111: The Thieves Guild and Followers of Baal

“Who is it?”

A sudden groan of stressed wooden floorboards burst from above.

I pricked up my ears, and the high-frequency vibrations captured several distinct sets of shockwaves:

In the northwest corner, hard boot heels rhythmically tapped against a wooden door; from the southeast, faint sounds of leather armor rubbing and metal weapons scraping a tabletop; directly above, a rustling sound of fingernails scratching wood grain.

“Scar Ear, the raven has flown over the Wooden Sea of Mud three times.”

“Creak…” The sound of a door opening.

“Flame Fist has already started searching house to house on the next street!” a baritone male voice entered the room, “The higher-ups want us to move the ‘powder keg’.”

“Bang…”

A huge door-slamming sound reverberated, and the muffled thud of a heavy object falling shook dust from the cellar walls.

A fine layer of dust clung to the invisible stealth energy shield around my body.

I quickly shook the energy shield, shaking off most of the dust, then flipped the energy shield over, and the remaining dust fell onto my body.

The footsteps of six people entered the room one after another.

“Shadows protect this night!” a deep male voice said.

“Who are you? Trespassing is a crime, Flame Fist is just in that district,” a rough voice said angrily.

“The hidden skills of the Porcupine Thief Guild are indeed commendable; we followed you for three blocks and almost lost you,” another voice said.

“Shadows protect this night… why does that sound so familiar?” the man named Scar Ear muttered, then, amidst the sound of the door closing, he cried out, “Baal Believers!”

The sounds of fighting on the floor above suddenly erupted; listening closely, there were eleven people!

Metal weapons clashed, emitting crisp and piercing “clang-clang” sounds.

Fists and feet met, the dull thuds of bodies colliding rose and fell, accompanied by painful groans and angry roars, filtering down through the gaps in the wooden floorboards above to my ears.

A battle-axe split the wooden cover above, its blade embedding into the cellar with a “crack,” and splinters splashed into the underground space.

I quickly retreated several steps, avoiding the falling wood chips and dust.

“Clang-thud…”

As someone opened the cellar exit, candlelight streamed in.

Someone was kicked, flying into the wall, and wall dust flaked off, mixing with the gurgling sound of blood gushing from his throat as he hit the ground.

The fighting “upstairs” continued; no one came down into the cellar.

My heartbeat drummed against my eardrums, and cold sweat trickled down my spine into my collar.

The wisp of candlelight hanging from the cellar entrance swayed in my vision, like a piece of driftwood in the eyes of a drowning person.

I swallowed, deciding to risk going out.

The silver mist of the double invisibility spell flowed over my skin, but the slippery feel of my boot sole scraping against the mossy steps was too real, as if I would be exposed the next second.

After checking again that the double invisibility spell had no flaws, I tried to make my footsteps as light as possible, approaching nothingness.

I began to climb up the decaying wooden ladder.

Blood drops seeping from the floorboard gaps dripped beside me, and the musty smell of the cellar mixed with the bloody scent at my nostrils was nauseating.

An old, simple kitchen appeared before me, and a corpse lay beside me.

In the next room, someone was wielding a heavy weapon, each impact accompanied by a slight tremor of the ground and the “whoosh” of air being violently torn apart.

And the swords and knives swung, making a “swish-swish” sound of breaking wind.

I quickly reached the ground level and stood against the wall in the corner.

A figure rushed into the kitchen, bringing with him a sour, decaying smell.

He saw the cellar entrance and ran past me at high speed.

The moment he braked at the cellar entrance, his boot heel crushed a piece of pottery shard, and the flying debris flew past me, hitting the kitchen wall with “thud-thud” sounds.

“One went in! Stop him!” a very high-pitched voice shouted.

Immediately after, another tall figure rushed in.

He saw the previous person starting to descend the stairs into the cellar, and the cloth on his head flickered and disappeared into the ground.

He took a few large strides, passed by me, and jumped into the cellar.

Subsequently, the sounds of two people fighting came from the cellar.

The sounds of fighting in the dirt cellar were amplified into beast-like roars, and the muffled thuds of heavy objects being knocked over…

Amidst a cacophony of “ding-ding-clanging” sounds, I quietly approached the kitchen door.

I moved inch by inch along the wall towards the door.

Bloodstains snaked across the flagstones like a glistening stream, and my boot soles hovered above the stream, like a ghost gliding over a river of blood.

Outside was a single room, an old oak table leaning against the wall like a beheaded giant, its broken edge revealing hollowed-out wormholes.

The peeling paint on the walls seemed to squirm like living things in the flickering candlelight, and each time sparks from clashing weapons flew, they cast fleeting light spots on the gray wall.

Eight figures intertwined in combat in the dim light, four against four.

In the chaotic battle, there were occasional “thudding” sounds of heavy objects falling to the ground, and the painful wails of someone injured.

The thief’s dagger sliced through the air with a “hissing” sound like a venomous snake flicking its tongue, the viscous “splish” of the blade piercing flesh almost simultaneous with the victim’s short scream.

Amidst the rustling of the Baal Believers’ black robes, someone murmured blasphemous incantations, the syllables clinging together like maggots crawling from rotting flesh, then bursting into a cloud of purplish-black mist—the “Guardians’” corroded leather armor made a “sizzling” burning sound, mixed with the scratching sound of the victim’s fingernails raking their throat.

I seized the temporary opening in the doorway where the fighters briefly cleared a path and slipped into this room.

I sidestepped a flail thrown by a dying person; the hammer chain swept past the fireplace, kicking up embers that burned spiderweb-like scorch marks on the wall behind me.

Three steps away, a half-bloody candle holder was tipping over, and melted wax dripped along the table edge, forming stalactite-like crimson pillars—and my boot tip was poised on the edge of that semi-congealed pool of blood, using it to slide into the shadows of the southern corner.

“The ‘powder keg’ is gone!”

“The person is gone!”

The shouts from the cellar pierced the din.