Escape Plan

"Bite down on this piece of wood. It'll make you feel a little better. Sorry, I... I could only think of this."

Tales frowned as he knelt before Lane.

The lame beggar leaned half-reclined against the wall, blood slowly flowing from his right hand, which was still barely connected.

Lane stared blankly at Tales, who was sharpening a dagger against Blunt Stone, and let him stuff a piece of firewood into his mouth.

Behind Tales, the girl Colia sat dazed in the yard. The burn on her left cheek from the silver coin had just been treated and was covered with a piece of cloth.

That charred silver coin was clutched tightly in her hand.

The girl's eyes were wide as she looked here and there, occasionally lifting her head to look at the moon, letting out nervous little laughs from time to time.

Behind her, Quade's corpse, eyes still open in death, leaned crookedly against the broken wall.

A wave of nausea rose in Tales.

That sensation—that resistance of metal piercing flesh—kept faintly returning to the hand holding his dagger.

Tales sighed, forcing down the strange feeling that came with killing someone for the first time.

The burn on his chest still hurt, taking away much of his attention.

He had needed to kill Quade. Tales had no regrets about that.

Even when he drove the dagger into Quade's throat and watched him fall unwillingly, Tales had felt a rush of exhilaration.

It was the thrill of revenge.

For that instant, it seemed as if all the grievances and hatred inside him had found relief and release.

As if long-lost justice had arrived at that very moment.

Simple and brutal. Effective and direct.

But... Tales closed his eyes, shutting Quade's blood-soaked body out of sight, yet he could not stop the emptiness and chill from creeping over his entire body.

No.

He repeated it to himself again and again: No.

No matter how satisfying and liberating that moment had felt.

He could not grow to like it.

That was killing.

Slaughtering one of his own kind.

Perhaps it had been unavoidable, but no matter the reason, it was not something he deserved to take pride in.

Killing Quade was never about becoming scum like him.

More importantly—Tales turned to Colia and placed the sharpened dagger into the flames.

These children had probably just gone through the most critical moment of their lives.

And the most terrifying one.

Another illusory scene appeared before him. The light of a Projector and the words on Slides surged into view like breaking waves.

"...From the perspective of developmental psychology, childhood and adolescence are the most crucial periods in the formation of a person's mind and character. Bloom's longitudinal studies found that the environments, interactions, and behaviors experienced during this stage have a strong correlation with future personality and psychological development. Many theoretical studies also believe that this influence may even last a lifetime."

Tales shook his head, burying another recovered memory deep in his heart.

The beggar children's mental health was secondary. The immediate problem was how to survive.

Tales suppressed his nausea and turned his attention to the dagger in his hand.

The dagger was not even as long as an adult's forearm. It had a single-edged blade, its tip curving slightly toward the edge. Black hemp cord was wrapped around the wooden hilt to prevent slipping, while both sides of the blade were smooth... Hm?

Tales suddenly noticed that, after being washed by blood and flame, two letters had appeared on one side of the blade.

JC.

JC?

Tales's expression shifted slightly.

No amount of tricks, plans, or cleverness... Tales thought, could compare to this dagger called "JC."

The next second, Tales's eyes turned cold.

The blade that had been in the fire a moment ago suddenly appeared beside Lane's severed hand!

"Slash!"

Tales brought the dagger down without hesitation!

He cut through the last strip of flesh connecting Lane's palm to his wrist.

"Mm! Mm... ngh!"

Lane convulsed violently like a Yaxier River Shrimp dropped into boiling water!

He bit down hard on the wood, his eyes squeezed shut in agony, his face twisted grotesquely. Tears and snot streamed down as terrifying groans rolled in his throat.

Tales hurriedly grabbed the strip of cloth with the medicine on it—though it was really just some Urdron Grass—and, fighting Lane's struggles, tightly wrapped it around his severed wrist and tied it in a hard knot.

Hopefully this would work. Hopefully it would stop the bleeding and prevent infection. Otherwise...

Tales looked at the fire and shook his head.

Lane was still twitching in pain. Tales pressed tightly on his severed wrist while doing his best to pull the violently trembling boy into his arms.

"Hang in there, Lane. It'll be over soon. Hang in there!" Tales closed his eyes and comforted him softly. Lane brushed against the burn on his chest, sending another piercing pain through him.

Tales looked to the other side. Kellit, Nide, and Ensorra—three children who had been perfectly fine not long ago—now lay quietly beneath the moonlight.

As if they were asleep.

Lane's breathing gradually steadied, but Colia began sobbing softly again.

"Tales, sob... I'm so scared. Colia doesn't have typhoid fever. Colia is better now..."

