Night was falling fast.
The air grew heavy as shadows swallowed the canyon. Bloodbeard stood at the edge of his campfire, the dim light flickering against the crimson streaks in his tangled beard. His gaze was as sharp as a drawn blade when he turned toward the exhausted tracker approaching him.
"Did you find their trail?" Bloodbeard's voice was low and cold — a voice that could freeze marrow.
The tracker barely dared to breathe. Sweat dripped from his temples as he pointed shakily toward the northern ridge. "Y-Yes, Boss. The thieves went that way."
Bloodbeard's eyes narrowed. "Then move out. Now."
He cast one final look at the valley behind them — their base camp, once bustling with the noise of men, now quiet and still. Without the crystal fish, this place was worthless. Worse, the secret medicine formula — the one said to strengthen the human body — had been stolen along with it.
But Bloodbeard wasn't worried. The formula was already engraved in his mind, and he no longer needed it. His body was already the result of that same alchemy — strong beyond ordinary men, nearly monstrous in endurance.
"Slackers!" he barked, drawing the long blade from his hip. "Move faster! Anyone who dares to drag their feet — I'll carve them open myself!"
The exhausted thieves, who had barely rested three hours, shot up instantly, eyes wide in terror. Not one of them dared to disobey.
"Listen up!" Bloodbeard's voice carried like thunder through the valley. "Whoever catches those bastards first — I'll reward him with a hundred barrels of water and a thousand pounds of dried meat!"
A murmur spread through the ranks, quickly turning into wild cheering.
"Ohhhhhh!"
A hundred barrels of water — that was life itself in this wasteland. And a thousand pounds of meat could feed a man for a year if rationed. The thieves' blood ignited at the promise, the fear of their leader momentarily replaced by greed and excitement.
Bloodbeard smirked. He wasn't just brutal — he was cunning. A good leader knew that a reward after the whip made men work twice as hard.
"Move out!" he roared, slashing his knife through the air.
The tracker waved urgently. "That way!"
More than five hundred thieves surged forward, torches raised high, forming a river of fire that wound through the darkness. Only a handful were left behind to guard the camp.
Bloodbeard lingered a moment longer, glancing back toward the valley. His expression darkened.
If he couldn't recover the crystal fish, this place was finished. It would become nothing but a graveyard of wasted effort.
There had been two darkest days in his life.
The first — when his tribe discovered he'd stolen their secret medicine and hunted him like a dog.
The second — when his most trusted subordinate betrayed him, taking four hundred men and vanishing into the desert night.
Bloodbeard's jaw clenched. That traitor was still out there — watching, waiting, hoping he'd falter.
Fine, then. Let him come. I'll leave some bait for the bastard to chew on.
"Go," Bloodbeard growled, turning his back on the dying fire.
The horde of thieves pressed forward, torches flaring against the night wind. The flames glowed off jagged rocks and twisted trees, creating a world of shifting shadows. They bunched together tightly, the light a fragile shield against whatever hunted in the darkness.
Traveling at night was madness — beasts roamed freely, and the cliffs hid countless dangers. But the reward of catching the thief outweighed fear.
Bloodbeard listened as he walked, his mind churning. The Blood Knife had already reported what they'd found — the darkroom was emptied, the storage cloths gone, the plants stripped bare, and even the incubation room destroyed.
It had been a clean theft — too clean.
Bloodbeard spat. He had no intention of turning back now. The thief couldn't run fast, not with so much cargo. If they marched without rest, they'd catch them in two days — maybe less.
Midnight came.
The tracker hurried back to him, excitement gleaming in his eyes despite the exhaustion.
"Boss! Ahead, there's a small canyon. The scent's strong — very strong. They must've stayed there for hours."
Bloodbeard's fingers tightened around his beard. "Then move. We'll flush them out."
More than five hundred men filed into the narrow gorge, their torches painting the stone walls with dancing light. The canyon swallowed sound, every footstep echoing like a drumbeat.
At the front, the tracker stopped near a shadowed cave and pointed. "Here, Boss. The scent is strongest inside."
He gestured to a few of his best men. "Go check it."
"Yes, sir!"
The group entered the cave cautiously, their torches flickering against damp stone.
One of them frowned. "The ground feels soft…"
There was a sharp crack — like a string snapping.
Then another.
"Wait, what—"
The ground gave way beneath them.
A chorus of screams tore through the cave as bodies dropped onto sharpened wooden stakes below.
"Ahhhh!"
The sound echoed up the tunnel, followed by a wet, horrible crunch.
