章節 31: Truce

Silas moved carefully through the wreckage of what had once been a thriving resort town. The crumbled remains of its upscale buildings were overrun by creeping vines and shattered glass. At its center stood a hotel, its facade cracked and weathered but still standing. Around it, the rubble of smaller structures sprawled like broken teeth, with only faint signs of life—drag marks in the dirt, scattered footprints, and now the sound of voices cutting through the stillness.

He crouched low behind a jagged section of wall, scanning the group gathered near the hotel's entrance. His eyes immediately locked onto the woman at the center of it all. She stood tall and composed, her stance exuding confidence and authority.

Her skin was a deep brown, smooth and striking, despite the smudges of dirt streaking her angular features. Her high cheekbones and sharp jawline gave her an air of fierce beauty, but it was her eyes—hard, calculating, and unflinching—that held Silas's attention. Loose, tight curls framed her face, dampened by sweat but refusing to fall completely out of place.

Her armor was as rough and utilitarian as the world itself. Leather formed the base, its surface cracked and patched with mismatched materials, stitched and riveted together with a crude precision that hinted at experience, not haste. Reinforced plating covered her shoulders and chest—pieces scavenged from old sports gear, bolted onto the leather for protection. The makeshift armor clung to her lean frame, functional without flash. A machete rested on her hip, its handle worn but well-maintained.

"You've got your assignments," she barked, her tone crisp and sharp, like the crack of a whip. "Spread out. I want a mini-pagoda or a portal located before nightfall. Report back here when you find something. No excuses."

The five men standing before her nodded silently. They looked rough—scavengers and fighters with patchwork gear and improvised weapons. Rusted machetes, crude knives, and a crowbar stood out among their arsenal. None of them questioned her as she gestured sharply, dismissing them.

As the men began to disperse, the one with the crowbar paused, his sharp eyes narrowing as he spotted movement in the distance. "Hey! You there!" he barked, stepping forward and pointing the crowbar toward the trees. "Stop right now! You're trespassing!"

Silas stood at the edge of the clearing, his scarred chest rising and falling steadily as he locked eyes with the man. He didn't move, letting the tension in the air build as he assessed the situation. The men weren't particularly intimidating—thugs with numbers and scavenged weapons. But the woman? She was different. The way she carried herself, the sharp focus in her eyes, and the faint trace of killing intent radiating from her—it all marked her as someone dangerous. Someone capable.

"Hold position," she commanded, her voice cutting through the man's posturing like a blade.

The man hesitated, turning to glance at her. "But—"

"That's an order," she snapped, her tone precise and unyielding. "Carry on with your assignments. Move."

The man muttered under his breath but backed off, his crowbar swinging loosely as he joined the others heading into the ruins. Within moments, the clearing fell silent again, leaving only Silas and the woman.

She turned her attention to him fully, her stance relaxed but deliberate. Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her machete, her eyes scanning him from head to toe. Silas met her gaze evenly, his grip on the bo staff firm but unthreatening.

Her eyes lingered on his scars, tracing the jagged lines crisscrossing his bare chest and arms. His tattered pants and bare feet added to the wildness of his appearance, but her gaze wasn't dismissive—it was curious, appraising. She was studying him just as much as he was studying her.

She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable as her fingers tapped once against the hilt of her weapon. Silas could sense the flicker of recognition in her posture. She didn't know him, but she understood him. He was like her—a fighter.

The breeze stirred the air between them as they stared each other down, neither making the first move. The ruins around them seemed to hold their breath as the tension crackled, heavy and sharp.

Finally, she spoke, her voice low but firm, each word carrying weight. "Stay where you are," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and tense. Finally, the woman spoke, her voice low and steady, carrying an edge of command that didn't waver even in her measured tone.

"Hello," she said, her piercing gaze still locked on him. "My name is Amelia, and this is my base of operations. Those men you saw—they're part of my group."

Silas nodded slightly, acknowledging her words without saying anything. His grip on the bo staff didn't shift, his expression unreadable as he waited for her to continue.

Amelia's posture remained composed, though her eyes flickered with a hint of calculation. "Are you hungry?" she asked after a pause. "I have stew inside. You're welcome to come in."

The word stew hit Silas like a gut punch. The idea of something hot, flavorful, and substantial was almost enough to make him forget his caution. But the keyword was almost. He studied her carefully, his silence stretching as he weighed her offer against his instincts.

She sighed softly, the faintest furrow appearing in her brow. His lack of response clearly told her she was losing his interest—or his trust. She shifted her stance slightly, leaning into the authoritative tone that had sent her men scattering moments earlier.

"Look," she said, her voice carrying a note of urgency now. "There's a place I need to explore, but I'm not strong enough to go on my own. My men? They're loyal, but they're not strong enough to assist, either. I need someone like you—someone capable."

Silas's eyes narrowed slightly. He straightened, his body relaxed but ready to move in an instant. His voice, when it came, was quiet but steady. "What makes you think I can help?"

For the first time, Amelia smiled, her lips curving in a way that softened her otherwise sharp features. Her teeth, strikingly perfect against the grime on her skin, stood out as a testament to what the old world might have been for her.

"I used to work in military intelligence," she said, her tone steady but laced with confidence. "It was my job to read a situation—to analyze, assess, and act. I'm certain about two things. One, you're stronger than you look." Her eyes flicked over his scarred frame, lingering on the way he carried himself, the quiet confidence in his posture. "And two? We can help each other."

Silas tilted his head slightly, still not speaking, but his grip on the staff loosened marginally. Amelia's words hung in the air, and for the first time since he'd entered the clearing, he considered stepping closer.

As Silas devoured the stew with single-minded intensity, Amelia broke the silence, her voice calm but carrying a subtle warmth. "It's king beast meat," she said, stirring her own bowl idly with her spoon. "A giant rat, if you can believe it."

