Chapter 25
"Move! Find somewhere to get out of the rain."
Bloodbeard's voice cut through the downpour like a blade, deep and steady even as rain poured down his face in shimmering rivulets. He wiped the water from his crimson beard, which gleamed dully in the storm's gray light, and added coldly,
"No one drinks the rain. If any of you go mad from it, don't blame my knife."
"Yes, boss!" the men chorused in unison, voices echoing across the hills like rolling thunder.
He was called Bloodbeard for a reason. His chin and cheeks were shrouded in a dense, blood-red beard that merged with his equally crimson hair. Even his neck was lost beneath that fiery mane. At six foot three and built like a fortress, Bloodbeard looked like two men stacked into one.
But despite his brutish size, his mind was sharp—calculating, cautious. He was a man who trusted no one and struck without hesitation. Those who provoked him didn't live long enough to regret it.
"Send scouts," he ordered, his tone calm but dangerous. "Keep an eye out for beasts."
"Yes, boss!"
The band of thieves—more than two hundred of them—scattered briefly, searching for shelter. Before long, one of them called out that he'd found a rock wall tilted against the slope, enough to block most of the wind and rain. The group crowded beneath it, huddled close together, the air thick with the smell of wet leather, steel, and sweat.
They crouched in uneasy silence, listening to the relentless hiss of the rain.
One of the lieutenants, Ye Zhao, couldn't contain himself. His yellow eyes gleamed with hunger. "Boss," he said with a grin, patting his chest, "you don't even need to lift a finger. That little camp—just let me take a few men, and I'll crush it."
Ye Zhao was one of Bloodbeard's four lieutenants, a jackal mutant with jagged teeth and muscles rippling beneath his rain-soaked shirt. He was fast, cruel, and confident enough to believe he could kill gods.
Bloodbeard's eyes flicked toward him, assessing. "Some things," he murmured, twisting a strand of his red beard, "aren't as simple as you think."
Ye Zhao tilted his head, puzzled. "You think the camp's a trap?"
Bloodbeard didn't answer immediately. He'd been burned before. Years ago, one of his lieutenants had led an expedition of four hundred men—and never returned. The survivors had joined another gang, taking weapons, food, and horses with them.
Since then, Bloodbeard never let large groups act without him. If more than two hundred men moved, he led them personally.
He finally said, "If it were only a small camp, I wouldn't care. But the fact that it's still standing tells me their leader has skill."
Ye Zhao's grin widened, sharp and eager. "Then let me handle him. I'll bring you his head."
Bloodbeard waved a hand dismissively. "Fine. Play with him if you want. But don't break the strong ones—I need them breathing."
His gaze darkened, the scar over his left brow twitching. He wasn't interested in killing for sport. Every strong enemy was a potential recruit. Bloodbeard's thieves had always grown by absorbing others—loyalty was optional. He controlled his people the same way he ruled everything else: with food and fear.
Before Ye Zhao could reply, a shout broke the tension.
"Beast! There's a beast!"
A scrawny thief stumbled back from the rain, his eyes wide with panic. Bloodbeard's boots splashed through the mud as he grabbed the man by the collar.
"Where?" he barked.
"Th-there! On the rock wall!"
Bloodbeard shoved him aside and turned. His eyes narrowed. A massive spider clung to the wet stone, its body the size of a man's head, its legs long and spindly. Across its abdomen gleamed a crimson pattern shaped like a grinning human face.
"A spider?" Ye Zhao scoffed. "You're shouting over that?"
He bent, picked up a rock, and sneered. "I'll smash it."
But before he could throw, Bloodbeard's hand shot out and gripped his wrist like an iron clamp.
"Boss?" Ye Zhao looked up in confusion.
Bloodbeard's gaze was fixed on the creature. The spider didn't move. Rain dripped off its legs, yet it seemed almost deliberate in its stillness. Something about it wasn't right.
After a moment, he released Ye Zhao's arm and said quietly, "Don't touch it. There's something strange about that thing."
"Strange?" Ye Zhao frowned, glancing back. But the spider was gone.
Only the rain remained, sliding down the smooth rock.
A chill crept down Ye Zhao's spine. "Weird," he muttered, rubbing his arms. "Really weird…"
---
Across the Hill
A few hundred meters away, beyond the ridge where the storm softened to a mist, Luciel sat beneath the overhang of another hill, his eyes closed in concentration.
When his mind touched the spider's vision, the images came rushing in—the rock wall, the rain, the crowd of armed men.
He opened his eyes with a start.