Tales let go of Lane, turned, and gathered Colia into his arms. Carefully avoiding the burn on her face, he gently patted her.

"It's okay, Colia. It's all over now."

I'm sorry.

I failed to protect everyone.

"Tales!"

Tales opened his eyes.

Synti came running back, panting heavily.

Tales took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

"How is it outside?"

Synti had suffered the least among the children of Sixth House. After Tales reset his dislocated leg—the lives of beggar children had taught them plenty of self-help knowledge, such as setting bones, or taking them apart—Tales had sent him outside to gather information and keep watch for possible threats.

"No one came down from above."

"No Rick, no thugs, no Brotherhood people. It's like no one outside the Ruined House knows anything."

Synti was the oldest, and he had worked with Tales the longest. He went straight to what Tales cared about most.

"Quade seems to have visited quite a few houses. Some people managed to escape, but aside from us, at least six or seven houses have made no sound at all."

Tales's eyes darkened.

Sixth House was not the Ruined House closest to the gate.

He could more or less guess the fate of those houses.

"Everyone knows what happened now. They're saying the Brotherhood is going to kill us all. Some people are hiding in their houses and don't dare come out, but more have run into the streets. Some are trying to escape."

Tales's eyes lit up. "Wait, you said the thugs are all gone?"

Synti knew what Tales was thinking. He shook his head and said bitterly,

"It's useless. The gate is locked from the outside. Karak and the people from his house are shouting at the entrance, but they haven't gotten anyone to come. Unless we can cross the moat and the Spikes inside it, we can't escape the Ruined House."

"We..." Lane hugged his right arm and struggled to sit up, his face pale. "Do we really have to run? We could wait here until morning, wait for Rick and the others to come, then tell them Quade went crazy on his own..."

"No!" Tales cut Lane off decisively. "Quade died in the Ruined House. If they find the killer, we'll definitely die. Even if they can't find the killer, they'll make the beggar children take the blame. Quade's father has considerable influence in the Brotherhood. They won't just let this go."

"And," Tales said coldly as he looked at Lane,

"Do you want to wait for them to send another Quade? Even if the next boss isn't like Quade, once he learns his predecessor died at the hands of beggar children, do you still expect him to feed you well, kneel before you, and beg you not to kill him?"

After hearing that string of words, Lane, Colia, and even Synti did not really understand. The three blinked at him, looking impressed despite having no clue what he meant.

Seeing their expressions, Tales lowered his head helplessly, sighed, and said,

"Simply put, we have to escape."

"Oh."

Only then did the three children nod together as if they had suddenly understood.

Tales shook his head helplessly.

Another scene suddenly appeared before him.

Snow fell across scattered streets. A slender figure skipped along ahead while he himself rambled on without pause.

"...So, using the origins of capitalism in Europe as an example, Weber summarized his observations and historical materials, then mocked Old Marx's claim that the economic base determines the superstructure throughout his book..."

"I don't understand what you're saying, but it sounds amazing."

"Sigh... Simply put, Weber was looking down on Old Marx."

"Oh, I see. Then to commemorate Weber, let's go eat hot pot!"

"You were the one who asked what class I had today. Could you stop changing topics so quickly? And why was that transition so natural?"

"Then it's decided, Korean barbecue! Strike Freedom, launch!"

"Wasn't it hot pot just now—hey, stop pushing me—and what is Strike Freedom anyway—I said stop pushing me—"

Tales squeezed his eyes shut, driving away the hallucination that had surged back from the void.

His recovered memories had been returning more and more frequently lately, one "past event" after another surfacing.

But not now.

It could not be now.

There were more important things to do.

Tales opened his eyes and found the three children waiting for his decision.

He stood and took a deep breath.

"First, while no one is outside, move Quade out of Sixth House. He's heavy, but for the next few hours, we can't let anyone know his death has anything to do with us."

"Then, Synti, go quietly spread the word among everyone—quietly, understand? Tell them that five Spikes at the bottom of the moat left of Fourth House are loose. Remove them, then cover the remaining two Spikes with stone slabs or something else, and they can escape the Ruined House."

Synti jumped in surprise.

"Y-you found the secret passage in that Deep Ditch?"

"A secret passage?" Lane and Colia looked equally startled.

Tales said nothing. He simply patted Synti's shoulder.

"Go."

Watching the three of them look at him with surprise and admiration, Tales shook his head to himself.

That was not a secret passage dug by some legendary, all-powerful beggar predecessor.

The so-called secret passage was something he had secretly dug over four years, taking advantage of the fact that he went begging at West Gate twice a week and could therefore return at night. He had used a dagger, vines, linen cloth, and corrosive agent stolen from Grove Apothecary.