Without looking up, Silas replied between bites, "I know about king meat." His tone was flat, but he caught her glance out of the corner of his eye. There it was—a flicker of satisfaction, a knowing look that told him he'd walked right into her bait. Her faint smirk only confirmed it. She'd been fishing, and now she had what she wanted: confirmation that he'd fought a king beast before.

Silas inwardly grunted, irritated at himself for the slip. He didn't say anything more, shoveling another spoonful of the rich stew into his mouth. The savory taste and warmth coursed through him like a balm after weeks of raw meat. It was incredible, easily the best thing he'd eaten since the world awakened, but he kept his focus sharp, refusing to let her see how much he appreciated the meal.

Amelia leaned back slightly, watching him with an easy smile as he continued to eat. "I thought as much," she said casually, her voice carrying that same calculated warmth. "Not many people out here know what king meat tastes like, let alone survive taking it down."

Silas didn't respond, his attention fixed on finishing the bowl. Her words were deliberate, but he wasn't about to give her more than he already had. He scraped the bottom of the bowl with his spoon, letting the last bite linger on his tongue. So good, he thought, savoring the feeling of finally eating something cooked, seasoned, and warm.

Amelia watched him with interest as he set the bowl aside, her sharp eyes tracing his movements. "You've been living rough," she said after a moment. It wasn't a question—it was an observation, one she clearly knew was true.

Silas didn't bother answering. He picked up the bowl, debating whether to ask for more, then thought better of it. He'd already let her confirm one thing; he didn't need to give her anything else. Instead, he leaned back, gripping the bo staff across his lap as he stared at the fire. Amelia's gaze didn't waver, but neither did his.

The tension simmered between them as Silas wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was full for the first time in what felt like forever, but his instincts kept him sharp, his wariness of her unshaken. Whatever she wanted, it wasn't just about sharing a meal.

As the fire crackled, Amelia broke the silence, leaning slightly forward as she stared into the flames. "There's a vast network of tunnels beneath the main pagoda," she began, her tone calm but carrying an edge of urgency. "The one that crushed the mountain and destroyed this town."

Silas, still seated cross-legged with his bo staff across his lap, didn't look up immediately. He waited, letting her talk.

"There's a portal down there," she continued, her gaze flicking toward him briefly before returning to the fire. "I need to get to it. But the tunnels aren't empty—they're infested with moles."

"Moles?" Silas raised an eyebrow, glancing at her with faint incredulity. "That's what's stopping you?"

"Not the garden-variety kind," she replied, her lips curving slightly in a wry smile. "Most of them are the size of dogs—big enough to tear apart anyone who gets too close. But one of them…" She paused for effect, her tone darkening. "One of them is an emperor beast."

That made Silas sit up a little straighter. "An emperor beast?" His voice held a note of skepticism. "That's not just a problem. That's a death sentence for most people."

"I know," Amelia said with a slight shrug, her calm demeanor betraying no fear. "But if we can get past it and reach the portal, we'll have access to a secret realm. Resources, relics, and who knows what else. The system says the potential rewards outweigh the risks."

Silas stayed silent, his mind working through what she'd said. An emperor beast was no small matter. He'd barely survived his encounter with the salamander, and that was a challenge even with Aberham's help. But the herb he needed was supposedly in the tunnels. If he wanted it, he'd have to go down there anyway.

"What's a portal?" he asked after a moment, his tone calm but laced with curiosity.

Amelia leaned back, crossing her arms. "It's a gateway to a secret realm. According to the system, these realms are like pocket dimensions. They're full of resources, treasures, and sometimes…" She hesitated, her gaze sharpening. "Sometimes things you don't want to meet. But the rewards are worth it."

Silas frowned slightly, the idea of a "secret realm" sounding both enticing and dangerous. "And you've been to one of these before?"

Amelia nodded. "Yes. I found something there I think you'll appreciate." She glanced at him, her voice softening. "I'm going to show you something, but don't react. I'm pulling out a weapon."

Silas's eyes flicked to her hands, his grip tightening slightly on his staff. "Go on," he said, his voice even.

With a faint shimmer, two daggers appeared in her hands. At first glance, they looked plain—black handles, smooth, unadorned steel blades—but as they caught the light of the fire, Silas felt it. A faint hum of energy radiated from them, subtle but unmistakable. It reminded him of the energy his staff gave off in battle.

"These are pseudo-spiritual weapons," Amelia explained, holding one dagger out slightly as if to demonstrate. "They let us channel spiritual energy, but they're not graded by the system. Still, they're better than anything mundane."

Silas studied the daggers, then glanced at his staff. He traced a finger along its smooth surface, sensing the same faint hum he'd felt before. It wasn't hard to guess that his weapon was of similar rank—functional, but far from legendary.

"You found these in a portal?" he asked, his tone neutral.

Amelia nodded. "And a few other things," she said, her expression unreadable. She didn't elaborate, and Silas didn't press her. He wasn't about to reveal everything he'd gained from the flower or other encounters, so he didn't mind her keeping some secrets of her own.

After a moment of silence, Silas finally spoke. "Fine. A truce. But I'll only go down there with you. No one else."

Amelia smiled faintly, extending a hand toward him. "Understood. A truce."

Silas hesitated for a beat before taking her hand. Her grip was firm, her calloused palm a reminder that she'd seen her share of battles. As they released, Amelia tilted her head slightly, her eyes sharp with thought.

"But I have one condition," she said, her tone soft but insistent.

Silas raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"I'm getting you some real clothes," she said, her gaze flicking over his tattered pants and bare feet. "You look like a wild man."

Silas chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine," he said looking at the tattered pants he wore, he definitly looked a little wild.