The tracker's eyes went wide. He stumbled backward, shouting, "What happened?! Speak!"
"Traps! There are traps! Help us—"
The rest of the words dissolved into agonized howls.
The tracker's face twisted. "Damn those bastards. They trapped the cave before leaving."
The thieves outside exhaled in relief.
"Just traps, huh? Scared the life outta me."
"Yeah. Thought it was beasts for a second."
"Poor bastards who went in first. Guess no water or meat for them."
Their laughter was forced — harsh and nervous.
And beneath them, something shifted.
Deep in the canyon walls, strands of translucent spider silk snapped one by one, the vibrations running like whispers through stone. The trap in the cave had been just one trigger — the real danger was above.
More silk broke. The rocks began to tremble.
"What was that sound?" Bloodbeard's head lifted sharply, instincts screaming. His hand found his knife.
Blood Knife frowned. "Sound? I didn't—"
Another sharp crack split the air.
Cunning Fox and Ye Zhao froze mid-sentence. Their eyes darted upward.
The canyon walls on both sides were shuddering, fragments of loose stone raining down.
Bloodbeard's pupils constricted.
"Move!" he bellowed, seizing Blood Knife by the collar and dragging him back. "The cliffs are collapsing!"
The first boulders came down like thunder.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
"Run! RUN!"
Screams filled the canyon as chaos erupted. Men shoved, stumbled, tripped over one another, but the gorge was too narrow — there was nowhere to run.
Stones crashed like waves, crushing men where they stood. Torches flew into the air and went out in bursts of sparks.
"Ahhh!"
"My leg—!"
"Help—!"
The storm of stone lasted only minutes, but it felt like an eternity. When the dust finally began to settle, silence fell — broken only by groans and the crackle of dying flames.
Half of Bloodbeard's men were dead — buried under the rubble. The rest lay broken, crushed, or maimed.
"Ughh… my arm…"
"My foot's stuck… please…"
Bloodbeard's fingers clawed at the rocks, muscles bulging as he tore through the debris. With a roar, he heaved a massive boulder aside and rose, his red hair matted with dust and blood.
He stood over the ruin, chest heaving, his eyes glowing like coals. He'd felt death's hand brush against him just now — only a narrow crack in the rocks had spared him.
If I hadn't ducked when I did…
His gaze swept over the carnage — twisted bodies, shattered limbs, crushed faces. His men, his thieves — gone.
A slow, murderous fury rose in his chest, hot enough to burn the night itself.
"Damn those thieves," he growled, his voice low and trembling with rage. "They dare set a trap for me…"
The tracker limped toward him, clutching a broken arm, face pale as bone. "B-Boss… you're alive!"
Bloodbeard's eyes snapped toward him — a glare so filled with hatred that the man nearly fainted on the spot.
If you hadn't led me into this canyon…
The tracker's legs shook. He could feel the killing intent pouring from his leader like a storm wind. In a panic, he pointed to the west and stammered, "B-but I can still track them! Look — the scent goes that way! They're heading west!"
Bloodbeard's expression eased slightly, though his fury still simmered beneath the surface. The tracker was still useful — for now.
"Hmph." He turned away, yanking his bloodstained knife free from the rocks. "Gather whoever's still breathing. Now."
Blood Knife stumbled forward, his usual arrogance replaced by dread. "Y-Yes, Boss!"
Cunning Fox and Ye Zhao emerged from the shadows, their clothes torn but bodies mostly intact. As mutants, they were far tougher than ordinary men.
"Boss…" Cunning Fox's tone was quiet, strained. "Dali's gone. A rock hit him in the skull. He didn't make it."
Bloodbeard's jaw flexed, but he said nothing. His eyes flicked over the rubble — what was left of his army.
"Then gather what remains," he said finally, voice cold as steel. "We move at dawn."
Ye Zhao hesitated. "After this… do we still chase them?"
Bloodbeard turned his bloodshot eyes toward him. "I'll hunt those bastards to the ends of the world if I have to. They've taken from me — now I'll take everything from them."
The surviving men fell silent, staring at the towering figure of their leader illuminated by dying torchlight. His beard, streaked crimson, gleamed like fire in the dark — a madman reborn from rubble and blood.
Bloodbeard tightened his grip on his knife until his knuckles cracked. The canyon echoed with the groans of the wounded, the smell of dust and death hanging thick in the air.
And somewhere far ahead, in the vast desert night, the thieves were still running — unaware that the devil they'd angered was already coming for them.
Bloodbeard's voice rumbled through the darkness.
"Move. We're not done yet.