As the waves pushed the lifeboat onto the rocks, Gideon's body temperature had dropped to that of raw iron. Lysandra tore open his blood-soaked shirt and gasped—three ribs had pierced through the flesh, exposed, and a gash in his abdomen revealed dark blue intestines. Even more horrifying was the connection point of his right leg's wooden prosthesis: the skin had been branded with a charred lion's head mark, identical to the brand on her own face.
"The royal... locator..." the veteran growled in agony, his nails digging into the crevices of the reef, "Remove it... or the hounds will be here soon..."
Lysandra drew her dagger. As the blade sliced into the腐肉 around the brand, Gideon's muscles tensed like a bowstring, but he clenched his teeth and made no sound. She pried the copper badge from the rotting flesh and flung it into the raging waves.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked, tearing off her shirt to bandage the wound.
Gideon's grey-blue eye gazed at the overcast sky. "Three years ago, during the uprising in the capital... the regiment I led was ordered to suppress the slums." His Adam's apple bobbed. "Those 'rioters' wielded broken kitchen knives and clutched half-eaten mouldy bread."
Suddenly, the sound of rocks tumbling down echoed from behind the reef. Lesandra lunged at the approaching figure like lightning, but froze when she pressed the dagger against the throat—it was Finn! The boy's left shoulder was wrapped in a blood-soaked rag, and his goggles were shattered, but he grinned and held up the iron box in his hand: "Antiseptic gel! Freshly made!"
***
As night fell, they hid in a cave on the cliff. Finn used driftwood to start a fire, and the flickering flames cast shadowy figures on the cave walls. He was using tweezers to remove the barbed arrowhead from Gideon's abdomen, each pull bringing out a viscous mixture of blood and foam.
"The 'container' transported by the Sea Witch..." Lysandra used the tip of her dagger to pry open the money bag Orion had given her. The bloodstained shipping list unfolded, with a charcoal sketch attached at the end: a bald man wearing gold-rimmed glasses was counting gold coins, with half of a snake-shaped tattoo visible on his sleeve.
"The treasurer's accountant," Gideon gasped. "A regular at the 'Golden Rose' casino."
Finn suddenly knocked over the medicine box. He grabbed the list and examined it by the firelight, his fingers trembling as he traced the small print below the cargo column: "**Alchemical waste liquid - Sample No. 7 (Elven Forest direction)**... "It's over. Elara will kill me..."
A thunderclap erupted outside the cave. In the pale lightning, the scene below the cliff froze Lasandra's blood—a dark green tide was engulfing the beach, and the rocks it touched were emitting corrosive white smoke. Dead fish floated belly-up in the mucus, forming an eerie concentric pattern.
"Waste liquid leak..." Finn's face was ashen, "Sample Seven is Malachi Industries' latest product..."
Gideon suddenly sprang to his feet, his single eye bloodshot: "Carry me to the east! The highest cliff!" He tore off the soldier's badge from his neck and handed it to Lesandra, "Find the lame blacksmith in Rustwater Alley and have him ring the 'Widow's Bell'!"
***
A torrential downpour. Lesandra hid Finn and Gideon in a crevice between the rocks, then climbed the slippery cliff face like a lizard. As she leapt onto the lookout cliff in the storm, a bolt of lightning split the sky—the entire bay had turned into a pitch-black toxic pool, with bloated, rotting dolphin carcasses floating among the waves. Even more terrifying was the elven forest in the distance: the crowns of the ancient trees were withering and turning black at a visible pace, as if choked by an invisible giant hand.
A half-charred stone tower stood atop the cliff. Lysandra pushed open the rotting wooden door; the tower was filled with bird droppings and bones. She rushed to the rusted bronze bell in the corner, swung a stone at the bell wall—
Clang! A humming sound shook loose a shower of dust. The bell's toll was faint in the thunderstorm, but Leandros sharply noticed that a thin copper wire was tied to the bell clapper, extending into a crack in the floor. As she severed the wire, a dull rumble of gears turning echoed beneath her feet.
