Chapter 270: Chapter 270: THE ESCAPE
In the corner of the dim tavern, the mysterious woman finally pulled down her hood.
Her straight, dark brown hair was tied loosely back, leaving a few stray strands to frame her face. She was much younger than Rianor had calculated. Yet, her brown eyes held a sharp, feral edge—the gaze of a street veteran accustomed to sniffing out the scent of death before it even manifested.
Rianor studied her face. Not out of fascination, but clinically scanning her features to log into his database.
"What is your name?" Rianor asked, breaking the silence.
"Eva."
"And what logical reason made you risk yourself to save me, Eva?"
"Tch." Eva let out a rough breath, tossing her hood onto the table. "I told you, didn’t I? You were acting far too stupid to know when to back off."
"That is entirely irrational. A sane person does not risk their life against armed thugs just because they see a foolish foreigner."
Eva didn’t argue immediately. Her slightly trembling fingers slowly spun the wooden cup before her—a cup of water she hadn’t taken a single sip from. Behind the bar counter, the elderly keeper remained engrossed in polishing the exact same glass, as if deaf and blind to his only two patrons.
"I’ve been watching you," Eva admitted finally, her voice dropping. "Ever since you started mapping those chalk symbols on the streets."
Rianor wasn’t surprised. He adjusted his spectacles. "The reason?"
"Because any foreigner tracking our secret symbols falls into one of two categories: a dangerous threat, or an idiot. I simply wanted to verify which one you were."
"And your conclusion?"
"You’re just an idiot." Eva stared directly into Rianor’s eyes. "But at least you’re not a threat."
Rianor caught the crucial detail in her words. "’Our secret symbols,’ you said. So my hypothesis was correct. You are indeed part of the faction that makes them."
Eva didn’t nod, but she didn’t deny it either. Her lips remained sealed, letting the silence serve as the loudest confirmation.
"You don’t need to confess verbally," Rianor continued calmly. "I merely observe data. It is my job."
"Hah... you observe far too much, Mr. Smart."
Suddenly, Eva’s ears twitched.
Crash! Tap... tap... tap...
The sound of rushing footsteps echoed from outside. Not the steps of one or two people. There were dozens. The rhythm was too synchronized for a band of pilgrims, yet too chaotic for standard shrine guard boots.
Eva’s face, which had been merely alert, went pale and rigid.
"Damn it. They tracked us here."
"Who are ’they’?"
"The ones who cornered you in the alley earlier!" Eva bolted to her feet, snatching her hood. "And this time, they brought backup. Come on, move!"
Rianor rose as well. Whirrr... The circuits of the Mana Glove on his right hand flared back to life, emitting a dim blue hum. "On what basis are they hunting you so aggressively?"
"Because I intervened to save your life!" Eva gripped Rianor’s sleeve in a panic, nearly dragging him. "That action alone is enough to brand me a traitor in their eyes! Let’s go!"
They kicked open the back door of the tavern and vanished into the alley. The old barkeep didn’t even look up.
The web of alleys in Sanctum’s slums was certainly not designed as an escape route.
The path was far too narrow and twisted, resembling the entrails of a monster. Every corner was a blind gamble—leading either to an exit or a lethal dead end. Eva led the way. Her footsteps were as light as a feral cat’s, her navigation absolute. The girl had clearly spent half her life running through these streets. She knew every narrow gap, every rotting wooden door, and every climbable stack of crates by heart.
Rianor ran close behind. His Mana Glove continued to hum with blue light, ready to discharge kinetic energy at a moment’s notice. The stoic scientist didn’t ask questions. Wasting oxygen on words while running was highly inefficient.
Behind them, the stamp of their pursuers grew frantic.
"Don’t let them escape! Block the alley!"
Angry shouts bounced off the tight stone walls.
"They won’t stop hunting us," Eva panted heavily. "They’re convinced you’re a bloodhound for the Church."
"And your position?"
"I told you!" Eva turned sharply to the left, pulling Rianor’s arm to keep him from colliding with a broken cart. "I helped you. To them, that is absolute treason!"
They skidded to a sudden halt at a four-way intersection of alleys. Eva froze, tilting her head to sharpen her hearing. Rianor noted her micro-movements. His instincts sharpened, muscles bracing. This was no civilian panic. This was the navigation and observation technique of a highly trained street fighter.
"To the left..." Eva whispered, hesitant. "No! To the right! The sound of their boots is coming from the left!"
They bolted again. This time, the pace was frantic. But the pursuers were a step ahead. Rianor could clearly hear the ragged breathing behind them, the scrape of shoe soles on gravel, and the sound of iron pipes clanging against the walls.
"What is the estimated count of their numbers?" Rianor panted.
"Too many!"
"That is not a measurable numerical variable."
"Numerical data won’t save our lives right now, Mr. Smart!"
They swung around the final corner—and their steps died instantly.
A dead end.
A mossy stone wall soared three meters high, smooth and devoid of any handholds to climb. When they turned, the mouths of the alleys to their left and right were already blocked. The stamp of footsteps from both directions echoed closer, sealing off all avenues of escape.
"Damn it," Eva snarled, her back pressing against the brick.
Rianor stared at the massive wall, letting out a soft grunt. "I take it your plan didn’t account for this wall?"
"My plan officially ends here."
From the alley ahead, a figure stepped out of the shadows.
This was no low-life thug. Nor was she merely a panicked outcast. She was a woman. Her black hair was cut in an asymmetrical bob. A jagged, horrific scar marred her left cheek—three parallel slashes resembling the claw marks of a beast. Her eyes were as cold as ancient ice untouched by the sun. Behind her, four heavily built men stood blocking the path, clutching iron pipes, spiked wooden clubs, and rusted chains.
