章節 32: Helping
Amelia rummaged through what supplies she had, eventually pulling out a pair of green camouflage pants. "These might work," she said, holding them up. They were slightly too long but fit Silas's waist well enough. Without hesitation, he tore the ends off the legs with sharp, efficient motions to avoid restricting his movements. She handed him a long, loose-fitting shirt and a plain vest.
Silas inspected the clothes briefly. The camo pants were sturdy and practical, though worn at the edges, and the vest had clearly been repaired multiple times. "They'll do," he muttered, his tone flat.
Amelia set down a pair of boots beside him. "You'll need these," she said, gesturing to his bare feet.
Silas tried them on briefly, his brow furrowing as they pinched his toes. He quickly kicked them off with a grunt. "I'll stick to no shoes," he said simply, storing the boots in his ring of holding. Maybe he could use them later, but for now, they weren't worth the discomfort.
Amelia smirked faintly, giving him an appraising look. "You really are committed to the wild-man aesthetic."
Silas ignored her, pulling the clothes into his ring as he waited for her group to finish preparing the bath. When one of Amelia's people suggested setting it up indoors, Silas's expression hardened. "No," he said, his voice sharp. "Outside."
The group exchanged uneasy glances but ultimately obeyed when Amelia waved them off. "Fine," she said with a sigh. "Set it up by the fountain."
Once the makeshift bath was ready, Silas waited until everyone had left the area. Only then did he strip down completely, his bo staff resting within arm's reach. The cold air bit into his skin as he stepped into the shallow basin, the water cool and clear.
He dunked his head under first, scrubbing at his scalp with his hands to loosen weeks of dirt, sweat, and blood. The water quickly turned murky, brown streaked with hints of red as layers of grime washed away. The scars across his chest and back became more prominent with each pass of his hands. He worked methodically, his fingers digging into his skin as if trying to scrub away more than just the physical dirt.
The chill of the water was invigorating, sharpening his senses even as it left goosebumps across his arms and legs. By the time he finished, the basin's water was completely opaque, a dark sludge of everything he'd accumulated over the weeks. Silas stepped out, shaking off excess droplets as he stared down at the mess below.
"I really was a wild man," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his now-clean hair.
He dried off quickly, pulling on the fresh clothes Amelia had provided. The camo pants felt strange but sturdy, and the vest fit snugly over his shoulders. He adjusted everything to ensure full mobility, then stored his old, tattered rags in his ring.
As he finished preparing, Amelia approached him, her expression serious. "I'll meet you tomorrow," Silas said curtly, adjusting his bo staff across his back. "At first light."
She nodded, but before he could leave, she spoke again. "Wait."
Silas stopped, glancing back at her with a flicker of annoyance. "What now?"
"I need your help," she said, stepping closer. "There's a gang of misfits causing trouble in the area. They killed one of my people. We found her body, along with one of theirs."
Silas's expression didn't change, but inwardly, he thought, Probably the guy I killed. He hadn't bothered hiding the body—there hadn't seemed to be a point. The dead woman, though, was new information.
"That's not my problem," Silas said flatly, turning to leave.
"They'll come back," Amelia pressed, her tone sharpening. "And they'll bring more. This isn't just about my people—it's about clearing the area. I'll pay you to help."
Silas stopped mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder. "Pay me how?"
She reached into her ring of holding and pulled out a small, glowing rock. Its surface shimmered faintly, wisps of spiritual energy rising like smoke.
Silas studied the rock, narrowing his eyes as he silently asked the system, What is it?
"25,000 merits to analyze," the system replied.
Silas didn't bother paying; the system's price alone told him it was valuable. He turned to face Amelia fully. "I want two of those," he said bluntly.
Amelia didn't hesitate. "Deal."
Silas blinked, caught off guard by her quick agreement. Should've asked for more, he thought irritably.
"Fine," he said after a beat. "Want to strike tonight?"
Amelia nodded.
"Okay, I'll be back tonight." Silas said as he turned and walked away, his bare feet moving silently across the dirt as he disappeared into the woods.
Amelia watched him go, her expression unreadable.
Amelia stood near the remnants of a crumbled wall, the last rays of sunlight casting a soft orange glow over the ruins. One of her men approached cautiously, his crowbar resting casually on his shoulder. His face was weathered, and a jagged scar cut through his left eyebrow. His gaze flicked toward the direction Silas had gone, his expression skeptical.
"Why you trusting that kid?" he asked, his voice low but carrying an edge. "Seems a bit… wild."
Amelia didn't turn to look at him immediately. Instead, she studied the horizon, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. "He's strong," she said simply. "And we need strength."
The man frowned, shifting his weight. "And once you've used him for what you need?"
This time, Amelia did glance at him, her dark eyes gleaming with thought. "We'll see how it plays out," she said smoothly, her tone calm but calculated. "Something tells me we might not be able to pull off the usual with this one."
