Zi-Cheng had seen Crimson Plume’s brutality firsthand. The killer was a phantom, a predator who’s smart enough to play the city guards and got away with it.

  (Something was off. Was it truly him?)

  His grip tightened. He had no answers. How much did he actually know about the infamous serial murderer?

  Yet, a sickening thought kept crawling back into his mind.

  (What if this wasn’t the same Crimson Plume?)

  He needed to see what was happening for himself.

  As the carriage door flung open, Zi-Cheng crashed headfirst into someone fleeing for their life. The impact sent him stumbling backward, knocking him straight back into the carriage, landing hard against the seat.

  “Ven! Are you okay?!”

  Elena’s cries rang out in the carriage as she rushed to help him up.

  Zi-Cheng barely registered her words, his eyes were already fixated on the street, and it was a picture of pure chaos.

  What was once an orderly crowd waiting for the free clinic had disintegrated into sheer chaos, fear twisted across every face, eyes wide with pure, unfiltered terror.

  This wasn’t just people running because Crimson Plume was near.

  Something had already happened.

  “Watch out!”

  Elena’s sharp cry snapped Zi-Cheng’s attention across the street.

  A woman tripped and fell, almost trampled beneath the stampede before a stranger in the crowd yanked her back to her feet. A desperate father hoisted his child onto his back, shoving through the sea of bodies, face set in a frantic desperation.

  Wooden stalls toppled over.

  Baskets of fruit and bread crushed underfoot.

  A cart had been knocked over, spilling crates across the cobblestone, blocking the path where abandoned carriages stood deserted, their owners long gone.

  Then—

  A horse, wild-eyed with terror, bucked violently, snapping its reins. It bolted into a frenzied gallop, nearly crashing into a group of elderly citizens who barely managed to scatter in time.

  Zi-Cheng’s breath hitched.

  This wasn’t just fear. This was survival instinct.

  Then—

  A scream.

  Sharp.

  Shrill.

  Cut short.

  Somewhere up ahead—

  Something unspeakable had just happened.

  And judging by the way the panic escalated in an instant, it was still happening.

  “Are you two all right?”

  Morris hurried over from the driver’s seat, his usual composed demeanor replaced with an uncharacteristic urgency. “Stay put, I’ll get the guards.”

  “Wait, Morris— !”

  Elena tried to call out to him, but he was already gone, swallowed by the fleeing crowd in a blink.

  There was no choice but to do as told. Yet—

  Five minutes.

  Ten minutes.

  Fifteen.

  Morris did not return.

  The heat inside the carriage was suffocating, but not nearly as suffocating as the silence outside.

  With everyone gone, the once-deafening panic had faded into a horrifying stillness.

  (What now….?)

  A weight pressed down on Zi-Cheng’s chest, dragging him back to that bloody alley. That day, that dread, and the paralyzing intent to kill from Crimson Plume’s presence….

  Just stay here in the carriage? Whatever stirred up the chaos in the streets, if it finds them, they’re as good as dead.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Make a run for it? It would be easy if he were alone. But with Elena….

  He couldn’t take the risk.

  (What the hell am I supposed to do?!)

  His mind raced like a gambler at the roulette table. The choices before him were limitles, yet none led to a clear escape.

  Then —

  A warmth closed around his wrist.

  Zi-Cheng snapped out of his spiral just as Elena pulled him out of the carriage.

  The dice had been cast.

  The sudden rush of open air jolted his senses, then he realized, his feet were already moving.

  He was following Elena.

  And they were heading straight toward the free clinic.

  “Hang on! Elena, where are we going?”

  “The free clinic, of course! There are injured people, we have to help them!”

  Only then did Zi-Cheng notice the stuffed backpack slung over her shoulders, packed full of Peach Potions. But more than that, it was that look in her eyes again, the same unwavering determination.

  A wave of guilt hit him like a gut punch.

  While he’d been stuck worrying about survival, this young girl had already decided to save others.

  “We’re just marching over there? What if we run into Crimson Plume?”

  “Then we run.”

  ….That was it?

  The simplicity of her answer made his own hesitation felt downright embarrassing.

  “It’s okay Ven, I got this. I can go by myself if you don’t want to.” Elena flashed a small, reassuring smile, but there was no mistaking the resolve in her voice.

  “Like hell I’d let you go alone!” Zi-Cheng blurted, his face heating up. “I’ve been training with Victor for two weeks, you know!”

  “Pfft — two weeks and you think you’re some kind of hero?”

  The two exchanged a glance, then laughed.

  With the tension between them eased, their gaze drifted forward.

  The chaos has passed, but its ghost remained.

  The once-bustling street now lay deserted, a heavy silence settling over the ruins of what had been. Scattered belongings, overturned baskets, abandoned shoes, the remnants of the panicked escape littered the cobblestone street.

  Then, something heavier tainted the air. A sharp, metallic tang.

  Blood.

  A dark smear stretched across the stone, half-dried, trailed by desperate footprints.

