novelraw Chapter 5 Young Master - Lin Chi
Chapter 5 Young Master - Lin Chi
"That's enough!" A clear rebuke rang out, like a pebble thrown into a murky swamp.
The boy turned around from the front of the line, staring straight at Crazy Grandpa. His tone was low, but it carried an undeniable weight.
"Don't forget the rules: no arson, murder, or robbery!"
A slight commotion arose in the group, and a faint glimmer of hope suddenly lit up in the previously lifeless eyes of those chained up.
A dozen pairs of eyes were fixed on the boy's thin back, then nervously glanced at the madman.
Madman seemed to choke, his fleshy cheeks twitching twice.
He raised his hand irritably and rubbed the dark lines on the back of his neck as if it were itchy.
He tilted his neck, making a soft "crack" sound from his bones, and clicked his tongue incoherently, his eyes full of impatience.
A surge of anger rose within him: This brat, he's ruined my plans again! The guys on the other routes are probably making a killing right now!
But soon, the image of that old madman in the camp flashed through his mind, and he swallowed hard, ultimately not daring to shout out what was on his mind.
The fierce expression on his face magically transformed in the blink of an eye into an exaggerated display of "respect."
"Yes! Yes! Young master, you are right!" He turned around, bowed deeply in the direction of the boy, clasped his hands together, nodded, and raised his voice, sounding exceptionally sincere.
"The rules can't be broken! It's my fault! It's all my fault! I was blinded by greed and lost my mind!" He patted his head, then pointed to the back of his neck, his tone becoming mysterious and somewhat pleading.
"It's all this thing's fault... It's a bit eerie, it can easily make people lose their senses, sigh! I almost succumbed! Luckily, thankfully you, young master, were there to keep an eye on things, you're really our peace of mind!"
His words sounded like an admission of wrongdoing, but his bent back was straightened stiffly, and the smile on his face was eerily fake.
After saying that, he suddenly straightened up, the fake smile on his face vanished instantly, replaced by an even more ferocious expression, and with a whoosh, he pulled out the thick, short stick tucked behind his waist.
He stopped looking at the boy and instead glared menacingly at the silent, trembling crowd.
"Did you hear that! The young master has taken pity on you and is pleading for you!"
He swung the stick and, without saying a word, struck the first person hard on the outside of his thigh with a loud "crack." The man groaned in pain and his body swayed to the side.
"You all need to be smart! Hand over your wind magic fees promptly! Don't push your luck and betray the young master's 'good intentions'!"
He deliberately emphasized the word "good intentions," and the stick struck the person behind him repeatedly on the body and buttocks. It wasn't fatal, but it was extremely humiliating and painful.
Each strike seemed to vent the frustration of being scolded, and was also a silent mockery and reaction to the boy's obedience—look, I won't touch your "robbery," but "charging" and "teaching a disobedient child" is acceptable, right?
The boy pursed his lips and watched the scene. He naturally understood the veiled barbs in Crazy Old Man's words and what each strike of the stick was aimed at.
The fingers of the hand hanging at the side curled slightly, then forced themselves to relax.
Sunlight shone on his still-youthful face, and his tightly pursed lips and overly calm eyes revealed a kind of repression that was inconsistent with his age.
He knew that any rebuttal at this moment would be futile. He did not yet have the power to truly restrain these wolves; the man's lingering influence could only draw a vague and easily exploitable line.
He took one last, deep look at the crowd cowering under the sticks, their hopes, just beginning to flicker in their eyes, quickly extinguished, and said nothing more. He simply turned away silently and resolutely, his back to all the unbearable suffering.
He slightly raised his chin, gazing at the faint path deep within the mist. In his deep eyes, only a more determined glimmer remained. He needed to move faster, at least to spare those behind him unnecessary suffering before they reached the teleportation array.
"Uncle Ming, wait until he finishes collecting the items, then quickly cast a wind spell and hurry on our way."
He whispered something to Uncle Ming beside him, his voice calm and even, as if the argument had never happened.
He strode forward and took his place at the front of the group once more. His small figure, bathed in the dappled, eerie sunlight, seemed to be striving to carve a path of hope for this group bound by chains and fear.
The payers remained silently in place, a complex mix of emotions filling the air.
They exchanged glances, then quickly looked away—their eyes filled with doubt and humiliation.
The little boy's act of stepping forward was like throwing a pebble into stagnant water; the ripples it created only made it harder to discern the depth of the water.
Is this genuine protection, or... a scheme orchestrated by these bandits, with one playing the good cop and the other the bad cop?
No one dared to investigate further, and no one dared to gamble.
The dark purple centipede on the back of Crazy Old Man's neck, which seemed to be breathing slowly, and the bright gray "LV.49" mark floating above his head, were like two heavy mountains, pressing down on everyone's hearts.
The ranking number gleamed coldly in the hazy sunlight, more effective than any threatening words.
The burly man who had just been provoking him now had his head down, staring intently at the tips of his dirty shoes, his fists clenching and unclenching, before finally collapsing completely to his side.
"Let's take a step back... never mind."
"You can always get more things back, but once you lose your life, it's really over."
"Just bear with it. Once you reach the fifty-eighth floor... everything will be alright."
Similar thoughts churned in most people's minds, ultimately turning into a deathly silence of submission. The few sparks that had just been ignited by the boy, before they could ignite into a raging fire, were extinguished by more realistic fears and weighing of options.
Madman didn't care about any of that. Humming a tuneless little tune, he deftly stuffed all the experience bottles he'd collected into his bulging backpack, his face beaming with satisfaction. He weighed the backpack in his hand, grinning to reveal his yellow teeth.
"Uncle Ming, hurry up!" he shouted to the side.
Uncle Ming, still hunched over, nodded quickly upon hearing this, gripped his staff tightly, and unleashed wind magic. With the blessing of the divine tower, this mysterious magic no longer required chanting scriptures like traditional magic.
A breeze began to flow, swirling around everyone's feet, forming a makeshift, accelerating airflow.
The effect of this "wind magic" was hardly sophisticated; it was more like a brute force pushing the tethered group forward in a staggering motion. But the speed was indeed significantly increased.
Crazy old man took the lead, waving his little red flag with great vigor.
"Quickly! Everyone get moving! If anyone falls behind, I'm not waiting for you!"
Driven by the speed-up magic, the group stumbled through the forest like a string of grasshoppers being roughly pulled.
The dappled sunlight was still dangerous, but at that moment no one cared about the potential hallucinogenic threat; all their energy was focused on keeping up with the group and avoiding falling.
The boy, Xiao Chi, walked silently at the front. His back was straight, but he looked unusually lonely.
The heavy breathing behind him, the clanging of chains, and the occasional crude urging from the madman seemed to have no effect on him. He was focused solely on identifying his direction, choosing the fastest path through the complex forest.