"Wait… Bloodbeard's men are right there?" he muttered in disbelief.
That wasn't supposed to happen. He'd planned his timing carefully. By noon, he and the bandits should have been miles apart. Yet here they were, barely separated by a single hill.
Mino looked up from the corner of the shelter where she was mending something by lamplight. "What's wrong?"
Luciel pointed toward the slope. "The Bloodbeard thieves. They're on the other side."
Her blue eyes widened. "So close? What if they find us?"
"They won't," he said. "It's raining too hard for them to wander. They'll wait it out just like we are."
Still, she bit her lip nervously. "You're not really going to… steal from them, are you?"
Luciel's lips curved faintly. "That's the plan."
"Luciel, it's too dangerous." Her voice trembled slightly. "They're killers. If they see you—"
"They won't." He smiled, and as he did, his form shimmered, then faded entirely, leaving only a faint distortion in the air. "I can be invisible."
"Huh?" Mino gasped, scrambling to her feet. "Where—where did you go?!"
Her hand reached out, fumbling in the air until it brushed something solid—his fingers. A moment later, her wrist was gently caught.
"Relax," Luciel whispered beside her ear, unseen. "I'm still here."
Her heart thumped hard. "Then take me with you," she said impulsively, looking toward the sound of his voice. "I can help!"
"No." His tone softened but stayed firm. "You stay here."
She pouted. "But I can—"
Luciel appeared again, half smiling, and flicked her forehead lightly. "No arguments. It'll be safer if you guard the house."
"But—"
He cut her off with teasing calm. "What if someone breaks in while we're gone?"
Mino hesitated, glancing toward the doorway. "The Black Tortoise is still outside."
Luciel chuckled. "If both of us leave, who'll call it back if something happens? Some of those thieves can climb. I'd rather you stay."
His voice softened as he reached out and tapped the tip of her nose. "I'll be more at ease knowing you're here."
She sighed, cheeks puffing slightly. "Fine… I'll stay."
Luciel knew her well enough to recognize that tone—it meant she was disappointed but wouldn't argue further. He decided to give her something to do before her thoughts wandered toward worry.
"You'll be busy anyway," he said casually. "You need to sew some clothes."
"Huh?" Her long white rabbit ears twitched. "Sew clothes?"
"Yes. It's time we make you a few more outfits." He nodded toward the drying camouflage uniform hanging nearby. "You can start by measuring yourself. Then mark the cloth according to the size. Leave some space—it's better if it's a little loose."
Mino tilted her head, flustered. "I've never sewn before. My sister used to make all my clothes…"
Luciel picked up the fabric and turned it in his hands, showing her how seams worked. "It's simple. Draw the pattern, cut it, then sew the edges together. And remember—turn it inside out before stitching, so the threads stay hidden."
Her eyes followed his every motion, her expression both anxious and fascinated. "Oh… so you sew from the inside?"
"Exactly," Luciel said. "And while you're at it, make a pair of short shorts too. Don't ask why. Just trust me."
Her face flushed crimson. "Short… shorts?"
Luciel only smiled. "You'll thank me later."
She muttered under her breath, ears drooping. "Feels like a waste of fabric…"
Ignoring her complaint, he went on, "If you get confused, I'll draw a pattern for you. Just sew the same edges together where I mark."
He wasn't exactly a tailor, but he understood enough to guide her. The camouflage uniform provided a decent reference, and he had spider silk ready for thread—strong, smooth, and flexible. He only needed a needle.
That, he could make.
He crouched near the firepit, pulling a narrow bone from the pile beside him. With a small knife, he began grinding one end to a sharp point. Sparks of concentration lit his gray eyes as he worked, the rhythmic rasp of bone against stone blending with the sound of rain.
Mino watched him quietly for a while, then picked up the cloth. She hesitated, tracing the shape of her hand over the fabric as if imagining how it might become something new.
Luciel didn't look up. "Don't overthink it. The first one will be ugly, but that's fine. Just learn."
"I'll try," she murmured.
"Good." He smiled faintly. "You'll need it when we start traveling again."
Outside, thunder rolled distantly. The storm had settled into a steady drizzle. Beneath the soft light of the fire, Mino began to measure the fabric, her tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth in concentration, while Luciel continued sharpening the bone into a smooth, perfect needle.
For a while, neither spoke. The air between them was warm, calm, fragile—like the brief peace before dawn.
But in the distance, beyond the veil of rain and stone, the Bloodbeard thieves waited in the dark—unaware that the spider watching them was only the beginning.