The man nodded slowly, chewing over her words. He seemed thoughtful now, his earlier skepticism fading. Silas wasn't like the others they had dealt with—there was something about him that even he had to admit felt… different.
Meanwhile, Silas sat cross-legged high in the branches of a massive tree, the thick bark rough against his legs. The air around him was cool and still, with only the occasional rustle of leaves breaking the silence. His bo staff rested against the trunk within arm's reach, ready if he needed it.
He began cycling his Diamond Furnace Body Refinement technique, the painful process now a familiar companion. His amulet pulsed warmly against his chest, the heat spreading through his muscles as he directed the spiritual energy throughout his body. The pain was sharp and relentless, but he endured it, his mind focused entirely on the task.
The energy softened his tissues as it flowed through him, burning with intensity as it rebuilt and strengthened his body. Silas gritted his teeth, his hands resting tightly on his knees as each surge of power brought both agony and progress. The rhythm was precise, deliberate: Soften, strengthen, endure.
Tonight, though, something felt different. As the energy swirled inside him, there was a sense of clarity, a sharpness that hadn't been there before. It felt like the edge of a breakthrough—a wall he was pressing against but not quite able to shatter.
Silas exhaled slowly, his breath controlled as he leaned into the sensation. The energy built within him, his body aching as it pushed his limits. His heart raced, and for a moment, he thought he might break through right then and there. But as the cycle completed, the energy settled back into his core, leaving him hovering just shy of the milestone.
He opened his eyes, his gaze steady as he stared out at the darkening sky. "Close," he muttered under his breath, rolling his shoulders to ease the lingering tension.
The breakthrough was within reach—he could feel it. But it wasn't going to happen tonight. Another couple of days, he thought. He just needed to keep at it, keep pushing through the pain.
As Silas crept toward the camp, the flickering firelight revealed the chaos Amelia had described. A dozen men lounged around like wolves after a fresh kill, their crude weapons scattered within reach. The air reeked of alcohol, sweat, and faintly of blood, mixing with the coarse laughter and jeers that echoed through the clearing.
Toward the edge of the camp, Silas spotted two women huddled together, their clothes torn and their faces blank. One of the men yanked a woman by her hair, dragging her toward the fire as his companions howled with laughter. Another thug kicked at a sack of stolen goods, his grin wide as he rifled through its contents.
Silas's lips curled into a slow, predatory grin as he watched. The aura stones were a bonus. Seeing the vile depravity on display made it personal. These men weren't warriors—they were vermin. And he was going to exterminate them.
I'd probably do this for free, Silas thought, the flicker of a dark satisfaction creeping into his mind.
He exhaled slowly, releasing the weight of his killing intent into the air. It wasn't enough to paralyze them—just enough to shift the atmosphere, to make the shadows around the campfire feel heavier.
And then, like a wolf among sheep, he stepped into the clearing.
The thug leaned back against a fallen log, taking a swig from his flask as he glanced around the camp. Life had never been better. Joining the gang was the smartest thing he'd ever done. No beasts to fight, no pagoda traps—just easy living, raiding weaklings, and taking whatever they wanted.
He looked toward the fire, where his crew jeered and laughed. The boss had told them the warlord was going to handle Amelia and her people soon. They didn't need to worry about her anymore.
The faint sound of footsteps pulled his attention. He squinted into the darkness but saw nothing. Shrugging, he took another drink.
Then a shadow stepped into the firelight.
Silas moved swiftly, his bo staff striking the first thug with brutal precision. The crack of ribs echoed through the clearing as the man gasped, his flask falling from his hand as he crumpled to the ground.
"What the—?!" another thug shouted, scrambling to his feet.
The staff spun in Silas's hands, catching the second man across the jaw with a sharp crack. Blood sprayed across the firelight as the thug staggered back, collapsing into the dirt.
"Shit! A cultivator!" one of the men screamed, reaching for a rusted machete.
Silas didn't give him the chance. With a swift strike to the man's knee, he sent him toppling to the ground. The staff came down hard on the man's temple, and he went still.
The camp erupted into chaos. Some men shouted in panic, others grabbed their weapons, and a few tried to flee. But Silas was faster.
One thug swung a bat at him, his movements clumsy and desperate. Silas parried the strike with ease, twisting the staff to disarm the man before driving it into his chest. The thug staggered back, clutching his ribs as Silas struck again, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Amelia moved through the chaos like a shadow, her daggers flashing as they found their marks. She was quick—faster than Silas expected—her strikes clean and lethal. Two men fell before they even realized she was there, their bodies crumpling as blood pooled beneath them.
"Too slow," Silas muttered as another thug charged at him with a rusted axe. He ducked under the swing, pivoting smoothly to bring the staff down on the man's shoulder with enough force to dislocate it. The thug screamed, dropping his weapon, and Silas silenced him with a blow to the temple.
