Orion's Herald
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Chapter 51: Why is it just one thing after another?
🕑 Added 2025-01-23 13:28:30 +0000 UTCEyes shooting to Lincoln, Hector clenched his fist and tensed. How would they play this? They didn’t exactly have a good reason to be standing here just a few paces from a barn, watching. Hector glanced back to the Farmhand, analysing him.
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///: Acquiring target stats…
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Cultivation level: [Gravity Forging - 2]
Talent: [Tough Body [••○] (2/3)]
Talent Fragment: [2-Common]
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Well, things had just got a little more complicated. Hector went to speak, but Lincoln beat him to it. His friend darted forward, closing the distance between him and the Farmhand in an instant. His fist snapped forward.
The Farmhand jerked back, stepping out of the way, snarling. He raised a fist, and cracked it across Lincoln’s cheek, sending him staggering back, stumbling on twigs. That was unexpected. Hector needed to do something.
He darted forward. The Farmhand lowered his stance and snarled. Did he think it would go the same way? Hector tugged on the [Resonant Shout] feeling the power build in his throat. It swirled to life, pulsing, then exploding out of his mouth.
The air rippled as wave after wave slammed into the Farmhand, dropping him to his knees, clutching his head. Not wasting a moment, Hector closed in and his foot snapped out, slamming onto the Farmhand's skull, knocking him unconscious.
Well, that went better than I thought I would.
Hector turned his head to Lincoln, who walked over, massaging his cheek. “Got you good, didn’t he?” Hector said with a smile.
“Yeah, sure did.” Holding a hand to his cheek, Lincoln’s eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on Hector. “What happened to him just now?”
Dropping to a knee, Hector placed two fingers on the boy’s neck, making sure he hadn’t killed him. “What do you mean, I knocked him out?” Hector replied. A low pulse beat against his fingertips and Hector got back to his feet. That was good enough.
“That’s not what I mean,” Lincoln said, You did something to him just now. I saw it. The way he dropped before you even touched him. What was that?”
Ah, crap. I got a little overzealous. But it’s the better option. I’d rather risk Lincoln seeing than attracting more attention to ourselves with a drawn-out fight. But what do I say now?
Hector crossed his arms, taking a breath. “It’s something I want to talk about. But not now, especially not with this,” Hector gestured towards the unconscious Farmhand. “We have to deal with him first.”
Lincoln frowned, looking off to the side, then shaking his head. Shrugging, he turned back to Hector. “We all have our secrets, and I can’t fault you for that. But I look forward to when you are ready to share.”
Hector nodded. Wind ruffled the back of his neck, and he turned his head, searching through the thick foliage. Was this guy alone? He stepped forward, circling the Farmhand. They couldn’t just leave him here. When he woke up, he’d probably head straight to the barn.
“We are going to have to bring this guy with us,” Hector said, squatting and patting down the Farmhand. There was a chance he might have something on him—even Hector carried a few coins with him, and who knows? Maybe there was something that could give them a clue about what was going on in that barn.
“Huh?” Lincoln said, stepping over, and looking down at Hector. “What’s the point of that? Can’t we just dump him somewhere like we did with the guy this morning?”
“And risk him letting them know they were being watched. If you want to hit that place, then we can’t have them know that someone is coming, also it could put the person they just brought inside at risk.” Hector said, raising a brow. His hand slipped into the Farmhand's breast pocket and he pulled out a few, jingling, silver coins.
Lincoln whistled. Hector glanced up at him with a smile, then flicked one coin at Lincoln and slid the other two into his pocket. Whatever they were doing in there, it was profitable. Hector got back to his feet, dusting off his knees, then slapping clean his hands. “So, do you want to carry him, or should I?”
“Well, you're the one who wants to bring him with us,” Lincoln said, “but we’re going to have to strip him first. The last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves.”
Yeah. It’s not like walking through the Hay Quarter with a half-naked Farmhand is going to be any less suspicious.
“We can’t go back the way we came,” Hector said, stepping over to the boy’s head. Should one of them wear his robes? Then, if asked, they could just say they were taking him to a healer. That might work. Hector turned his head to Lincoln, smiling as he bent down and began undoing his sandals. “I have an idea.”
I should carry him. I need the Talent fragments, and that’s the best way to get them without Lincoln seeing.
“Well, this should be good,” Lincoln sighed, shaking his head.
***
After Hector had swapped his clothes with the Farmhands, he used the rope that tightened his trousers to restrain their new hostage. Scooping the boy up, he and Lincoln then moved through the Hay quarter, sticking to the bushes as much as possible.
It was tough. Many times Hector had got the Farmhand's robes caught on a loose branch. But thankfully avoiding people was actually easy, one because the Hay quarter was so large and two, because he had the [Street Reader] Talent.
Avoiding people was simple when you knew where they were going to be.
Finally, after a few splats in mud puddles, dirtying the robes, and dropping their hostage a few times, they made it back to the Sirius quarter and immediately moved into the alleyways. Once there, Hector changed his clothes back, opting to unrestraint the farmhand, then re-restrain him with fabric torn from the boy’s green robes—they could have probably found some rope lying around, but they didn’t have the time to go searching.