It was practically The Shawshank Redemption of Erroel World.

As for that legend, it was nothing but an imaginary fantasy.

There had never been any savior, had there?

Tales patted Synti's shoulder again. Synti nodded and was about to turn away, but then scratched his head and asked in confusion,

"Why tell everyone? Can't we escape by ourselves? The more people there are, the more crowded it'll be, and the slower we'll get out."

No, Tales said inwardly.

The Brotherhood was not to be taken lightly. They had informants on every street, every road, every corner of Lower City Third District. Their lackeys—and those too afraid of them to resist—filled the outskirts beyond the west gate. For beggar children under ten years old, even escaping the Ruined House would make it difficult to escape the Brotherhood's grasp.

In Tales's original escape plan, he needed another half year to fully map the locations and patterns of the Brotherhood's informants between Lower City Third District and Red Quarter.

Then he would prepare supplies at Sunset Tavern and Grove Apothecary. Their odds of escaping would rise greatly.

As long as they could reach Red Quarter, which did not belong to the Brotherhood.

But now, now was not the best time at all.

Yet they had to flee in order to survive.

Accidents always came suddenly, didn't they?

So he had to turn Sixth House's private escape into a collective disturbance among the beggar children.

If only Sixth House vanished, it would be too conspicuous. On the streets at night, the Brotherhood would quickly capture three lone, suspicious beggar children and drag them back.

Besides, more people would indeed make them slower, but they would also be safer and less conspicuous.

But explaining all that clearly...

Tales looked up at Synti. The sharpness in his gaze made the latter uncomfortable.

"Synti, do you remember our agreement from four years ago?"

Synti froze, lowered his head, and thought for a moment.

When he looked back up, his eyes had become resolute.

"Of course." Synti looked at Tales, at the boy a head shorter than himself, and slowly said, "You do the thinking. I do the doing."

Tales nodded solemnly.

"We're getting out together!"

Yala Saredon watched the last customer leave Sunset Tavern with bored eyes, then lazily stood and collected his cup.

There had not been many drinkers today, especially Brotherhood men. Many had been summoned away for that Great Operation. Even Edmund, the cook, had gone with a machete in hand, supposedly to repay a personal debt.

Old Man had not returned in a long time either.

So boring.

Yala glanced at the clock on the wall. Three thirty in the morning. A little early.

Though the clock was running slow as well.

That clock was already old, Yala thought. Even the rear reservoir for Eternal Oil had rusted, and the rust mixed into the Eternal Oil had greatly reduced its efficiency.

She needed to find a way to make Old Man cough up some money and replace the clock.

Sunset Tavern did so much business, yet no City Hall tax collectors came to collect taxes. ("For the king's sake, I'll give him two middle fingers!" —Yala.) No blind fool came demanding protection money either. ("One hundred copper each, and I can protect your fingers from being chopped off by me. How about it?" —Yala.) Even their supplies came at discounted prices through the Black Street Brotherhood's channels. ("Nal Rick, you handle the accounts. Why don't you explain to these brothers lying on the floor—and to my knife—exactly what price I should be paying for supplies, hm?" —Yala.) Spending a little money to replace the tavern clock should be acceptable, right?

That stingy Old Man.

After closing the front door and dealing with the bar, Yala tossed aside her apron and rag, tightened her short leather pants, extinguished the Eternal Lamp at the counter—its inventor had been truly ironic in naming it—and headed into the back kitchen.

It was a little early today. By the old routine, if she finished her training, there would still be...

The next instant, Yala's expression turned cold and vicious!

She instantly lowered herself, bending her knees into a position ready to exert force, and the Wolf Leg Knife famed throughout Black Street appeared in her left hand.

The blade shot out like lightning!

Thud!

The Wolf Leg Knife sank viciously into a barrel, leaving only its hilt exposed as the blade continued to tremble.

"Ah!" A little girl let out a terrified scream.

Yala slowly straightened up, sheathed her other Wolf Leg Knife in her boot, then lit the Eternal Lamp beside her.

The lamplight illuminated the dim back kitchen, revealing several small figures.

"Yala, um..." The disheveled boy frightened out of his wits by the Wolf Leg Knife—Tales—forced a smile and raised his slightly trembling right hand, waving it awkwardly.

"Hi... it's me."

Yala stared coldly at him without saying a word.

Her gaze was sharp and terrifying. Colia shrank closer to Tales in fear.

A few seconds later, the Barmaid suddenly strode toward them.

The three beggar children behind Tales all took an uneasy step back.