  Zi-Cheng’s fingers twitched, his instinct kicked in, and he grabbed a wooden pole from the wreckage of a broken vegetable stall. It wasn’t a spear, but at least its better than being empty-handed.

  Cautiously, he inched forward, eyes scanning for whatever lurked ahead —

  Then he saw them.

  Figures moving through the silence.

  (These people…. they weren’t looters.)

  Zi-Cheng pressed forward. These were rough-looking men and women, clad in worn armor, weapons strapped to their waists. One crouched beside an elderly man, propping him against a broken cart. Another tended to a bloodied merchant, rolling out bandages with practiced ease.

  They weren’t city guards, and they certainly didn’t look like the Sanctuary medics. But more importantly, they weren’t the cause of the panic.

  Before Zi-Cheng could make sense of it, Elena gasped.

  “Elena, wait—!”

  But she didn’t listen. Her backpack bounced against her back as she rushed to their aid.

  “Here, take these potions!”

  Without hesitation, she grabbed a handful from her pack and started handing them out. Despite only having basic medical training like all Sanctuary staff, she moved with a sense of urgency, tending to each wounded person as best she could. Zi-Cheng followed closely behind, still gripping the wooden pole, his wariness lingering. These mercenary-types might not be a threat, but he wasn’t sure they were completely out of harm’s way just yet.

  Then, a middle-aged man with jet-black hair slicked back stepped forward.

  His presence carried weight like an immovable mountain. Sharp, chiseled features, a strong jawline marked with old scars, and piercing eyes sized up everything in a single glance. This was a man who had been through hell and walked out the other side.

  “You’re that girl from the Sanctuary.”

  Elena simply nodded, already kneeling beside a man with a fractured leg. She reached for a few sturdy planks from a broken crate nearby and began bracing his limb for support.

  The middle-aged man glanced at the bottles of potion she had distributed earlier, watching as deep wounds sealed and stabilized in record time. He let out a low hum.

  “Victor said this year’s batch would be stronger than usual. Figured we’d need all hands on deck in case things got ugly.” His sharp gaze flicked across the street, scanning the aftermath. “Looks like he was right.”

  (So these people… they’re the ‘other group’ that keeps things together in the old town district?)

  Zi-Cheng had expected gangsters and thugs. What he hadn’t expected were hardened mercenaries and freelancers acting as first responders.

  The man turned to him and let out a dry chuckle.

  “You must be the kid Victor told us about. Guess we’ve caught your eye, huh?” He extended a calloused hand. “Daniel Seigel, but just call me Dan. I’m a Freelancer, like most of us here. We do commission work for a living.”

  Zi-Cheng hesitated before shaking his hand. Dan’s grip was firm, steady—the kind of handshake from someone who had survived too much to waste time on games.

  “No banners, no leaders,” Dan added. “Just lending a hand where it’s needed.”

  Elena tightened the last splint, dusted off her hands, and stood up.

  She had only a few bottles of potion left, but she handed what she could to Dan without hesitation.

  Then, her gaze turned towards the free clinic tents in the distance.

  “You’re thinking about going, aren’t you?” Zi-Cheng asked.

  “I have to,” she said simply. “We’re almost out of potions, and that’s where we’ll find more.”

  Dan raised an eyebrow. “Why risk the danger instead of waiting for the medics?”

  Elena shook her head, adjusting the straps of the backpack, “No, we need to stabilize people’s condition before the medic team gets here. Some of these injuries can’t wait.”

  “Elena, I get it. But if Crimson Plume is really up ahead—”

  “Then we’ll just have to be careful.”

  For the first time, the two came to an impasse, and it was clear whether Zi-Cheng objected or not, Elena was going.

  Dan, who had been watching on the sideline, sighed, “Damn, Victor wasn’t kidding. You’re stubborn as hell.”

  “So you’re coming with us?” Zi-Cheng asked, eyes flickering with a spark of hope. Having a veteran on their side would make all the difference—

  “Not a chance.” Dan scoffed.

  Zi-Cheng immediately frowned. “Why not?”

  Dan’s expression darkened. “Because there’s nothing to gain from risking our necks in this.”

  Elena’s hands clenched at her sides, but she didn’t argue. She understood that the mercenaries were not obligated to help, and she knew the price for making her stand.

  Just as she turned to leave, Dan spoke again, “I won’t stop you. Not like it’d make a damn difference. Stubborn types like you always find a way.”

  Zi-Cheng’s jaw tightened. “So that’s it? You’re just letting us go?”

  Dan didn’t budge. “I didn’t say that.” he gestured towards the side streets, “I’ll point the guards your way if I find any. That’s all I can promise.”

  Elena turned around and nodded. “That’s good enough. Thank you.”

  Dan watched the two for a moment as they walked off in the distance, then scoffed. “Just don’t die, alright? Victor would chew my ass out if I let you two croak.”

  Zi-Cheng rolled his eyes. “Worried about us, or about yourself?”

  Dan chuckled as he helped the man with the broken leg toward the side street.

  “Kid, you’ll never know.”