Poison God's Heritage

The tension between us and the group of survivors was so thick, it seemed to hang in the air like a palpable force. Every second dragged on, stretched to the breaking point, as we stood locked in a silent standoff. The slightest movement felt like it could shatter the fragile equilibrium between us and ignite chaos.

The towering man standing before me was still, his grip tightening on his spear as his eyes roamed over each of us in turn. His gaze was calculating, as though he were silently weighing his options—determining whether we were worth the fight or too dangerous to challenge directly. His spear tip hovered near my face, far closer than I was comfortable with, and I could feel the heat of the day radiating off the crude weapon.

At his side, the child clung tightly to his leg, his small hands clutching the rough fabric of the man's clothing with a white-knuckled grip. The boy's eyes were wide, filled with fear, but there was something more—something beyond the terror. A flicker of recognition, maybe even understanding. The mention of the "Dread Princess" had clearly shaken him, and that fear was rippling through the rest of the group like wildfire, spreading without a word.

The older man stepped closer, his body tense, every movement deliberate as he pointed his spear directly at my face. "Are you friends with the Dread Princess?" he demanded, his voice gruff, filled with suspicion and anger.

I stared back at him, trying to remain calm despite the threat he posed. "There's been a misunderstanding," I began, my voice measured, but before I could explain further, another voice cut through the air.

"Will they even understand you?" a younger man asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied us. "They look like they're from some faraway tribe."

"SPEAK!" the older man barked, his patience clearly wearing thin. His grip on the spear tightened, and I could see the muscles in his arm tensing, ready to strike if I didn't give him the answers he wanted.

"It seems there is a misunderstanding," I repeated, keeping my voice steady. I needed to de-escalate the situation before things spiraled out of control.

The man's face twisted into a frown, his brow furrowed with distrust. "My boy lies not!" he spat, his voice rising in anger. "There is no misunderstanding! Are you friends with the Dread Princess or not?!"

The spear came even closer, the sharp edge dangerously near my skin. I could feel the hostility radiating from him, and his people mirrored that tension. They were all poised for action, ready to take us down at a moment's notice.

Before I could respond, another man, this one holding a bow and arrow, chimed in from the side. "Why are we even asking?" he sneered. "Let's just take them as prisoners. They'll speak proper once they meet our holy lord!"

"Move!" one of them shouted, and with the butt of his spear, he nudged Law harshly in the side.

Law looked like he was about to respond, irritation flashing in his eyes, but I shot him a quick look, hinting for him to stay calm. "Just follow their orders," I said to him through divine sense, sending a message that only he and the others could hear. We couldn't afford to escalate this into a fight—not with mortals who seemed terrified out of their wits. More importantly, they had information we needed.

"Keep your hands up!" another shouted as one of them approached, making a move to disarm us. The man reached for

Creeping Demise

, but I quickly gave the weapon a mental command through divine sense:

Don't kill him.

Creeping Demise

was a sentient weapon, one that could easily have taken the man's life if it perceived him as a threat. But I didn't want any bloodshed, especially not here, not now.

As soon as the man grabbed the sword, however, it fell to the ground with a dull thud, too heavy for him to lift. His face twisted in confusion, and he grunted, trying to heave the weapon from the earth.

"Lighten your weight!" I cursed inwardly, commanding the sword to ease up. The last thing I needed was for them to realize just how powerful we were and how weak they were in comparison. That would only make things worse.

The man frowned as he reached down again, this time lifting the sword with ease. He shot a wary glance in my direction before continuing to remove our other visible weapons. After thoroughly disarming us, they turned their attention to our holding bags. But despite their best efforts, they couldn't open the spatial sections—those were beyond their understanding. They rummaged through the non-spatial parts, only finding a few basic items.

"Empty sacks," one of the men muttered, clearly dissatisfied.

"They must have already been robbed. Leave them their belongings. Just take the weapons," the leader said, his voice gruff and authoritative. He seemed more focused on controlling the situation than on looting us, which was a small mercy.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

One of the other men glanced at the Slave, his eyes lingering on the markings that marred his body. "That man," he muttered, his tone grim, "he must've done something truly vile to deserve such a cruel fate. Only a villain would be marked like that."

The group encircled us, forcing us to move forward along the path. The boy, still clutching his father's leg, peeked timidly at Liang Yu, his wide eyes filled with a mix of fear and curiosity.

"You like her?" the father asked, glancing down at his son. The boy didn't answer, but the father grinned, clearly amused. "I'll make her your wife once you're old enough," he said with a chuckle. "She seems capable of bearing many children."

Liang Yu smiled, catching my eye as she walked beside me. Her amusement was clear, though there was a hint of mischief in her expression. "Jealous of a kid now, are we?" she teased through divine sense, her voice playful.

I grumbled inwardly, refusing to take the bait. If I responded, she'd just twist my words around, and I had no intention of getting dragged into her games. So, I stayed silent, keeping my focus on the path ahead.

Surprisingly, as we continued through the dense grasslands, I noticed something odd. The tentacle rakshasas that had been a constant threat earlier were nowhere to be seen. The entire area felt strangely calm, as if these people knew the exact route to avoid danger.

"They must know the safest path," I said to my companions through divine sense. It was the only explanation that made sense. They had likely been navigating these plains for years, learning how to avoid the creatures that lurked beneath the surface.

After what felt like half an incense stick's worth of time, we arrived at a small, cleared area in the grasslands. There, a trapdoor in the ground suddenly creaked open, revealing a man with tribal paint on his face and a small spear in his hand. He looked around cautiously before beckoning us to follow him down.

"Get in," he ordered, his voice gruff and commanding.

We descended one by one, climbing down a ladder that led into the dark underground. The moment we stepped inside, I was hit by the sight of a massive underground cavern. The place was enormous, stretching far and wide, with dim lights from torches and braziers casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.

People lived here, hidden beneath the surface, far from the dangers of the sun and the ever-present threat of the rakshasas. As we walked deeper into the cavern, I saw the tribespeople going about their daily lives. Some were weaving rough fabrics, others cooking simple meals over open flames, while a few men sharpened weapons made of bone and metal. The atmosphere was oppressive, filled with the weight of survival—these people were clearly trapped in an unending cycle of fear and hardship.

"Move," the leader grunted, jabbing me lightly with the butt of his spear as we continued further into the settlement.