Hunter tore his gaze from the land bridge and the tide marching in like a surly army. Spinning around, he dashed toward his makeshift tinkering table.
It was time to put his brilliant plan into motion.
Unlike snooty Magistratus Dimus, who was probably sipping tea in a fancy carriage on his way to the mainland, Hunter was stuck hoofing it there on foot.
And guess what?
He didn't have the special tokens or gold coins needed to sweet-talk the guards. But lucky for him, Nic had a secret stash hidden somewhere in his room.
A secret that wasn't much of a secret to Hunter.
Hunter was no stranger to slipping out of his room unnoticed. If he were a cultivator and had access to his status scroll, he fancied he’d have earned himself the title, “Phantom Pilferer of Death Isle.”
He knew how to nab stuff without raising eyebrows.
And you could bet your last token he never swiped from honest folks—they were as rare as griffin sightings around here. More often than not, helping the rare decent soul got him into a world of trouble.
Once, he nicked some coins from shifty-looking cultivators to create a diversion and save a poor soul from a brutal beatdown. Little did he know, those same shady individuals would catch up to him later. If it weren't for his trusty rat's warning squeak, he might've been sleeping with the fishes—permanently.
The thought of Nic hauling him off to the magistratus' office at the crack of dawn made Hunter's heart sink. Hangover-soaked magistratus were never good news. But if Hunter's plan worked, he'd ace the Trial of Worth and earn his rights. No more indentured servitude, and Nic wouldn't have to babysit him.
A quick island escape could save them both.
Hunter snapped back to reality, realizing he'd been staring at his shelves of scavenged jars. He got to work, clearing space on his table and grabbing the right bottles. He poured dried winter plum berries into his palm, then rushed to the window to leave a handful on the sill, luring in his little helpers.
Hunter inhaled the sweet scent, knowing he'd soon have tiny visitors.
With a flick, he activated the ruby spirit stone on his soul-bound storage ring. The stone hummed to life, channeling its stored chi and granting Hunter access to his ring’s inventory without draining his own chi reserves. He mentally checked his inventory, then grabbed the dried Soulvine mourn berries and flower petals from the shelved bottles and stashed them in the ring to avoid a stink bomb situation in his room.
While his storage ring had the space, it lacked the magic script to prevent his foraged items from decaying. He learned the hard way that glass bottles and jars were best for storing dried foraged goods like peppermint leaves—they stayed fresh longer. The only exception was fish jerky. Thanks to the magic of volcano salt, it never degraded in his storage ring.
He also kept a rusty dagger in the ring because ocean air was tough on iron. Hunter had picked up a nifty trick from Nic that he used to keep his mattock in top shape. It involved making a waterproof salve from the wax cuticle of those nasty Titanus plants.
Hunter winced at the memory. Those hefty plants didn’t just act like assholes, they looked like one too. One that was all red, veiny, and swollen as a septic baboon’s ass.
It took him a minute to find the bottle labeled "asshole salve" but he tossed it into the ring without opening it. Rotten flesh smell? No thanks. It wouldn't make him sick like the Soulvine petals used to when he was a kid.
Chewy's "gifts" didn't stink half as bad—Hunter had stored some in his ring inside a sheepskin bladder. It'd stay there until it was absolutely necessary. No need to make his room smell worse than an outhouse crapper baking in the summer heat.
Scratching sounds behind him signaled the arrival of his little hairy pals. Three rats perched on the windowsill, happily munching on the dried winter plum berries.
Outside, the tide kept rising, adding urgency to Hunter's mission.
Rubbing his jaw, he realized Nic was still outside, courtesy of Chewy, who must've left a shit of epic proportions behind. The rats watched him with those shiny black eyes, and Hunter was glad to have their attention. He scratched behind the ear of the smallest one. "You're a speedy nipper. Think you can gather the rest of the gang?"
The little rat scurried off, leaving the others behind. Hunter pointed to his frayed tunic pocket, which had seen its fair share of nibbling. He offered his palm. "Hop on."
