapping (Rudimentary). Proficiency: 5%.]
He didn't wait to see the results. He turned and ran, following the mental vector Alena had given him, pushing his burning legs to their limit.
He found her at the mouth of the canyon. It was as she described: the river, furious here, was pinched between two sheer cliffs of dark, water-streaked stone about thirty feet high. A narrow, rocky ledge, the old game trail, clung to the base of the south cliff, barely wide enough for two men abreast. It was a natural bottleneck.
Alena had an armful of the vicious-looking thorny vine and several clumps of the damp, irritant moss. Her face was tight with pain but set with determination.
"They are coming," she said. "I heard a shout. One of your irritants found its mark, I think."
"Good. Let's make this path expensive." Working together, they draped the Bloodthorn Vine across the narrowest parts of the ledge. They smeared the Slickwood Moss on obvious handholds and on the stone itself where feet would land. It was a gauntlet of minor miseries.
"We cannot hold them here long," Alena stated, looking at the sheer wall behind them. The canyon ran for two hundred yards before opening up again. There was no escape route once they committed.
"We don't have to hold them," Chen Mo said, his eyes scanning the canyon walls and the raging river. "We just have to make them think we're trying to. Where's the bridge from the other side of this?"
"Less than half a mile. The canyon spits us out near its northern abutment."
"Then we run the canyon. And we leave one last surprise in the middle." He pointed to a large, precariously balanced boulder perched on the cliff edge above the trail, about halfway through the defile. "Can you climb that, one-armed?"
She assessed the rock face. It was cracked and uneven. "Yes. But I cannot shift that stone."
"You won't have to." He handed her his crude bow and his single, steel-tipped arrow. "When the first of them is directly underneath it, shoot at the crack where it meets the cliff. Not at the stone itself. At the seam. The impact and vibration might be enough. If not…" He shrugged. It was a long shot. Literally.
She took the bow, testing its poor draw with a critical eye. "A child's toy. But the point is sharp. I will try."
They sprinted down the canyon ledge, the roar of the river swallowing all sound. At the halfway point, Alena began to climb, finding fingerholds with an uncanny grace despite her splinted arm. Chen Mo continued to the far end, then turned, his Sovereign's Tusk in hand. He would be the bait, the clear target at the end of the gauntlet.
He didn't have to wait long.
Three figures appeared at the canyon entrance. They were indeed men, clad in dun-colored tunics over chainmail, their faces hard and set under simple iron helms. One was limping, his hand red and swollen—the Bloodthorn. Another was blinking rapidly, his eyes streaming—the Slickwood spores. The third, untouched, held a compact crossbow. They paused, surveying the treacherous, vine-strewn path ahead with professional wariness.
The lead Watcher, the one with the crossbow, pointed at Chen Mo, a clear silhouette against the light at the far end. He shouted something lost in the river's roar, and they began to advance, carefully testing each step, brushing aside the vines with their sword tips.
Chen Mo's heart hammered against his ribs. He watched them navigate the traps. One cried out as a thorn pierced his leather gauntlet. Their advance slowed to a crawl. But they were coming. They were disciplined, methodical.
They reached the midpoint. The lead Watcher, crossbow raised, was directly beneath the poised boulder.
Chen Mo looked up. He saw Alena, a tiny figure against the sky, raise the crude bow. She drew, held, and released.
The arrow flew, a wobbly, weak line. It didn't hit the crack. It struck the face of the boulder itself with a faint tink.
Nothing happened.
The Watcher looked up, spotting Alena. He shouted, raising his crossbow.
Then, a low groan echoed over the river's noise. A puff of dust fell from the crack. The arrow's impact, slight as it was, had been the final nudge. The massive boulder shifted, tilted, and with a sound like the mountain clearing its throat, broke free.
It fell in a silent, deadly arc for a split second before crashing onto the narrow ledge with earth-shaking force.
It didn't crush the lead Watcher. He'd leapt back in the nick of time. But the boulder now completely blocked the canyon path, a house-sized obstacle. The Watchers were cut off, their way forward sealed by tons of rock.
