Grand Olympia: Further Horizon - Chapter 22: Aftermath
The aftermath of the battle felt hollow. The ground where they once fought was now eerily silent, the scent of blood, charred earth, and lingering poison still thick in the air. They had agreed to the truce.
The silence that followed Qin Shi Huang's words wasn't provocative — it was reflection. The fighters, battered and bloodied, let his words linger in their minds. None of them wanted to admit it outright, but they knew the truth. The chaos they'd faced wasn't just bad luck or fate turning against them. No — this had been their own doing.
They had walked into this battlefield believing they could outlast, overpower, or outwit their enemies without understanding what they were truly facing. None of them had prepared. None of them had planned. They had gambled their strength, and for some, it had almost cost them everything.
They hadn't anticipated the sheer brutality of this place — the unexpected monstrous giant snake that tore at their lives, or even the sudden alliances and betrayals that could shift in a heartbeat. These weren't battles they were used to. This wasn't a simple duel, a war, or a skirmish. It was something new — something unpredictable.
For fighters like Musashi, Lapulapu, and Yasuke — men who had built their legends through strength and skill — this battlefield had been a brutal reminder that pride alone wasn't enough to survive. For Jeanne, Qin Liangyu, and the others, it was clear that faith and courage wouldn't carry them through this without careful thought and strategy.
They had grown dull — not in strength, but in mindset. For too long, each of them had leaned on their past victories, believing that their instincts, their experience, and their reputations would be enough. But this place — this twisted, unknown battlefield — demanded something else. They had underestimated it. Worse, they had underestimated the unknown.
But next time, they couldn't afford that mistake. Next time, they would need to think before they acted, to understand before they struck. Because next time, they might not be lucky enough to survive.
Qin Shi Huang saw it in their faces — the frustration, the guilt, the silent realization that they had no one to blame but themselves. And perhaps that was why his offer struck deeper than they cared to admit. It wasn't just a truce he was offering.
It was a second chance — a chance to walk away, learn from their failures, and prepare for whatever hell awaited them next.
George had been the first to push for retreat. Not because he trusted Qin Shi Huang, nor because he believed in some grand sense of unity between them. No, George saw the bigger picture. His group—half of them, at least—was in no shape to fight another battle, especially if it turned ugly.
The poison, though not lethal, was already doing its work. Musashi, Lapulapu, and Fu Hao had inhaled more than anyone else. Their movements were slower, their breathing labored. It wasn't instant death. It was a slow, creeping decay, sapping their strength with every step they took.
They had no choice but to fall back.
Now, hidden away from the battlefield, they finally had a moment to breathe. They had taken shelter beneath a natural rock formation deep inside the forest, the shades of the trees shielded them from the open sky. The land here was uneven, covered in thick roots and damp soil, far enough from the carnage that the scent of poison was less suffocating.
George crouched beside Musashi, inspecting his injuries. His body was a mess—sweat-drenched, cuts layered over bruises, and his normally sharp gaze dulled by exhaustion.
His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling in uneven intervals. Poison still lingered in his veins, making every breath feel like a struggle.
His left arm had taken the worst of it, the muscles twitching involuntarily, the duel wooden swords he prided himself on now lying useless beside him.
Lapulapu wasn't any better. He sat against the rock wall, his shield resting beside him, his kampilan planted into the earth like an anchor. His face was as stoic as ever, but the subtle tension in his jaw told another story.
His muscles, which had once moved with the fluid strength of an unshakable warrior, were now stiff, struggling to respond. The poison slowed him, weighed him down like unseen chains.
His wounds—deep gashes along his arms and torso—had begun clotting, but the pain was evident in the way his fingers trembled every time he tried to grip his weapon.
Fu Hao, the most reckless of them all, had taken the worst beating. Her body was covered in bruises, green blood from the serpent still staining her clothes.
The most alarming injury was her right shoulder—dislocated from when she ripped the serpent's jaw apart with her bare hands. Jeanne had already tried resetting it, but Fu Hao had been too out of it to react.
Now, her breathing was slow, heavy, her body finally succumbing to the abuse she had forced it through.
Even unconscious, her face was twisted in a defiant grimace, as if she were still fighting in her dreams.
George let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand down his face.
Billy overlooking all of this finally said.
"We look like hell."
Jeanne didn't respond immediately. She was focused, tending to Fu Hao, Musashi, and Lapulapu injuries, using a medical kit she requested from the Watcher. Blood still seeped from some of the deeper wounds, but at least it wasn't gushing anymore.
Billy, positioned higher up in the trees with his camouflage cloak, kept watch. His revolver rested against his thigh, eyes scanning the terrain below. His usual laid-back grin was gone, replaced with something unreadable.