The rats inched closer, their silver whiskers twitching. But after a quick sniff and a glance at each other, they shook their heads.
Hunter frowned as he noticed the yellow stains on his fingers. "Geez, it's the stinking Soulvines, isn't it?"
The little guys nodded.
Not many folks knew that flowers could stink so bad, especially the ones in the cemetery. But Hunter and Nic had learned that they only stank for a few weeks each year, despite blooming nearly year-round.
He learnt that if he harvested the petals when they reeked and sealed them in jars, he'd have some top-notch stink bombs when he crushed a wad of them in his palm.
Hunter had already scrubbed his hands in a saltwater basin, and he encouraged the two rats to stow away in his tunic pocket, while the speedy rat companion returned with reinforcements.
Hunter grinned. He was all for having prolific breeders on his team. He ushered about a dozen rats into the room, pulled back a coarse sack serving as a blanket, and patted his bedroll.
"In you go, and if you hear Nic open the door, wriggle about and he’ll think it's me snoozing under there." They all hopped on, their beady eyes locked on him.
Grimacing, Hunter realized he had almost forgotten a crucial detail. From his shelf, he grabbed a smaller box he'd cobbled together from odds and ends, a contraption made of who-knows-what to create an automatic feeder. He gently slid it under the sack until it was hidden from view.
After one last sweep of the room and a final check of his tinkering table and ring inventory, Hunter was good to go. He climbed out of the window, wedging his toes into stonework gaps, his fingers finding the familiar cracks.
Hunter scaled the building until he reached Nic's window and slipped inside. With a guilty look, he whispered, "I'm sorry, Nic. I promise I'll give your tokens back. I just need to borrow 'em for a few hours."
His stomach turned at the thought of entering Nic's room without permission. But he couldn't let that stop him. Those tokens were the key to his master plan.
Finding what he needed didn't take long. He knew exactly where Nic stashed them—a plain tin box under a floorboard, marked by telltale scratches on either side. Hunter gingerly lifted the tin, but it felt oddly light. Dread crept in, and his heart raced as he slowly opened it.
Empty.
"What am I gonna do now?" Hunter muttered. It hit him like a ton of bricks—Nic was onto him. But Hunter wasn't about to throw in the towel. He slipped back outside, checked on his little pocket rat posse, and then scrambled down to the ground. As he rounded the building's corner and saw Nic still tending to Kakos' grave, his breath caught.
If he sprinted toward the gates leading to the land bridge, Nic was bound to spot him. Hunter watched as Nic paused every so often, glancing back at the house as if expecting trouble.
He let out a frustrated sigh. “I’d rather lick the magistratus’ toes than turn back now.” Hunter patted his tunic pocket, and the rats peeked their little heads out. He extended his palm, and they hopped onto it.
"I need your help, buddies." He nodded in the direction of Big Nic. They knew the drill and what they had to do. They scurried off, disappearing into the grass, heading toward the big man.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
Hunter drummed his fingers on his thighs, knowing that patience was his best ally.
In a flash, Nic leapt, waving his mattock like a wildman, charging toward the rats. "Come here, you little lousy shaggers! I'll turn you into rat stew!"
Staying low, Hunter had already plotted his path to the gate. He sprinted like a bat out of hell, vaulting over the gate and landing lightly on the other side. Hunter took a moment to pay his respects, bowing his head at a small plaque Nic had erected in memory of the forgotten souls buried on the rocky hillside overlooking the sea and the citadel on the mainland.
From there, Hunter had a view of the islet with its imposing rocky cliffs. They stood dark and broody, as if blackened by coal, while the butterscotch-hued citadel curled around the mainland like a sleeping cat's tail basking in the golden light of the evening sun.
With the land bridge in his sights, he took off running.
To his left lay the lower division, where the infected folks lived in wood and clay huts, often stripped of their wealth and shunned by their families. Quite the shock for those who had once been part of wealthy noble houses.
The upper division, in stark contrast, was home to the likes of the magistratus and the tent-dwelling migrant workers who enjoyed better living conditions.
It was like day and night coexisted in close quarters.