The last few brigands tried to run, but Silas was relentless. He struck one man's legs out from under him, sending him sprawling into the dirt, before finishing him with a sharp crack to the back of the head.
The camp was silent now, the fire crackling weakly as blood soaked the ground. Silas exhaled slowly, his staff resting against his shoulder as he surveyed the carnage.
Amelia wiped her daggers clean on a dead man's shirt, her expression cold and detached. "That's only half of them," she said, nodding toward the darkness. "The other half are out looting. They'll be back soon."
Silas glanced toward the five women huddled nearby. They didn't cry or scream. Their faces were hollow, devoid of emotion.
Amelia hid them in one of the shacks to put them out of harms way.
Silas took a seat and told Amelia "I think you should hide." As he took a seat on a log near a fire.
Amelia nodded and ran off.
Two hours passed in silence. Silas remained seated near the campfire, his bo staff resting across his lap. The flames flickered weakly, throwing long, distorted shadows across the bloodied clearing. He hadn't moved, his senses on high alert as he waited for the second group of brigands to return.
The distant sound of laughter and heavy footsteps reached his ears first, the telltale sign of the gang's return. They were louder than he expected, their voices carrying through the still night air. The sound of rustling branches followed, and soon the group came into view.
Silas wondered how they were still alive, did groups deter animal attacks?
Eight men stumbled into the camp, two of them dragging women behind them by their wrists. The women were limp, their heads bowed in defeat as the men jeered and pushed them forward. One of the thugs—a tall, wiry man with a jagged scar running across his cheek—kicked over a crate near the fire, scattering its contents.
"What the fuck happened here?" one of the men growled, his bloodshot eyes scanning the camp.
The others noticed the bodies almost simultaneously, their drunken stupor evaporating in an instant. Weapons were drawn—bats, machetes, and crude clubs held with trembling hands.
"What the hell is this?" another thug shouted, his voice laced with panic.
Silas stayed seated, his expression calm as he watched the chaos unfold. Finally, he leaned back slightly and tilted his head, speaking just loud enough for them to hear.
"About time you showed up," he said, his voice low and edged with menace.
The men froze, their heads snapping toward the fire. The sight of Silas—a shirtless, scarred figure sitting amidst the blood-soaked camp—made their eyes widen in disbelief.
"Who the fuck are you?" the scarred man demanded, pointing his machete at Silas.
Silas didn't respond immediately. Instead, he exhaled slowly, letting a wave of killing intent roll off him. It wasn't subtle this time—his presence filled the clearing, a suffocating pressure that made the weaker men stagger back.
"Monsters," Silas said finally, his tone almost conversational. "That's what you are. And you're about to pay for it."
Before the men could react, a shadow moved behind them. Amelia emerged from the darkness, her daggers flashing as they found their marks. The two men closest to her barely had time to scream before they collapsed, their throats slit cleanly.
"Shit! Ambush!" one of the thugs shouted, raising his bat.
The others turned toward Amelia, but Silas was already moving. He shot to his feet, his bo staff a blur as it swung in a wide arc, connecting with the side of a thug's head. The sickening crack echoed through the clearing as the man crumpled to the ground.
Another thug lunged at Silas with a machete, but Silas sidestepped effortlessly, using the momentum of his staff to sweep the man's legs out from under him. The thug hit the ground hard, and Silas followed up with a brutal strike to the chest, shattering ribs and silencing him for good.
Amelia darted between the remaining men, her movements fluid and precise. She stabbed one thug in the stomach, twisting the blade before yanking it free. Blood sprayed as the man fell, clutching his abdomen in a futile attempt to stop the flow.
One of the thugs managed to get behind her, raising a club high above his head. But before he could swing, Silas closed the distance in a single step. His staff shot forward, striking the man's arm with enough force to dislocate it. The club fell from his grasp, and Silas spun his staff into a crushing blow to the man's temple.
Within minutes, the camp fell silent again, the bodies of the second group scattered across the clearing. Blood soaked the ground, pooling beneath the fallen brigands as the weak firelight flickered over the carnage.
Amelia wiped her daggers clean on one of the corpses, her expression cold but focused. She turned toward the women the brigands had dragged into the camp, her tone firm and emotionless.
"You can come with me," she said. "Join my camp, and you'll be safe. But you'll be expected to work. If you refuse, you'll be cast out."
The women huddled together, trembling. Silas watched as only the two women who had been brought into the camp that night moved toward Amelia. The others remained where they were, their faces blank, their spirits broken beyond repair.
Amelia didn't press them. She glanced at Silas, her expression unreadable. "Meet me tomorrow in front of the hotel," she said simply, turning to guide the women away as she handed Silas the glowing stones she owed him. Silas simply put them into his ring for now.
Silas nodded, his gaze lingering on the ghost-like women still crouched near the fire. He said nothing, his face unreadable as he picked up his staff and turned to leave.
He didn't look back.
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