The rain had finally stopped.
After more than an hour of relentless downpour, silence fell over the hills—a silence so deep that even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
By the time the massive rock tortoise lumbered toward Bloodbeard's encampment, evening had settled in. The world was washed clean, the sky a bruised shade of violet and gray. Water dripped rhythmically from the trees, and the air smelled of wet earth and smoke.
Inside the small stone house perched on the tortoise's back, the quiet was heavy. Dinner had passed in near silence. Only the faint clinking of a spoon and the whisper of rainwater sliding from the shell roof broke the stillness.
Luciel stood by the door, fastening the last strap of his weatherproof pack. He wore his dried camouflage uniform and a saber at his waist. His expression was calm, but his eyes reflected the shimmer of stormlight—sharp and determined.
Mino sat at the table, her small hands fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. Her long rabbit ears drooped slightly as she watched him prepare to leave.
Luciel smiled faintly. "After I'm gone," he said, "no matter who comes knocking, you don't open the door. Understand?"
Her ears twitched. "Then… how will I know it's you coming back?" she asked softly. "Will you let the big lizard bring the things home again?"
Her mind flashed back to that memory—of the enormous rock tortoise hauling supplies with slow, steady strength through the rain.
Luciel thought for a moment, then knocked on the table: bang—bang bang.
"One long, two short," he said with a grin. "That's the signal to open the door. Remember that."
Mino nodded seriously, repeating the pattern under her breath. "One long, two short. Got it."
"Good." He adjusted the strap of his pack. "Don't worry too much. I'll be back later."
He reached out and tugged playfully at her rabbit ears, his smile softening. "If you're sleepy, go to bed. No need to wait up."
Mino's face turned pink. She twisted her fingers together, murmuring, "I'll wait for you… I don't dare sleep anyway."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. She didn't want to admit she was afraid—afraid that while she slept, thieves might climb up the tortoise's shell and find their way inside.
But Luciel only heard the first half of her words. "I'll wait for you." He smiled to himself, unaware of the rest.
"Okay, I'm off," he said briskly, stepping toward the door.
"Be careful!" she called after him, her voice clear and light as a bell in the damp evening air.
He turned and waved without looking back. "Wait for the good stuff."
Then, in the dim glow of the lantern, she watched as he climbed down from the tortoise's broad shell and disappeared into the darkness below. Her heart tightened as the small light of his figure faded into the distant hills where Bloodbeard's camp glimmered faintly like a fallen constellation.
---
Luciel moved through the wet landscape with practiced ease. The rain had left the ground sticky, each step pulling slightly at his boots. The air was cold, filled with the scent of wet moss and stone.
He glanced up. The clouds were breaking apart, letting thin strands of moonlight spill over the hills. "Perfect," he muttered. "Just enough light to see—just enough shadow to hide."
Ahead, his red ghost spider scuttled silently, its body blending with the rock. Through its shared vision, Luciel saw the world from a dozen angles—rocks, trees, the faint flicker of torchlight in the distance. The thieves' patrols were sparse, slow-moving after the rain.
Still, the road was long and eerily quiet. Traveling through that wilderness, alone but for the spider's presence, Luciel felt the vastness pressing in. The world seemed hollowed out, as if waiting for something to happen.
Finally, after what felt like hours, he reached the outskirts of Bloodbeard's encampment. Faint laughter drifted on the night air. Torches burned among rows of tents and crude huts. The camp spread across a valley, its center lit by a massive bonfire that threw sparks into the sky.
Luciel crouched low, studying the layout. He could already sense where the guards were weakest.
Just as he began to move forward—
A stone landed near his boot with a soft thunk.
He froze.
The spider tensed behind him, its legs poised to strike. Luciel's instincts whispered danger, but… no immediate threat. Whoever threw it hadn't aimed to hit him.
He waited.
A figure emerged from the shadows—a tall shape cloaked in black, hood drawn low over the face. The figure stopped a few paces away, water dripping from the edge of the cloak.
"Sorry," came a woman's voice, low and cold. "I didn't mean to startle you. That was a warning."
Luciel straightened slightly, hand near his saber. "A warning? For what?"