The entire stone tower began to sink! Lesandra grabbed the wall cracks to steady herself, watching as the stone bricks at the top of the tower slid open to reveal the night sky. When the sinking stopped, she found herself in a vast space within the mountain. Hundreds of pigeonhole-like niches were carved into the rock walls, each containing a sleeping figure, men, women, and children, all bearing weapon wounds.
"The Widow's Bell rings only for the Branded Army," a hoarse voice echoed from the shadows. A one-armed blacksmith emerged, leaning on his forge hammer. The torchlight illuminated the crisscrossing scars on his face—the same lion's head brand on his right cheek, though the edges had grown into flesh tumours.
He stared at the mark on Lysandra's face: "Renard's new work?" His iron-clawed hand suddenly gripped her chin. "The branding iron wasn't the right temperature... mixed with elf blood!"
The faint sound of dogs barking echoed from outside the cave. The blacksmith's expression changed abruptly: "The hounds have found the entrance! Wake them up!" He struck the mechanism on the cave wall, and amid the grinding of gears, the mountain split open into three secret passages.
"Take the living out through the eastern passage!" The blacksmith shoved the forge hammer into Lysandra's hands and turned toward the smoke-filled cave entrance. "The brothers in the western passage need cover."
Lysandra grabbed his empty sleeve: "Let's go together!"
The blacksmith tore open his shirt—his chest was covered in festering purple spots, with a glowing metal box embedded where his heart should be. "Waste contamination... I've been a walking bomb all along." He grinned, revealing gold-capped teeth. "Tell Gideon, I've paid my blood debt!"
The explosion's shockwave hurled Lesandra into the secret passage. She screamed and dragged the survivors to their feet amid flying debris, as the crowd poured into the narrow eastern passage. Continuous explosions echoed behind them, causing the entire mountain to tremble.
***
The secret passage led to the underground crypt of the royal capital. When Lesandra pushed open the rotting coffin lid, the putrid air was mingled with a faint sweet scent. She peered through the cracks in the tomb bricks and felt her blood run cold—Renard was standing in the centre of the tomb, his back to her, with the trembling old woman Martha kneeling at his feet!
"Where did that red-haired bitch run off to?" The sheriff lifted the old woman's chin with the iron-tipped toe of his boot.
Old Martha spat blood: "May the plague devour your bones..."
The crack of the whip tearing through the air was drowned out by the shrill screams in Leonard's arms—the bronze compass he pulled out spun wildly, its lion-headed emblem pointing directly at the coffin where Lysandra was hiding!
"I've found you, little key." Leonard turned with a savage grin.
As Lasandra burst out of the coffin, the side door of the tomb was smashed open. Orion, cloaked in a hooded robe, strolled in casually, tossing three apples in his hand.
"Disturbing the dead's rest is against noble etiquette, Sheriff," he chuckled, tossing the apples. The first struck Leonard's whip-holding wrist, the second hit the compass in his arms, and the third flew straight for his face!
As Renard blocked the attack, Lesandra had already grabbed Grandma Martha and slammed her into the stained-glass window. Amidst the shattering glass, she glanced back at the tomb chamber—Orion's dagger was pressed against Renard's throat, but his noble, ice-blue eyes were fixed on her, his lips moving silently:
**Golden Rose Casino, midnight.**
***
The slums wept in the rain. When Lesandra placed Grandma Martha in the abandoned church, she discovered a dozen children from Rustwater Alley hiding beneath the altar. The youngest girl handed her half a mouldy loaf of bread, her eyes shining brightly: "Marked Sister, will you protect us like the red wolf in the story?"
The searing brand on Lysandra's face suddenly grew scorching hot. She tore off a corner of her robe to cover her face and shoved all the ointment Finn had given her into the old woman's hands: "Don't open the door before dawn."
The neon lights of the Golden Rose Casino glowed like a rotting eye in the capital's rain-soaked night. When Lesandra climbed up to the third-floor VIP room through the drainpipe, she saw an absurd scene through the cracks in the velvet curtains: the Finance Minister was laughing wildly with his belly sticking out, his gold-rimmed glasses sliding down to the tip of his nose, while Orion across the table lazily twirled the chips. The accountant was recording the game beside them, the snake-shaped tattoo on his sleeve flickering in and out of view with his movements.