Chen Mo didn't wait to see their fury. He turned and ran. Alena scrambled down the far side of the cliff, rejoining him as he reached the canyon's end. They burst out into open forest once more.
Behind them, muffled by stone and water, came enraged shouts. They had bought more than time. They had bought a detour of hours, maybe a full day, as the Watchers would have to climb out of the canyon and circle around.
"The bridge," Alena panted, a fierce grin on her face. "It is close."
Five minutes later, they saw it. It was not a bridge as he imagined, but the skeletal remains of one. Two massive, moss-covered stone piers rose from opposite banks of the river, which was narrower here but even more turbulent. Between them spanned the ancient, broken back of the bridge: a single, colossal stone arch, but one that had cracked and collapsed in the middle, leaving a gaping, ten-foot hole over the raging waters. The remnants of the stone roadway clung to the arch's sides, forming two narrow, crumbling ledges that skirted the hole, one slightly higher than the other.
"We cross on those," Alena said, pointing to the ledges. "It is perilous. The stone is wet. One slip…"
It was a nightmare. But it was their only way.
As they approached the southern pier, Alena's foot knocked against something half-buried in the loam. It was a skeleton, ancient, clad in the rusted remnants of fine mail. Clutched in its bony hand was a short, heavy mace. Its head was a single piece of dark, pitted metal, and set into its pommel was a crystal—a crystal that glowed with a faint, steady, amber light.
An Arcane-Conductive Material. A powerful one.
The system's alert screamed in his vision.
[WARNING: High-Grade Arcane-Conductive Material Detected: 'Sunstone Core' (Weapon-Grade).]
[Material Debt Contract: Claim will execute upon host contact.]
Alena saw it too. She knelt, her eyes wide. "A Sunstone… a light in darkness. This was a knight of the old kingdoms." She reached for it.
"Don't!" The word tore from Chen Mo's throat.
She froze, looking at him, confused.
He couldn't explain the contract. But he saw the weapon. A solid, metal mace with a magic crystal. It was a tool, a weapon, a source of light and possibly power. It could be the difference in the fights to come. And the Protocol would swallow it the moment he touched it, leaving him with nothing but a few PP and a deeper debt to a system that already owned him.
The timer glowed. 29 days, 8 hours.
He made a choice. A selfish, desperate, perhaps foolish choice.
"Let me," he said, his voice rough. "My… affinity. It's better if I handle it first."
Alena, trusting the savior who had just helped her escape, nodded and stepped back.
Chen Mo knelt before the skeleton. He said a silent, pointless apology to the long-dead knight. Then, he did not touch the mace. Instead, he took a length of tough sinew from his pouch. With careful, precise movements, he looped it around the mace's haft, just below the crystal pommel, creating a secure lashing. He then tied the other end to the belt of the skeleton's rusted armor, creating a makeshift carrying handle without his skin ever touching the weapon itself.
He stood, holding the sinew loop. The mace dangled, the amber crystal glowing innocently. No blue light. No claim.
The system was silent. Then, a new, chilling message appeared.
[Host has utilized a technical compliance loophole. Cleverness acknowledged.]
[Note: The Material Debt Contract pertains to acquisition and possession. Current status: Item is being transported, not possessed. Loophole will be closed upon host's direct manipulation of the item for utility, or upon expiration of the 24-hour proximity grace period.]
[Timer until forced scan and claim: 24 hours.]
He had bought a day. One day with a magical weapon he couldn't truly use without losing it.
"A strange ritual," Alena remarked, eyeing the dangling mace.
"A necessary one," Chen Mo said, slinging the sinew over his shoulder so the mace hung at his back. Its amber light cast a warm glow on the wet stones. "Let's cross. We've wasted enough time."
He looked at the crumbling, terrifying ledges over the abyss, then back the way they had come. The Watchers were blocked, but not beaten. Ahead lay the unknown territory of Alena's people and the secrets she carried. And on his back, he carried a ticking time bomb of magical energy, a treasure he could admire but never own.
The run was over. Now came the precarious balance.