In the end, the Farmhand sat slumped unconscious against the slick wall of an old house in the alleyway. Black viscous liquid dripped from a hole in the house wall, splashing down into a thick puddle, with a plop, a few feet from the boy.
“Should we move him?” Lincoln asked, turning his head toward Hector. “I don’t want to pick him up if he’s going to be covered in that stuff.”
Hector's face cringed as the stale smell of urine and something else wafted from the black puddle. He swallowed, pushing down the rising bile and pinching his nose. “Nah, I think he’s already got some on his back. Won’t really make much difference now. Besides, I wasn’t aware you’d be carrying him,” he said nasally.
“Well, I can’t make you do everything, can I?” Lincoln said, taking a few steps down the alleyway, glancing around and frowning. “We are in this together now—Hector. I think we might have taken a bad turn.”
“Is that some guilt I hear in your voice, and what do you mean?” Hector glanced around the alleyway. They couldn’t walk the main street with their hostage, that would draw far too much attention to them. So they had chosen the side streets. Hector shook his head. “I don’t see much difference between this and anywhere else.”
Lincoln sighed, scratching at his sideburns as he stepped back over. “I keep telling you. You need to get out more and talk to people. Staying inside all day cultivating is not good for your social skills and street smarts.”
Hector shook his head, rolling his eyes. Unlike Lincoln, who progressed faster in cultivation over the years. Hector actually had to put in the hard work. So he’d have to be forgiven if he could actually prioritize what was important. “What’s the problem?”
Lincoln crossed his arms. “Not really a problem, just some annoyances we might have to deal with as we continue.”
The sound of distant chatter and noise from the main street drifted into the alleyway. So they were in a gang’s territory. Hector shrugged. Minor gangs still carved a small place for themselves in the shadow of the Collar gang—though it was a pathetic existence, and they only ever targeted those they thought were weak.
“Should head we back to the main street?” Hector asked, his feet slapping off the wet stone as he stepped over to the Farmhand. “It could be a—”
“No, we don’t need to,” Lincoln said. His hands hesitating next to his trousers pocket. “They’re a problem, but only for your typical mortal. And maybe an untrained cultivator” Lincoln shook his head and tutted, folding his arms. He wanted to eat his breadsticks.
It was probably a good idea to hold off on that, at least until they got somewhere cleaner. A small rat scuttled by, racing to the other end of the alleyway and disappearing around the corner. Hector, reaching down, grabbed the Farmhand. Heaving him up, battling against the smell, he slumped the boy onto his shoulder—there was no longer a need for a princess carry.
I now have the fragments. But, I wonder if I’ll have a chance to take the Talent later. I wouldn’t say no to another [Tough Body]
He glanced at the Farmhand's face, pot marks scared its surface. Years of suffering through puberty. It was hard to believe that this guy was involved in someone’s death; he looked so peaceful. But then again, looks could be deceiving.
Hector, adjusting the Farmhand, walked deeper into the alleyway, Lincoln trailing a few feet behind, looking over his shoulder. Was he always this antsy or had sneaking around just made him more paranoid? Hector peeked around the corner as he got to a T junction at the end of the alleyway. It was clear.
“The old brewery is this way, right?” Hector said, gesturing to the left turn. The smell of rotten fruit and crap tickled his nose. He frowned, lifting his foot, checking he hadn’t stepped into anything. “I hope we aren’t going to be too late.”
“Yeah, it’s this way,” Lincoln said, stepping past Hector.
The two of them continued walking. Only a few words, mostly confirmations of directions as they walked, came from Lincoln. After a while, they pulled up to a rather large courtyard in the back alleys.
It joined up with four different alleyways, each going in a different direction. Hector paused as he stepped into the courtyard. Clotheslines hung from house to house, connecting them like spider webs. The cobblestone was jutted up in places, sticking up at awkward angles—the place needed some repair.
A queer smile came to Lincoln's lips as he glanced back at Hector, stepping over a small river of brown liquid that flowed by. Ducking under a clothesline—manoeuvring the Farmhand out of the way—Hector searched for what direction they would take next.
“Hey, what are you two doing back here?” said a bearded man as he stepped under a clothesline, pushing past a scraggy blanket as a door slapped shut behind him. “This area is only for the. Rough Rollers. If you ain’t got an invite, I’m gonna need to see some coin.”
The man cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders—was that supposed to be intimidating? Clothesline, draped in scraggy old blankets, flapped behind him. Hector glanced at Lincoln. This wasn’t too bad, it was just one mortal, that didn’t know who had just stepped into their turf.
“Listen, sir,” Lincoln said, raising his hands. “We are just passing through. There’s no need to turn this into a whole thing…”
Lincoln trailed off as two more men stepped out from underneath the blankets, scowling. To Hector's right, another two guys stepped out from underneath some more hanging blankets and on his left. One man stood holding open a door as two men walked by him. He followed them a moment later.
Well, this has gotten a little out of hand. How should me and Lincoln split these fools this time?
Lincoln chuckled, glancing back at Hector and shaking his head—it’s not like they didn’t expect this. Hector adjusted the Farmhand on his shoulder, moving over to a wall, dropping to one knee and resting him against it. Something dripped nearby, splashing into a puddle.
Hector tapped the Farmhand's head and hopped to his feet. It looked like this wouldn’t be ending peacefully. “System, scan them all,” he whispered.