George looked up at him.
"Anything?"
Billy didn't glance down, but his voice carried.
"Nah. No movement. Either they're resting like us, or they're watching from the shadows, waitin' to see if we bleed out on our own. Also I don't see any critters, just some small ones.
George huffed. "Sounds about right."
Silence settled between them again. It wasn't comforting, nor was it particularly tense. It was just exhaustion.
Jeanne finally spoke, her voice quiet but firm.
"We need to treat the poison first."
George nodded. "Yeah. Problem is, we don't know what kind of poison it is."
"Doesn't matter," Jeanne said. "We flush it out the old-fashioned way. Water, rest, and whatever herbs we can find that might help."
George exhaled. "And if that's not enough?"
Jeanne didn't answer.
Because they both knew the truth—if the poison didn't clear, Musashi, Lapulapu, and Fu Hao wouldn't last long. Not here. Not in a world where the weak were left behind.
Billy's voice broke through the quiet.
"We ain't dyin' here."
George looked up.
Billy still hadn't moved from his post, but his grip on his revolver had tightened. He wasn't smiling anymore.
"I dunno what kinda gods y'all believe in, but I'll be damned if I let some snake's leftovers take us out."
For once, George agreed.
They needed a plan. And they needed it fast.
The group gathered, their faces grim and tired. The air still carried traces of danger, clinging to their skin like sweat. Every breath stung a little, every heartbeat felt heavier than the last.
Lapulapu, despite his hardened expression, looked drained — his skin pale and his breathing shallow. His strength, though undeniable, was fading.
"This poison isn't instant," Lapulapu with his experience in the forest said through a rough cough. "But it's the kind that breaks you down slowly. First comes the pain — joints, muscles, everything starts to burn. Then swelling… your body starts to feel heavier, like you're carrying rocks under your skin. The nausea doesn't stop. And if you let it go long enough…" He paused, letting his words hang. "If you move too much it kills you if left untreated. Just having a good rest will disappear slowly but we don't have the luxury to do that."
No one spoke. They didn't need to — they all knew they'd been breathing it in since the fight. The serpent had done more damage than any of them realized.
George with his keen insight, his voice low. "Do you know what to do?"
Lapulapu gave a small nod. "I can make medicine for it. Not perfect — it won't clear everything right away — but it'll keep us moving. I know some ingredients we need. They're out there," he said, using his chin to point toward the dense forest. "I just need time to find them."
"Time we don't have," Musashi muttered. He sat with his arms crossed, still scowling from the last conversation. "We're in no shape to split up."
"We don't have a choice," George cut in. "If we wait any longer, we'll all be too weak to even walk. We have to get this done now."
Jeanne stepped forward. "I'll go too. Someone has to help Lapulapu look for ingredients and protect his back."
"Me too," George added. "I've hunted in forests like this before. I know how to spot trouble before it finds us."
"You're not taking me?" Musashi's tone sharpened, his pride flaring. "I should go."
Lapulapu shook his head. "You're not. You've fought harder than anyone here. You need rest — or this poison will break you faster than anyone else. Same for Fu Hao."
Musashi scoffed, glaring at the ground. He hated it — hated being told to sit still. But deep down, he knew Lapulapu was right. The burning in his muscles had grown worse, and every step made him feel like he was dragging chains.
"Billy stays behind too," George added. "He's got the best eyes. If something comes this way, he'll see it first."
Billy, perched on a nearby rock with his revolver in hand, his left arm replaced with a robotic arm, he flashed a grin. "Yeah, yeah… I'll play babysitter."
"Dofus," Musashi muttered.
"The rest of you," George said, voice firm, "If we're not back by some time… leave."
"What?" Jeanne's eyes widened.
"You heard me," George said coldly. "If we're not back by then, assume we're dead. Pack what you can and get out of here."
Silence followed. It was a grim truth — one they couldn't deny.
Musashi, weak and pale from the poison, let out a dry laugh. "I know I like this place."
Finally prepared, the three set off. The weight of the mission pressed on their shoulders — the poison lingering in their veins, the threat of unseen dangers stalking the forest. Each step felt heavier than the last.
Despite his usual stoic demeanor, Lapulapu's condition was clear. His breaths were shallow, his steps slower than they should've been. The burning in his muscles was constant, and his body ached with fatigue. Yet he pressed on, determined to finish what needed to be done.
His shield — the very thing that had protected him countless times — was left behind. Carrying it now would only slow him down. Instead, he gripped his kampilan tightly, relying on the strength still left in his sword arm.
His fingers trembled slightly around the hilt, but his resolve didn't falter. Weak or not, Lapulapu knew one truth — no one else could gather what they needed. He would see this through.