The hood tilted up just enough for him to glimpse a pair of glinting eyes. "For walking too close to the patrol line," she said evenly. "They change shifts soon."
He didn't relax. "Who are you," he asked, "and what do you want?"
Unbeknownst to her, the red ghost spider had already climbed behind her, threads glistening faintly in the dark. If she moved wrong, she'd be cocooned before she could scream.
Instead, she asked coolly, "Are you a bounty hunter? Did you take the Moon Lake Tribe's mission?"
Luciel didn't blink. "I don't want to answer that."
He turned, ready to continue toward the camp.
"Wait!" she said sharply. "We can cooperate."
Luciel looked over his shoulder. "I don't work with people who hide their faces."
"I have a map," she replied quickly. "A detailed map of the thieves' camp."
That made him pause. His eyes narrowed. "Why share it with me?"
"Because you're strong," she said simply.
He gave her a skeptical look. "You don't even know me."
Her voice grew faintly amused. "I know you're not one of them. Thieves don't dress clean. They don't walk like soldiers."
Luciel blinked, then snorted. "It's been raining. Everyone looks clean after a downpour."
She chuckled quietly, shaking her head. "Only a strong man would move through this wilderness alone after dark—especially right after a storm."
He didn't answer, but part of him grudgingly admitted she wasn't entirely wrong.
She stepped closer. "Even with Bloodbeard gone, breaking into the camp won't be easy. But if we cooperate, we could both come away with something valuable."
Luciel's tone was cool. "And what exactly do you want?"
"The Bloodbeard Crystal Fish," she said, her voice carrying a note of reverence.
Luciel frowned. "The what?"
For the first time, she seemed taken aback. "You don't know? You're not here for the treasure of Bloodbeard?"
"Treasure, huh?" Luciel said lightly. "You seem to know more than I do."
The woman hesitated. Beneath her hood, her eyes darted, calculating. "You mean… you're not here for the bounty at all?"
Luciel spread his hands. "Everything you've said so far is your own guess."
"What's your goal then?" she demanded, taking a step back, her cloak rustling softly.
Luciel's lips curved faintly. "That depends. What's yours?"
For a moment, silence hung between them—tense, fragile. The night seemed to lean in, listening.
The woman muttered under her breath, "Cunning man."
Luciel didn't deny it. He'd already learned what he needed: Bloodbeard had a treasure house. And she wasn't the only one trying to get in.
"If you want cooperation," he said evenly, "you'll have to show a little sincerity first." He nodded toward her hood. "Take it off."
She hesitated, then lowered her voice. "I'd rather not. You might be… frightened."
Luciel's tone was dry. "I'll take my chances."
The hooded figure tilted her head, then spoke, her voice calm again. "The thieves' camp lies in a crescent-shaped valley. Three hills form its walls—the middle one is the highest, about one hundred and fifty meters. Bloodbeard's main tent is there."
Luciel frowned slightly. "Why tell me that?"
"It's information you'd learn easily with a bit of scouting," she said. "Consider it payment for my earlier rudeness."
Before he could reply, she turned and began to walk away, her dark cloak fading into the mist.
Luciel watched her go. "Is your face really that terrifying?" he muttered with a smirk.
No, she wasn't being generous. People like that never were. She was probably planning to follow him—to let him do the dangerous work first.
"Unfortunately," he murmured, his voice laced with quiet amusement, "I'm not the kind of man who leaves footprints."
He vanished, his form dissolving into the night.
---
Minutes later, the hooded woman returned to the same spot, her boots squelching softly in the mud. She looked around, puzzled.
"What…?" she whispered. "He's gone. Even his tracks… gone?"
She crouched, running her gloved fingers through the damp earth. The surface was smooth, undisturbed—as if the man had never been there at all.
For the first time, uncertainty crept into her voice. "Just what kind of person is he?"
Her pulse quickened, a strange mix of anxiety and excitement rising in her chest. "Maybe," she murmured, "he really can break into Bloodbeard's treasure house…"
With that, she drew her cloak tighter and slipped silently into the dark, following the trail toward the bandits' valley.
Neither of them noticed the red ghost spider, high on the rocks above, watching with its many crimson eyes.