Chapter 227: The Sewer
The afternoon in Orlando was tranquil, the sun casting a warm, amber glow over
the town as a lazy breeze drifted through the streets.
At the central town square, a small crowd had gathered before the official
notice board. It was a rare sight; the town had known such peace under the
Empire that the board usually only held announcements for tax updates or
festival schedules.
Martha, the baker's wife, wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron and squeezed
through the back of the crowd, her curiosity piqued.
"A Wanted Notice?"
Her voice wasn't quiet. Several neighbors stopped their idling chatter to squint
at the new parchment.
"Well, look at that," an old man muttered, clasping his hands behind his back.
"The Empire's been up and running for years, and this is the first time I've
seen a bounty poster in these parts."
The portrait was hastily sketched, showing only the silhouette of a side
profile. However, the crisscrossing scars on the cheek were drawn with heavy,
deliberate ink, making the detail impossible to miss.
"Fifty silver coins?" a laborer gasped. "I'm not seeing things, am I?"
"That's a small fortune. Enough to live in the town's finest inn for a month
without lifting a finger."
"Fifty silver?" Martha rubbed her chin, squinting at the sketch. "That wouldn't
even cover a round-trip ticket on Dragon Aviation to the Iron Fortress. It's a
bit meager for a 'high-threat' criminal, isn't it?"
She paused, a flicker of recognition crossing her face.
"Wait... I've seen this girl. Just a few days ago, she was walking past my shop
with Doctor William. She looked half-starved and tiny—hardly seemed like the
villainous type."
A young mother holding a toddler chimed in softly. "I saw them, too. The doctor
even took her to get a new dress. How does a girl like that become a 'Most
Wanted' fugitive overnight?"
"Who knows," the old man sighed, losing interest. He turned to leave. "The
bounty is the strange part. fifty silver is... awkward. It's too much for a
petty thief, but far too low for a genuine monster. If she were really
'High-Tier' dangerous, we'd be talking gold coins."
The crowd murmured in agreement.
"Exactly. Why risk your neck against someone with a price on their head for a
few weeks of ale money? If they come back for revenge, fifty silver won't pay
for your funeral."
"I reckon it's just a formality," another man suggested. "The Punishment Legion
probably just wants to let us know she's out there. A 'keep your eyes open' sort
of thing."
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the crowd thinned and eventually
dispersed. The Wanted Notice was left alone, fluttering rhythmically in the
cooling evening wind.
Beneath the peaceful streets of the town, another world existed entirely.
Lia leaned her back against a damp, slick stone wall. Her eyes were closed,
every sense turned inward as she cataloged the failing status of her body.
She was nearing her physiological limit.
No food for three days. To be precise: three days and seven hours. She
calculated the time automatically through her heart rate and respiratory
rhythm—a habit of a long-term operative.
It was night now. Above, the town would be settling into silence. The patrols of
the Skeleton Berserkers would be at their minimum frequency.
But she didn't dare go up.
Lia knew with absolute certainty that the skeleton named Pride hadn't let her
walk out of mercy or negligence. It was a display of absolute dominance. He had
given her a head start because he didn't believe she could truly escape him.
She lifted her hand, catching the slivers of moonlight that filtered through a
distant drainage grate. Her nails were packed with black grime. She clenched her
fist, then released it.
She repeated the motion three times.
Good. Motor control remains stable. Hunger hasn't triggered tremors yet.
At the very least, she could still run. She could still kill.
The sewer was a realm of oppressive shadow, illuminated only by the faint grey
light from the street-level drains. But for Lia, it was enough. Her eyes had
adjusted, rendering the dark into a sharp, monochromatic map.
The stone-brick tunnels were roughly two meters wide. A shallow stream of
stagnant water flowed across the floor, barely reaching her ankles. The air was
heavy with a subtle, pervasive funk.
However, it wasn't the overwhelming stench of rot she had expected.
The reason was the slimes.
They were everywhere. Translucent, gelatinous blobs that pulsed with a faint,
internal glow as they undulated through the water. They were the cleaners of the
underworld, devouring everything—trash, carrion, and waste. They broke down the
filth before it could putrefy.
Lia had spent the last few days observing them. They were non-aggressive,
bordering on timid. They actively avoided her. Most importantly, their bodies
were composed of high-purity, potable moisture.
