Chapter 4: Flee to Safety (Part 1)
Furina's eyelid had been twitching like mad these past few days. Never a good sign. And sure enough—ding—that damn system piped up right on cue, like some kind of alarm clock with a vendetta, always going off the second she dared to relax.
[Follow-up Mission: Flee to Safety]
[Details: Target Huo Yun'er's condition has temporarily stabilized (credit to Host's prior assistance). However, her environment remains highly dangerous. The root problem is unresolved. Life-threatening risk persists.]
[Requirements: Assist targets Huo Yun'er and her son Huo Yuhao in safely leaving the White Tiger Duke's Manor's sphere of influence. Provide initial living supplies.]
[Special Note: Absolute secrecy remains mandatory! Neither the Host nor the Church of the Water God may be exposed! Provision of funds and necessary guidance is advised. Point deduction upon failure!]
The glowing text made her eyes cross. "Treat the symptoms but not the cause?" Furina muttered with a scowl. "Easy for you to say. What's the White Tiger Duke's Manor, a public market? You just waltz in and out?" She remembered the original story all too well. For Huo Yun'er and her son, that place was practically a death trap. Tossing them a few cakes to hang on wasn't gonna cut it—they needed to get the hell out. For good.
But what could she do? Go herself? With that head of hair that screamed her identity from a mile away, and her "commanding presence" (papal majesty in her own mind, plain weird to everyone else), the guards would snatch her up as a suspicious character before she took three steps. Break them out? She'd never even killed a chicken in her life. What kind of jailbreaker would she make?
Points! Right—points! She scrambled through the system shop in her head. The interface was a gaudy eyesore. After ages of hunting, she finally unearthed "Gold & Silver Soul Coin Exchange" from some dusty corner. One glance at the conversion rate and—holy hell, what a scam! Like points grew on trees? But there was no choice. Gritting her teeth, she burned a hard-earned "fortune" in points for a small but solid pouch of gold soul coins plus some loose silver. She hefted it. Yeah—enough for a regular family to scrape by on for quite a while, if they were careful.
Giving just money felt... a little dry, though. Shouldn't she send a note too? But what was she supposed to write? "The Water God protects, now run for your lives"? That'd probably just freak them out and make them think it was some weird new con. She scratched at her lovely hair, grabbed a piece of paper—yellowed, edges all ragged—picked up a pen, and scrawled in crooked lettering: Saw injustice. Travel money. Head south. Find a small town and settle. Don't come back. She left it unsigned and doodled a lopsided cake at the bottom (her hand had a mind of its own). That was covert enough, right? She convinced herself it was.
The stuff was ready. Now—who to send? She glanced around. Plenty of believers, sure, but they were all plain, honest folk who, at most, were a bit healthier after eating her cakes. Send them to pull off hushed-up, under-the-table work at the Duke's manor? Might as well serve them up on a platter. Nope. Once again, it came down to her three old reliables—even if they sure didn't look reliable.
She solemnly handed the slightly lumpy coin pouch and the hastily folded, wrinkled letter to Mademoiselle Chevaleyda. "Same place as last time. Find that kid, Huo Yuhao, or his mother. Slip this to them. And remember—for heaven's sake, don't get spotted! Last time almost went south!" The more she emphasized it, the worse her eyelid twitched.
The three operatives set out once again. Mademoiselle Chevaleyda carefully pinched the little money pouch in her massive yet nimble claw (it looked a bit like she was carrying a tiny handbag). Lord Usher gave a fastidious little curl of his tentacles, as if running errands and delivering cash was beneath his refined dignity—then fell in line anyway. Madame Hevmayer floated at the helm, her body rimmed with that faint bubble-glow, like a navigation device gone off-course.
They slipped silently into the sprawling, convoluted outskirts of the White Tiger Duke's Manor, tracking the mother and child's faint aura using some nebulous, likely aquatic-creature-based sensory trick. Hiding, dodging, trying to figure out how to deliver the goods without a trace.
Clearly, they hadn't checked the day's luck before heading out. And it was rotten to the core.
Just as they were peeking cautiously out of a cramped, junk-choked alley to scope a route, they ran smack into a group. The brat in the lead wasn't that old but oozed arrogance from every pore, his clothes so blindingly lavish they almost hurt to look at. He was flanked by a pack of obvious lackeys. The boy was Dai Huabin—fresh off a grinding session at the family training grounds with a belly full of pent-up rage and nowhere to put it. Sulking, he'd stalked out looking for entertainment or a convenient punching bag, and what do you know—turn a corner and there, lurking suspiciously near his family's estate, were three of the weirdest damn things he'd ever laid eyes on.
