A Great Ruckus

Cold began to seep through his upper body. Heka staggered up from the ground and looked up at the sanctuary far above, beyond his reach.

At this hour, going outside meant certain death. All he could do was pray that his opponent would not find this place.

Heka straightened his collar, then instinctively tried to bite the nail on his little finger.

But when he raised his hand to his mouth, he realized that he had already trimmed his nails clean back in the villa district.

That nail, with only a ring of white left around it, was impossible to bite.

Heka looked up and curled himself into a blind corner.

His body was still clamoring, clamoring for every ounce of nourishment. He was dying. This time, he was truly about to die.

Heka opened the panel.

``` [Challenge]

None

There was nowhere else to click on the panel. It seemed this really was the end of the road.

Heka opened his inventory and took out the buckets of water one by one, stacking them near the corner of the wall.

There were only nine buckets. Judging by eye, if he wanted to keep the stack stable, he could only pile them four layers high.

Even at four layers, with the wooden crate added, the distance to the top was still the height of two adults.

A fall from that height would certainly kill him. Even if he was lucky enough to return, he would expose himself by being unable to retrieve the buckets and crate. But none of that mattered anymore. He had to get back first. Every extra second alive was worth it.

Just as Heka took out the third bucket of water, a rustling sound came from above his head.

Scrape...

A tiny head suddenly poked out above the well opening, bearing a black lump.

The bald head had turned deathly pale from going more than a month without sunlight, making it look just like a goblin mine slave.

The little head confirmed the identity of the person below, then withdrew. A burst of rustling followed right after.

Heka knew the other party was probably lowering the rope ladder. Only after the ladder had been sent all the way down did he dare breathe in great gulps.

He had survived.

"Throw the ropes down too. Pull the water up first."

Heka looked at the buckets on the ground and shouted up at Tuft of Hair.

Soon, three ropes were thrown down.

Heka tied the ropes securely to the buckets, then struggled up the rope ladder.

At the end of the ladder, a deathly pale little hand reached out. Heka instinctively tensed. His uninjured left hand released one side of the rope and reached for the short sword at his waist.

But that hand did not shove him away. Instead, it grabbed the hand that had let go of the rope and laboriously hauled him up.

Heka's prepared slashing motion froze.

The sanctuary was as it always was. The space was not large, and Heka could see all the way to the far end at a glance.

Near the edge by the well opening, a thin blanket had been thrown onto the ground.

This was Tuft of Hair's bedding. He had probably been waiting here the whole time—or perhaps he had waited too long and fallen asleep.

Seeing that Heka had finally come up, Tuft of Hair immediately pulled up the rope hanging from the pulley system. Their buckets of water were tied to the other end.

Heka silently came up behind him. Then, enduring the corrosive sensation in his stomach, he used the last of his reason to pull the rope.

One bucket, then two, and finally the third bucket of water. When the third bucket reached the sanctuary, Heka could endure no longer and charged toward the crate holding the food.

When Tuft of Hair returned to the sanctuary with the rope, he saw only a hunched figure standing before the food crate.

Blood that had yet to dry still stained his hands as he crammed every morsel of food within sight into his mouth.

The brief fullness brought no comfort for long. Soon, the instant the food crate was emptied, the terror of his own body about to digest itself once again seized every inch of him.

Heka crouched inside the crate as darkness finally surged toward him, swallowing him completely.

"Boss, do you need something to eat?

"Would bread, dried fish, and cheese do?"

Tuft of Hair only moved slightly closer before the pair of bloodshot eyes startled him. He retreated half a step before steadying himself.

Tuft of Hair knew perfectly well that his boss was in terrible shape.

In the cold surroundings, black blood was bubbling up across his skin, and steam rose from his body as though he had been boiled.

"No. Just buy meat and cheese. Give me some water."

Heka's hoarse voice was filled with restrained longing.

Tuft of Hair cautiously scooped up a ladle of water, then stretched out his arm and quickly placed it in front of his boss.

He seemed deeply afraid that the other man would swallow him whole.

Tuft of Hair gripped the money pouch at his waist, then resolutely climbed down the rope ladder, covering the conspicuous lump on his head with a battered hat.

"Foucault is dead."

In the alley, a tall knight wearing half-plate armor and a pair of thickened shoulder guards looked at the dwarf being held back by his teammate and stated in a low voice.

Among Blood Sparrow, the dwarf had been closest to Foucault.

"How is that possible? He said it was just some brat, just a little brat! How could a brat kill an adventurer who was nearly Rank Two?

"Was it those stray dogs? Who did it? I'm going to butcher him!"

The dwarf huffed furiously and instantly tried to charge forward, but a half-orc carrying a long-handled axe stopped him from behind.

With a burly arm no less thick than the dwarf's, the half-orc warrior immediately pinned him in place.

"Al angry, but captain smart. Podoli and Al, listen to captain."

The enraged dwarf finally calmed down for the moment—at least on the surface.

Seeing this, the knight nodded at the half-orc, then led the two of them toward a nearby alley.

"Foucault was shot through the neck from above with a crossbow."

"A crossbow? Was the attacker standing on a rooftop?"

The dwarf was stunned. Foucault was not short. Compared to an undernourished little pickpocket, he was absolutely tall enough.

He could hardly imagine how anyone could have shot through Foucault's neck from above.

"Probably not. Something about this position is wrong."

Foucault's body had already been covered with a white cloth. Beside the corpse, a human ranger carrying a crossbow was feeling along both walls.

"Was someone here at the time?"

Dwarf Podoli stepped forward, bent slightly, and lifted the white cloth covering his friend's corpse.

When he saw that familiar face, Podoli finally abandoned the last shred of hope in his heart.

"No, what I mean is that the attacker had the high ground and killed Foucault at close range with a crossbow.

"I've already questioned those brats. There was indeed only one attacker, and someone also saw him dragging a crate into the sewers..."

Before the ranger could finish speaking, the dwarf seized the shield and mace from his back and took a single step toward the nearby sewer entrance.

The half-orc grabbed the dwarf. When the dwarf turned and glared furiously at him, the half-orc pulled back his lips, revealing two fangs beneath his gray skin.

"Podoli, listen. Captain's orders."

"We couldn't find that brat before, and we won't be able to find him in the short term either. This mission has already failed."

The knight turned to the three surviving members of his team. After confirming that none of them objected, he split his mouth into a grin.

"But how could we let the person who killed our man live on so brazenly?

"Let's make this trouble as big as possible. Thirty gold coins should be enough to let everyone celebrate for a while. Don't we have a picture of him? Make copies, then distribute them. Let everyone remember the name Heka."