Kiyora.
"Eva." The scarred woman’s voice didn’t boom, but every word landed like a sledgehammer. "You actively intervened to protect this foreign dog."
"He’s not a spy for the Church, Kiyora!" Eva took half a step forward, instinctively shielding Rianor with her body. "I’ve observed him. He’s just a stupid foreigner who wandered in looking for trouble!"
"That is not your decision to make."
"He knows absolutely nothing about our group. He’s just—"
"He mapped our coordinate symbols across the entire city!" Kiyora cut her off, stepping closer to close the distance. "He followed our secret paths. He uncovered our district. That does not define ’knowing nothing.’ That is a fatal threat."
Rianor didn’t stand idle. He dialed his Mana Glove to maximum output. The metal gauntlet flared with a blinding, electric-blue light that buzzed violently. Bzzzt.
"I am no threat to you," Rianor said coldly.
Kiyora stopped. Her icy eyes scanned Rianor from head to toe, resting on the glowing gauntlet. "Your glove... that is not magic."
"Of course not."
"Then what is it?"
"A physical apparatus."
Kiyora went silent for several seconds. Then—with a movement nearly invisible to the naked eye—the corner of her lips twitched upward. It wasn’t a smile. It was the expression of a predator finding rare prey.
"Highly intriguing."
Kiyora gave her men a brief nod.
The four burly men lunged in unison.
Rianor executed his first target with cold precision.
As the first man swung his wooden club, Rianor ducked. Thud! His Mana Glove struck the man’s solar plexus. It was no brutal swing relying on muscle, but a transfer of kinetic energy calculated with anatomical precision. The man was thrown back, his spine crashing into the stone wall before he collapsed unconscious without a groan.
Beside him, Eva delivered a sharp kick to the second man’s knee. Crack! The sound of a joint forced out of alignment rang out. The man collapsed, screaming as he clutched his leg.
Yet, the numbers were too overwhelming.
Three fresh men suddenly surged from behind, tackling Rianor simultaneously. His arms were pinned and forced behind his back. His Mana Glove continued to hum actively, but his striking range was completely locked. In the opposite corner, two men successfully subdued Eva—her brown hair was roughly yanked, her arms twisted behind her back as she let out a muffled shriek.
A raw punch slammed hard into Rianor’s stomach. Oof. The scientist staggered, his breath completely stolen. Before he could recover, a second blow landed brutally on his cheekbone.
Crack! Rianor fell. His glasses sat crooked on his face, and fresh copper-tasting blood began to seep from the corner of his mouth. Yet Rianor didn’t groan. He spat the blood slowly, adjusted his glasses, and stared straight ahead.
"Don’t kill him, Kiyora!" Eva shrieked, struggling against her captors.
Kiyora walked elegantly toward Rianor, who was being forced to kneel. She studied him intently—a man who, despite just being beaten, stared back at her without a shred of fear. This man was... analyzing her.
"You’re certainly not from the Church," Kiyora whispered, crouching to eye-level with him. "They would never possess an apparatus as dangerous as your glove."
Kiyora narrowed her eyes, grabbing Rianor by his collar. "Who exactly are you?"
Rianor remained silent, his mouth locked tight.
Kiyora waited. Five seconds. Ten seconds passed without an answer. The scarred woman finally released her grip and stood tall.
"Drag them to the undercroft," Kiyora commanded her men. "We will force his tongue to speak there."
Someone behind Rianor raised a wooden club high, then brought it down heavily against the scientist’s nape.
Thack!
The world in Rianor’s eyes spun violently. The colors slowly dissolved into pitch black—the blue glow of his Mana Glove decayed, Eva’s brown hair blurred, and the rough texture of the stone alley vanished.
The last sound to pierce his fading consciousness was Kiyora’s cold voice:
"And ensure Eva isn’t harmed. Foolish or not, she is still our sister. Even if she recently forgot it."
Then, everything dissolved into an endless void.
Dusk crept over The Silver Bell.
Naya paced restlessly near the second-floor window. Her eyes never stopped moving—scanning every corner of Sanctum’s darkening cobblestone streets, waiting for two figures who had yet to show themselves.
At the corner table, Adul sat huddled in fear. The herbal tea in front of him had gone completely cold, untouched.
"This isn’t right. They haven’t returned," Adul murmured, trembling. It was a statement of dread, not a question.
"No, they haven’t," Naya replied coldly, her hand instinctively gripping the hilt of her dagger.
It wasn’t just Rianor who had vanished. Roland and Dom had yet to show any signs of returning from the Cathedral either. But Naya didn’t worry much about Roland. Roland was a master of diplomacy, and he was flanked by Dom, a killing machine. But Rianor... the rigid scientist had gone without proper physical escort.
"This has crossed the threshold of tolerance." Naya roughly threw on her leather jacket. "I’m going to the Cathedral to find Dom."
"E-eh? What about me?" Adul stood up in a panic.
"You hide here! If Roland or Rianor suddenly return, you must inform us." Naya paused at the threshold, staring sharply at him. "And remember one thing, Adul—never open this door for anyone but us!"
Adul swallowed hard, then nodded stiffly. Gulp.
Naya hurried out. The heavy door clicked shut, the sound echoing loudly in the suddenly empty room.
Adul was now entirely alone. Accompanied only by cold tea and the encroaching shadows of dusk outside his window.
The thin youth stared at the door with a racing heart, praying that one of his companions would turn that handle soon. Yet, as the seconds turned to minutes, no one came to knock.