"I know," Yala said icily as she walked up to him and pulled the Wolf Leg Knife from the barrel two inches from Tales's ear.

"Otherwise, I wouldn't have aimed at the barrel."

With a flick of her wrist, Yala spun the knife before him in a threatening flourish before slipping it back into her boot sheath.

"And you, kid..."

she said sinisterly.

Tales suddenly became alert!

The next second, the boy instinctively raised his hand to protect his forehead!

But before he could, a slender finger had already jabbed it hard.

"Ah! That hurts!"

The Barmaid spoke in dissatisfaction.

"I told you, call me—Sister Yala!"

"When I came in through the back door, I didn't see Edmund, so I thought I'd check the kitchen..."

In the cellar of the Sunset Tavern, the three beggar children other than Tales leaned against large sacks of food. Uneasy and restless, they struggled yet diligently gnawed at the white bread in their hands—they had not eaten food this good in a long time.

A little farther away, Tales sat atop a barrel twice his height, facing Yala Saredon, who stood before him with her arms folded, one leg against the wall, looking languid yet dashing.

In his previous life, Tales would probably have looked her over from head to toe with appreciative eyes, then raised his head to the sky and sighed over the beauty of this world while savoring the sight.

As for what Tales would do afterward... naturally, he would go home and mind his own business.

But now—sorry, he was still young.

"Just say it. Why did you come looking for me?" Yala's expression remained cold as she went straight to the point.

But Tales was already used to it. Ever since he had first met this "big sister," who had only been eighteen or nineteen at the time, in a trash heap behind the tavern four years ago, she had always spoken and acted this way.

That was simply the kind of person she was.

He knew that.

"Quade went mad. He killed nearly half the beggar children in the Ruined House."

Tales spoke with a grave expression, silently clenching his fists.

Half the beggar children.

Yala's expression shifted, first to disbelief, then to darkness.

That bastard.

Ever since seeing these battered beggar children, Yala had vaguely suspected what had happened earlier today.

Yala composed herself and began cursing Rick in her heart.

That accountant.

He got Quade drunk because...

You really dared to do it.

And I actually agreed to it for just ten gold coins?

Yala clenched her fist hard.

Half the beggar children.

For... ten gold coins?

Yala's expression darkened.

This was no small matter. It would definitely enrage the Brotherhood.

"No one came to stop him, and no one came to save us. We could only escape on our own." Tales spoke gloomily, as though the scene from several hours ago had appeared before him again.

Yala remained silent, merely watching him with a grim expression.

Sensing the atmosphere on this side of the cellar, the three beggar children in the distance scarcely dared to breathe.

At last, Yala closed her eyes and sighed.

"I understand."

"You can hide here for now. Don't worry. As long as I'm here, that gorilla Quade won't dare come..."

A fierce glint appeared in the Barmaid's eyes.

"If he does come, I'll chop off the thing between his—cough, cough—his hands."

Tales pressed his lips together, seeming to want to speak but stopping himself.

Yala looked at the other three beggar children and frowned.

She could tell which wounds were fresh.

Especially the child whose right hand was wrapped in cloth.

Damn Quade.

"When Edmund comes back, I'll have him contact the people above. Quade won't get away with something like this—that bastard should have died sooner."

And that damned Rick, too.

Thinking of this, Yala lost some of her spirit.

Tales's eyes darkened.

He looked at the three beggar children, let out a long breath, then turned to Yala.

"The Brotherhood had a major mission today, so security and patrols were lax..."

The Barmaid exhaled, lowered the leg resting against the wall, and stood up.

"For you to have escaped, it must have... Sigh, forget it. I'll get some medicine. If you need a doctor, I'll also—wait."

Yala, who had been talking to herself, abruptly stopped.

She suddenly realized that something was wrong with Tales.

The child was covered in wounds. The clothes over his chest had been torn to shreds, and the sleeve on his right arm was even stained dark red.

"Kid, what happened to you?" Yala asked in confusion.

But Tales did not answer. His expression only grew darker.

Wait.

That look in the kid's eyes...

Something was wrong.

Yala walked up to Tales and pulled him down from the barrel.

The Barmaid crouched, gripped Tales's shoulders with both hands, and looked straight into his eyes.

"Kid, you..."

But Tales still said nothing.

"What exactly happened to you?"

Yala's gaze suddenly became both grave and urgent.

At first, Tales did not quite dare meet Yala's eyes.

But only a few seconds later, he composed himself and resolutely lifted his head.

He had no choice, did he?

"Yala, Quade is dead." Tales heard his own voice ring out, calm as usual and without a tremor.

"I did it."

If you made it to this chapter and still haven't left, good.