"Young Master Blackwood is on a roll tonight!" the minister pushed aside the mountain of gold coins before him. "One last round?"
Orion chuckled and pushed all his chips forward. "Let's bet on this." His fingertips glided over a gilded ledger. "The evidence of your embezzlement of military funds to invest in Malachi Industries, in exchange for the 'container' transport records in your sleeve."
The room fell silent. As the minister's plump face twitched and reached for the pistol at his waist, Orion suddenly overturned the table! The ledger flew toward the crystal chandelier, and gold coins poured down like rain. In the chaos, Lysandra broke through the window, pressing a dagger against the accountant's throat: "Where are the records?"
"You lowly peasant..." The accountant's scream was cut short—Orion's dinner knife had pierced his palm, pinning the snake-shaped tattoo firmly to the mahogany table!
"In the tie clip." Orion wiped his fingers with a silk handkerchief.
Lysandra tore off the accountant's platinum tie clip, pried open the hidden compartment, and pulled out the microfilm. Just as they were about to retreat, the entire wall suddenly flipped! Twenty crossbowmen appeared like ghosts, led by Renard, whose branding iron glowed red-hot in the dark room.
"Thank you both for gathering the evidence for me," the sheriff smiled and clapped his hands. "Now, please hand over the royal key—"
As the crossbow arrows fired, Orion pulled down the bronze wine rack to block the arrow storm. The aged wine ignited into a wall of fire, and he grabbed Lysandra and leaped toward the balcony: "Jump!"
They plunged into the murky currents of the canal below. When Lysandra surfaced, she saw Leonard's distorted face at the third-floor window. Orion grabbed her wrist among the driftwood and pressed the bloodstained apple core into her palm.
"The evidence is in the core," he gasped, pointing toward the slums. "Run now, little kitten… the hounds are all out."
Lysandra swam upstream toward Rustwater Alley. Behind her, Orion's loud chant drowned out the cacophony of pursuers: "In the name of Blackwood, I challenge the Chancellor to a duel to the death! Meet me at the Royal Court tomorrow at sunset!"
***
As the church spire came into view, Lesandra heard the wails of children. Rustwater Alley was engulfed in flames, and Renard's guards were burning the shanties with torches. The church doors of Grandma Martha's church stood wide open, and the old woman lay in a pool of blood, clutching the youngest girl in her arms.
"The Branded Army..." The old woman's dying fingers traced a bloodstain on the ground. "Protect... the children..."
The brand on Lesandra's face seemed to be seared by flames. She tore off a burning corner of her robe to cover her head and pulled a broken spear from the charred corpse's hands. By the time the first guard noticed her, the broken spear had already pierced his throat.
"The Red Wolf has come!" a shout rang out from the slums.
Countless shadows rose from the rubble. A limping blacksmith wielding a kitchen knife, a blind beggar clutching a stone, a washerwoman gripping a fire tong... They silently formed a human wall, their faces bearing scars of varying ages—lion-headed patterns, deep or shallow, blending together in the firelight.
Leonard rode out on horseback, surrounded by guards, the branding iron pointing at the crowd: "Hand over the key, or the entire alley will be buried with you!"
Lysandra stepped forward through the sparks. She tore off her burning headscarf, exposing the charred mark to the night wind, and lifted the crying girl from Martha's arms.
"Look closely!" She raised the girl's hand, pointing to the sheriff's sleeve—where a trace of unwashed blue tearstone powder clung—"The marquis scratched your sleeve before he died! You are the real murderer!"
The crowd fell silent for a moment, then a deafening roar drowned out the rain. As Renard backed away in terror, Lysandra threw the bloodstained tie clip. The miniature film reel unfolded in the torchlight, projecting onto the church ruins—the transport records clearly bore Renard's signature!
"The Branded Army—" Gideon's roar echoed from the alleyway. The one-armed veteran stood tall, leaning on his iron crutch, with Finn's steam-powered wheelchair behind him, its cannon barrel still smoking.
"The trial begins!" Three hundred branded soldiers roared in unison under the flickering flames.