The first rays of morning light filtered through the heavy canopy, painting the forest floor in streaks of gold and shadow. The camp was still, except for the small crackle of dying embers. Larin stirred first, his body alive with the lingering energy of the [Sinlung Breathing Technique]. He took a deep breath, the cool morning air sharpening his senses.
"Up and at it," he called softly rousing his companions.
Rinku groaned, pulling her blanket over her head. "I don't rise for a grey sky, Larin." She peeked out, squinting at the gathering clouds. "And it's going to rain. Great."
Ngieri sat up next, already folding her blanket with precise movements. "Rain or not, we need to move. The town's not far.
Gwendon stretched, his muscles rippling as he readjusted his gear. "Another storm won't kill us, but the people of Mawngza might if we don't clean up properly."
In a matter of minutes, the group broke down their makeshift camp, leaving no trace of their presence. This was not a matter of courtesy, but a sacred duty-a reflection of the Xiaxoan reverence for the land.
By the time they arrived at Mawngza, the town was full of bustle. Farmers carried baskets full of produce, while merchants hollered bids for the freshest fish and spices. Children played among the stalls, their laughter above the steady hum of commerce.
Rinku took in a deep breath, breathing in the steamed rice and herbs aroma wafting through the air. "Smells like Mawngza hasn't changed.
Ngieri nodded toward a small house tucked away from the bustling market. "Let's visit Mr. Elma. It's only polite to thank him for his hospitality."
The elder greeted them at the door, his weathered face breaking into a wide smile. "Ah, my young friends! Come in, come in!"
Inside, the room was humble but inviting. A low table surrounded by cushions dominated the center, and shelves lined with small trinkets and faded books spoke of a life rich in memory.
"My wife's already out with the herd," Elma said as he prepared tea. "She never lets a day go to waste.
The tea steeped, filling the room with its earthy aroma. As they sipped, Elma leaned back, his gaze distant. "Not many take the time to share tea these days. Life rushes on, but the old ways teach us patience."
Larin seized the moment. "Mr. Elma, last night you mentioned the history of your people. Would you tell us more about the Lhma and the Xiaxoans?
Elma laughed, and his laughter was laced with sadness. "It's not something we talk about often, but you're not Lhma, so I suppose it's okay." He sipped his tea long and deep before continuing. "Our ancestors believed in three realms: the physical, the spiritual, and the other. The physical and spiritual overlap constantly—the spirits are in every stone, every blade of grass. But the other realm? That's different. Dangerous. Its boundaries must not be crossed, for when they are, the rules of Heaven break.
His words hung in the air, heavy with ancient truths.
"Do your people still have the tribal runes?" Rinku asked, her curiosity overcoming her hesitation.
Elma's face fell, his voice tinged with grief. "No. The Kirat Empire destroyed them. Our runes weren't just symbols; they were life itself, the heartbeat of our culture. Without them, we're like a body that breathes but doesn't live."
The group sat in silence, their weighty responsibility of this loss hanging upon them. Finally, Larin said, his voice filled with an air of formality, "Thank you for telling us this, Mr. Elma. Your history is important; it shall not be lost."
Elma cracked a slight smile and handed another cup of tea. "At times that's all there is: to remember who we are.
The town hall was abuzz, as adventurers and workers scrambled to get a look at the job board. Placements ran the gamut:
10 x Slime Cores – 50 credits
Escort Merchant Caravan – 500 credits
But one caught her eye:
Eliminate Bandit Party. No Survivors. Reward: 10,000 credits.
"That's a lot of credits," Ngieri whispered, furrowing her brow.
"And a lot of risk," Rinku added. "No survivors? That's not just dangerous—it's grotesque.
Larin studied the board, his jaw tight. "We've faced worse. If bandit activity is on the rise, the quakes may be driving them closer to town. This isn't just about credits-it's about keeping the people safe."
After a moment, Gwendon nodded. "If we don't take it, someone else will. And they might not be as careful."
The group reluctantly agreed. Larin tore the request from the board, and they started their preparations.
The day was spent in careful planning. They gathered information at a café near the square, poring over maps and intelligence provided by the town council. Each member contributed: Gwendon noted tactical advantages in the terrain, Rinku strategized with her alchemical expertise, and Ngieri considered fallback positions.
As the sun dipped low, their plan was set. They waited until nightfall, their resolve solidifying with the deepening shadows.
As they approached the bandits' camp, the woods held an eerie silence over itself. The faint embers of a campfire's flames danced through the undergrowth, casting jagged shadows across the makeshift barricades.