The rich side boasted protective arrays to keep out dire-beasts, while the ones surrounding the poorer areas were better at containing the infected but didn't do much to deter the occasional beast attack. They’d been cursed for death anyway.
Hunter had learned from Nic which routes were safer to travel on the island, those away from known hunting grounds.
Every inch of Death Island was treacherous, especially for a non-cultivator like Hunter. Right now, his main concern wasn't dire-beasts; he knew the island's ins and outs and how to steer clear of them. He could reach the land bridge without treading into their territory.
However, there was one beast he prayed not to run into.
He picked up his pace, worrying he might already be running late. To reach the mainland, where the Trial of Worth was set to begin, he needed to pass through two gates. The first would be a breeze if Death Island guards were still on duty.
Of course, if he were a First Star Founder, he could cover that ground in no time. Cultivators at the first level in the second stage of cultivation, could easily outrun and outswim non-cultivators.
Just thinking about joining their ranks sent a thrill coursing through him. He'd been dreaming of this day almost as long as he'd been daydreaming about the ancient tower.
Hunter watched his step, cursing his own sluggishness as the pebbles slipped beneath his shoes. Speeding up would risk him tumbling down the winding paths and landing right at the guards' feet.
Rounding a corner past a large bush, his gut churned.
The barrier was up already, curses!
He glanced at the sky and the sun casting an orange glow over Delphare’s citadel. Unlike the heavily-armored hoplite guards at the mainland gates, Death Island guards didn’t have their drive or motivation. Most who chose to work here were either desperate for cash or desperate to outrun their past.
Their main job was to make sure no infected person left the island. And at this hour, the lower division would be locked down. The guards had called it an early day to hit up the only tavern on the island for workers.
The tavern stayed open thanks to their coin splashing on ale and ‘night-time entertainment’. Today, they were all in a festive mood, celebrating the Harvest Fest.
But they hadn't dropped their defenses completely.
Once Hunter stepped on the other side of the barrier, he'd be in the territory of the Molossus hounds. Now no guards manned the gates, Hunter knew these ferocious hounds would be set free to patrol the no man's land between the barrier and the gate leading to the land bridge.
Just like rats, these hounds could sniff out Scale Rot disease, and anyone attempting to escape when the guards were off duty would meet a grisly end before even reaching the gate. It didn't happen often, but Hunter was well aware of what these hounds were capable of. He'd seen the gruesome aftermath before Nic buried the poor souls who’d failed to escape.
Hunter scanned the surroundings, but there was no sign of the hounds. According to his memory, there were at least four of those monstrous brutes. They were probably prowling around the southend, but it wouldn't be long before they circled back this way.
Hunter hopped the fence, staying low as he crept toward a small briar bush with prickly branches. He knew better than to get too close; the thorns were poison-tipped. Carefully, he retrieved the sheep bladder and emptied half of its contents at the bush's base.
Chewy's revenge dump was still so fresh it was practically steaming.
He raced around the side of the bush and charged toward the next one, closest to the gate. Suddenly, the air filled with howls, and four hounds that looked like they'd been chiseled out of rocks emerged from behind a little hut near the gate.
Hunter's heart raced. The hounds weren't prowling no man's land; they were lying in ambush near the gate. These hounds were as clever as they were gruesome. They spread out, sniffing the air.
Thankfully, they all caught a whiff of Chewy's deposit, and their territorial instincts kicked in.
Hunter pumped his fist in the air, grinning.
It worked!
Growling they moved towards the briar bush. All four hounds had gooey, frothy drool hanging from their jaws and bulging black eyes.
As soon as they passed by the bush where Hunter was hiding, he inched forward, keeping the gate in his sights. Their growling stopped as they sniffed the steaming mound that reeked of the little hound's defiance. To them, that was like a slap across the muzzle.
After one last glance back at the indignant hounds, Hunter broke from his hiding place and sprinted toward the gate. It was high, maybe six feet, but he knew he could scale it.
Then came the sound he had dreaded.