A blue seahorse floating in midair, wreathed in an eerie bubble-glow? A crab brandishing colossal claws, its dark shell polished like a mirror? And some kind of round, bulbous octopus stuffed into a ridiculous little suit?
"What the hell—?!" Dai Huabin's brow twisted into a scowl. His first instinct was confusion—sea soul beasts? Here, inland? And why did they look so... mismatched? But then a hot wave of indignation flooded right over the confusion. Whatever those things were, they'd dared to spy near the White Tiger Duke's Manor. They were asking for death. Conveniently, he had a temper to burn.
Young, hotheaded, desperate to prove the world bowed to him—he didn't waste time thinking. "Martial Soul Possession!" he barked. A vicious, overbearing pressure erupted from his frame. Two bright yellow hundred-year soul rings flared to life beneath him. He threw out his hand, and a searing white tiger claw of light ripped through the air with a shriek, slicing straight at the most obviously dangerous target—the claw-wielding crab, Mademoiselle Chevaleyda.
She was quicker than lightning. Her heavy, dark claw shot up and met the blow head-on with a ringing clang, sparks scattering at the impact. But she hadn't braced for that much force—the savage power jolted her backward, skidding across the ground. The coin pouch in her grip lurched violently, almost flying loose.
Lord Usher, for his part, seemed apoplectic at this brazen, utterly etiquette-defying assault (no introductions? No courteous bow before a duel?! Barbaric! Savagery!). His tentacles lashed the air furiously, sending several compressed jets of pressurized water hissing toward Dai Huabin's face and arms.
Madame Hevmayer drifted silently higher. The air around the alley grew thick and clammy. Dozens of huge, iridescent bubbles bloomed into existence, drifting lazily yet inexorably toward Dai Huabin and his charging lackeys. They looked delicate, fragile—ready to pop. But the moment they touched skin, the henchmen felt like they'd plunged into glue. Limbs turned sluggish, feet slipped uselessly, soul skills flew crooked. They had energy to spare but nowhere to put it. Infuriating.
That only made Dai Huabin madder. So these weren't just weird soul beasts—they were weird soul beasts with tricks. Fine. With a roar, his soul power surged, and his assault grew sharper and more relentless. White tiger claws tore through the air in a blur of afterimages, hammering at Mademoiselle Chevaleyda, trying to take down the obvious ringleader. His followers, finally snapping out of their daze, scrambled to summon their own martial souls, shouting as they closed in. Low-tier soul skills lit up haphazardly, lobbed at Lord Usher and Madame Hevmayer.
In moments, the once-quiet alley mouth had turned into a full-blown mess. Soul lights streaked wildly; water arrows shot everywhere; bubbles kept materializing and popping with wet plaps; crab claw met tiger claw again and again in dull, ringing clashes. Sheer chaos.
Mademoiselle Chevaleyda and the others weren't completely outmatched—their origins were, after all, rather special. But Pope Furina had drilled it into them: the priority was secrecy. No prolonged fights. No attention. And the main job was delivering the goods, not scrapping with some human whelp.
The three non-humans exchanged a "look" (if you could call it that) and reached a silent consensus—bail. Mademoiselle Chevaleyda slammed her free claw into the ground. Boom. Dust and damp mist erupted everywhere. Lord Usher seized the moment and spat out a massive cloud of ink-black water that spread like a curtain, blotting out the view. Madame Hevmayer's bubbles began bursting in rapid succession, dissolving into a thick white haze that muddled the senses even further.
But just as they moved to slip away through the chaos, Dai Huabin proved either uncannily sharp or just battle-savvy. His first soul ring flared. His speed kicked up a notch. With a sudden lunge, he ripped through part of the mist and ink, his eyes locked razor-sharp onto the claw Mademoiselle Chevaleyda was shielding so carefully. A deadlier, denser claw of light tore toward her.
"Think you're running? Sneaky bastards! Hand over whatever you're hiding!" he snarled. He'd clearly zeroed in on the thing the crab was guarding—something no soul beast had any business carrying. A man-made object. A money pouch, from the look of it.
Caught off-balance, Mademoiselle Chevaleyda could only twist her claw arm and block again.
CLANG—!
The shriek of metal-on-metal was deafening, louder than anything before. This time she was knocked stumbling backward. Fine white scratches marred the dark polish of her claw. The coin pouch, still clamped tight, swayed wildly, teetering. The faint clink of coins seemed to leak into the air.
Their escape route cut off by that single vicious blow, the clash escalated in an instant. The delivery squad, it seemed, had stumbled into genuine, unexpected trouble. Slipping away quietly wasn't going to be so easy anymore. Dai Huabin's lips curled into a cold, satisfied smirk. Whatever these freaks were up to, he knew they were hiding something. And he pressed his attack with renewed intensity.