St Chaos Healer

Ch 90 - A Booby Trap

I slipped out of the sewer, emerging into a desolate wasteland of shadow and ruin. The skeletal remains of a mansion loomed ahead, its broken walls clawing at the moonlit sky like a forgotten relic. Silence hung heavy—no footsteps, no whispers, just the wind rattling through the emptiness. I crept toward a rocky outcrop, my pulse hammering as I spotted the crevice: a jagged slit in the stone, barely wide enough for a body.

Peering inside, I saw the narrow, manmade passage stretching into darkness. It was clear this had been built as an escape route—perhaps by some long-dead noble. How Miguel had discovered it, I couldn't guess, but it was a stroke of luck for me. Even the Zephinya soldiers wouldn't know about this path.

Taking a deep breath, I squeezed into the crevice, my shoulders brushing against the cold stone. The passage was old, its walls lined with cobwebs and the occasional scuttle of mice. The air was damp, carrying the faint scent of earth and decay. I moved carefully, wary of booby traps, but most seemed to have been disabled or decayed over time.

The faint sound of the infant's cries guided me, echoing faintly through the tunnel. I followed the sound, my footsteps soft against the uneven ground. Eventually, the cries faded, replaced by the faint glow of light ahead.

I quickened my pace and emerged into a clearing, where the pale light of their torch illuminated the surroundings. The entrance was nearly hidden by moss and overgrown foliage, providing perfect camouflage for the passage. Beyond it lay the forest—the outside world of the Zephinya borders.

As I glanced outside, faint voices reached my ears. Ducking low, I crept toward the sound, my breath coming shallow and steady.

Miguel stood with a couple, meeting two strangers. One of the strangers was a tall, lean man, an axe slung over his shoulder, tattoos weaving intricate patterns across his body. The flickering torchlight carved shadows across his chiseled frame, lending him an almost statuesque presence.

His voice was deep and commanding as he spoke.

"Are there only two of them? Not three?" he asked, narrowing his piercing eyes.

Miguel gestured lazily to the infant cradled in the woman's arms. "Technically, this is the third," he replied with a smirk.

The tall man's gaze swept toward the entrance, sharp and deliberate. My heart pounded as I instinctively crouched lower, careful not to make the slightest noise. His movements were deliberate, his posture poised for trouble.

"Fine," he said after a tense pause. "Let's move. The sun's coming up, and I don't want Zephinya scouts sniffing at our heels."

He turned to the couple with an air of authority. "I'm Sandro, a D-ranked adventurer. I'll guide you to the next safe house. Stay close and keep quiet."

He pointed to a shadowy figure perched in a nearby tree. "That's Nick, a D-ranked scout. He'll watch our flank as we move."

I followed his gesture, spotting a wiry man slipping down from the branches with practiced ease. Adjusting the goggles perched on his head, Nick's sharp gaze swept the area. Pockets brimming with tools and gear, he radiated the careful precision of a seasoned scout.

"Enough talk," Nick snapped, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Zephinya guards are on edge after the attack on the capital. Patrols have doubled, and the borders are tight. We need to move now or risk getting caught. This'll be our last run for a while—don't mess it up."

The group exchanged nods, falling into line behind Sandro, their movements urgent yet purposeful.

I remained hidden, my mind racing as adrenaline coursed through me. This was it—my chance to escape. If I could follow them unnoticed, I might finally slip beyond the kingdom's grasp and into freedom.