They had been her only source of hydration.
Lia bent down, her hand flashing like a striking viper as she seized a passing
slime. It felt cold, rubbery, and surprisingly firm. The creature thrashed in
her grip, its gelatinous form trying to slide through her fingers like liquid.
Lia offered no mercy. She opened her mouth and bit down.
A briny, slightly metallic mucus flooded her mouth. Her expression remained a
mask of iron as she forced herself to swallow.
Once. Twice. Three times.
She consumed the entire creature. A faint sensation of "fullness" registered in
her stomach, and the burning dryness in her throat eased.
But she knew it was a stay of execution. Slimes provided basic hydration, but
they possessed almost zero nutritional value. If this continued, her Od would
completely bottom out within forty-eight hours, and she would lose her capacity
for movement.
She had to leave Orlando.
But not tonight. To emerge now was to walk into a prepared kill-zone. If that
skeleton had authorized her release, he was waiting for her to show her hand.
Lia needed more data. She needed to understand the Empire's tracking protocols.
She needed to find the blind spots in their reconnaissance. Only then could she
formulate a viable extraction plan.
She slid down the wall until she was sitting, closing her eyes to reconstruct
the intelligence she had gathered.
First: The Empire's detection technology was acute. The crystal ball used by
that Centurion could detect anomalous Mana fluctuations with ease. This meant
that the moment she attempted to restore her Od by drawing from the atmosphere,
she would be "lit up" like a flare on their magical radar.
Conclusion: She must remain in a state of total Mana depletion until she cleared
the town's perimeter.
Second: The Undead and the living shared a sophisticated, integrated social
system. Resident registration, regular armed patrols, and clear logistics
management. It was a seamless web of order. Escaping such a tight system through
conventional means was a Tier-7 difficulty task.
However, there was a flaw.
Lia noticed that as long as she didn't restore her magic, their ability to track
her plummeted. The lack of pursuing units in the sewers was proof. Their
detection methods were primarily tuned to Mana signatures, not biological scent
or thermal footprints.
Just then, the sound of light footsteps echoed from the far end of the tunnel.
Lia was on her feet instantly. She made no sound as she pressed herself into a
corner, her form melting into the shadows of a recessed alcove.
The footsteps were rhythmic—tap, splash, tap, splash. It didn't sound like the
heavy, metallic tread of a Skeleton Berserker. It sounded... small. Like a
child.
Lia regulated her breathing, slowing her heart rate. She had already mapped
three potential escape routes from this junction, but she held her position. If
the newcomer wasn't a hunter, any movement would only risk exposing her hideout.
The sound drew closer.
A faint, flickering light appeared around the corner of the tunnel, casting a
dancing shadow against the brickwork.
A young girl stepped into view. She wore a faded, patched grey dress and carried
a small oil lantern that cast a dim, yellow glow. She looked no older than
eight, with twin tails tied neatly and a hint of lingering baby fat on her
cheeks. She was, by all accounts, quite adorable.
In her other hand, she carried a woven reed basket. It was filled with kitchen
scraps—rotting cabbage leaves, fruit rinds, and hard crusts of bread.
The girl walked into the sewer without a trace of fear or disgust. She moved
with practiced ease to a relatively dry ledge, knelt, and began scattered the
scraps onto the ground.
The nearby slimes reacted instantly, swarming toward the ledge like a school of
fish being fed in a pond. They enveloped the trash, beginning the slow process
of decomposition.
The girl watched them, a satisfied smile blooming on her face. She hummed a
discordant little tune as she fed them.
"Slime, oh slime, so round and neat~" "I bring you scraps and things to eat~"
"Grow up big for the market stall~" "Mama smiles and loves us all~"
Lia watched from the shadows, her mind struggling to process the scene.
What is she doing? Farming... slimes? Why?
She received her answer moments later.
As the slimes gorged themselves on the waste, several of the larger ones began
to vibrate violently. Their forms stretched and constricted until they split
down the middle.
One became two. Two became four.
The girl waited for the mitosis to conclude, then unlatched a cloth bag from her
belt. She began scooping the newly divided, smaller slimes into the bag. Her
movements were swift and precise.
She wasn't just a child; she was a harvester. This was a job.
☆☆☆
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