A deep, throaty growl from behind. The heavy pounding of paws on earth followed as one of the Molossus hounds gave chase. Hunter didn't look back, even though every instinct screamed at him to do so.
If he did, he'd be dog chow.
He exerted all his strength to leap over the gate, his pants tearing as the hound's hot breath singed his exposed skin.
Hunter landed hard on the other side, rolling before springing to his feet.
The hounds pounding the gate behind him spurred him to move. Clenching his bits for dear life, he raced on, realizing then that half his pants leg was missing.
Lucky it wasn't my bloody leg or worse!
He wiped the beast’s slobber off his hands and flicked it away. But he paid the price for that momentary distraction when he saw that the land bridge was sinking beneath the waves as the tide rolled in.
Hunter still had a shot at sprinting across before it went completely underwater. But there was a hitch—the waves surged and crashed unpredictably along the way. Hunter watched for a moment, trying his best to time it right, and then he made his move.
With each thunderous step, the ocean water splashed back. Barely making it a quarter of the way, the water crested over the land bridge in waves at ankle depths. Pumping his arms, Hunter kept his gaze focused on the end of the land bridge, its jagged rocks more evident.
Running through the rising tide became more difficult as he passed the halfway point. The land bridge transitioned into more uneven rocks the closer he reached the citadel.
A gust of wind shifted his attention, but it was too late as a set of waves rocked into motion, lashing the land bridge whole. His foot landed, waves crashed into his calf. His arms wavered to the side, maintaining his balance, but it was the second wave that took him crashing down into the sea.
Memories flooded back from a time before when he plummeted from the cliff at the hands of Pheres. This time, he was a stronger swimmer and fought the current that urged him back towards the rocky edges of the land bridge.
As his head surfaced, with strong, persistent strokes, he swore he heard a high-pitched voice in the distance above the crashing waves. "Sir, he’s done it again."
Hunter’s hand planted onto the rocky surface, and he pulled himself up onto the jagged rocks. It was the closest entryway, but he had to get through the gates. With each step, his soaked leather shoes squeaked. He paused against a wall, eyeing the heavily armored hoplite guards further in at the port of entry next to the citadel gates.
He had to reduce his risk of being heard if he wanted to slip by them. Removing his sandals he placed them in his storage ring.
As he approached, he held his hands to his mouth and made a series of duck calls. The guards shifted their gaze to the distance, where the echo bounced off the wall. Hunter sprinted toward the gate as the opportunity arrived, with the nearest guard pointing in that direction.
Despite being light on his feet, the swishing sound of his drenched clothes were a dead giveaway.
The guard shifted his attention back to his post and held out a firm palm. "Where do you think you're going?"
Hunter smiled. "I thought I'd take a nice dip in the ocean before attending the Coming-of-Age Ceremony."
The guard laughed. "You're more like a drowned rat. Show me your tokens."
Hunter patted his pockets. "Why would I risk carrying my tokens with me when they’re more than likely to be destroyed or lost in water?"
The other guard walked closer, tapping his spear against his forearm gauntlet. "No tokens, no entry."
"Ah yes, I remember where I put them." Hunter tapped his soul-bound storage ring, a smirk appearing on his face. He scrunched his palm tight and tossed the Soulvine petals into the air, their pungent fragrance wafting toward the guards.
They stepped back, but their heavy armor delayed their footing as they clanged into the wall. In a coughing fit, it was clear they’d be occupied.
Hunter slipped past them and pulled on the chain, opening the gate enough to slide through. He swung the chain into the air, catching itself onto the upper rings of the gate.
The guards yelled but stumbled side to side, trying to grasp the chain with their spears. Their bodies were too wide with heavy hoplite armor to fit through the narrow opening and follow him.
Hunter sprinted toward the city center, grabbing a fresh tunic and pants from a vendor stall. It wouldn’t be as pristine as the others entering the Trial of Worth, but he only needed to make his presence known.
Changing clothes in an alley, he caught a glimpse of the towering shadow of his Uncle Eratos in the throng of people. Hunter narrowed his eyes, his chest tightened with anger.