Round Eleven: The Rat Hunt

Forty-Seven didn’t move or shout; he simply observed quietly.
Something inside the cave flickered—slightly, but Forty-Seven sensed it. He rushed forward quickly, drawing his sharp sword and thrusting it into the cave.
A gush of blood sprayed out along the blade, splashing onto Forty-Seven’s coat made of gray leech skin, then dripping down to hit the ground.
At the same time, a scream came from beneath the ground—it was Quick’s voice. Undoubtedly, Forty-Seven’s sword had struck Quick, who had disappeared into the cave, and this was exactly what Forty-Seven wanted.
Forty-Seven dropped his sword, stepped over the pit, and crouched down swiftly. As he did so, his left hand sank deep into the soft soil. He pulled his hand back, clutching something that was struggling violently. Mud fell off him, landing on Cain’s head, who had just woken up due to Quick’s screams.
Almost faster than Jason and the Dwarf Hammer could get up, Blood Axe rushed out of the tent, fully armored and wielding a large axe. His eyes were wide as if they might burst out of their sockets. Seeing what Forty-Seven was holding, his expression changed.
Inside Morriel’s tent, however, there was no movement.
Forty-Seven returned, bent down to lift the tent flap, only to find it empty—just a large pit before him.
The small creature in Forty-Seven’s hands struggled, making gurgling sounds, as if trying to say something. But before it could utter a word, Forty-Seven crushed its throat. Jason tried to stop him, but it was too late.
Forty-Seven released his grip, and the creature fell to the ground. Only then could everyone see its face clearly. It was extremely short, with limbs of almost equal length. Mud covered its body like clothing, and its face was full of wrinkles, with a few sparse hairs covering its forehead messily.
“A swamp dweller!” Jason gasped, stepping back involuntarily despite wanting to get closer to observe.
“It’s a ratman,” Blood Axe said, stepping forward. “But I’m sure this area isn’t where ratmen usually appear. Why is this thing here?”
“Look at what you’ve done! You killed one ratman, and thousands more will attack us!” Cain roared, his face distorted by fear. “They’re not very intelligent, but they’re still intelligent beings. They fight together like ants, and their numbers are terrifying. They’re not as easy to deal with as the rotting wolf packs we encountered before!”
“It doesn’t matter whether I kill them or not,” Jason said, drawing his sword and looking around. “There’s one here, so there must be at least a few hundred around!”
“I don’t know whether to curse you or thank you… Ah, my leg!” Quick had somehow climbed out of the pit. Blood kept flowing from his thigh, which he was holding with his hand, while Forty-Seven’s sword lay on the ground beside him.
In the chaos, the werewolves tied to a corner of the tent also began to howl.

“Shut the hell up!” Blood Axe spoke at just the right moment. He turned to Forty-Seven: “Where’s Morriel?”
“She was captured.” Forty-Seven felt a bit panicked—a feeling he had never experienced before, not even when the White-Born Mage passed away.
“Then consider her dead. Now I’m your master!” Blood Axe appeared very calm, which didn’t quite match his appearance. “Jason, and you two fools, get up and get ready to fight! You, Copper Hammer, stand behind me! And you, stop standing there like an idiot!”
Forty-Seven’s confusion lasted only a moment. Blood Axe’s orders calmed him slightly. Ever since entering the swamp, Forty-Seven had felt something was off—his emotions had become increasingly vivid and clear, a situation he had never encountered before.
Faint rustling sounds began to come from afar, growing louder.
Finally, they saw those filthy creatures. They moved in groups, crawling forward—or rather, they were so short that standing and crawling were at about the same height.
Such a large group made very little noise, no wonder it was impossible to detect them when just one or two of them were moving underground.
One group of ratmen stood out from the rest. They carried a board on their backs, with a ratman sitting on it. He looked no different from the others but clearly held a higher status.
Blood Axe raised his eyebrows and suddenly shouted, “What a rare sight! Let me think… When was the last time I saw you? Twenty years ago? Thirty years ago? I thought you were already dead!”
“Koko, Koko!” It was unclear whether the ratman was speaking or coughing, but soon the answer came: “Get out! Get out! Don’t come in! Don’t come in!”
The ratman’s voice was extremely shrill, as painful as an iron needle piercing the ear.
“That must be the Ratman Elder. He holds a high status among the ratmen, similar to a priest in those barbarian tribes. But he should rarely appear in front of others.” Jason explained quietly, perhaps just to ease everyone’s tension.
“So, how should we deal with him? He seems tough!” Quick asked in an even lower voice.
“I don’t know. It’s my first time seeing a Ratman Elder too.” Hearing this, Quick shrank back and stopped talking.
“I know you’re an indigenous of the swamp, the true master of this place. Look, I’ve never deliberately provoked you before. It’s common for people to venture into the swamp. Even if there were minor conflicts in the past, we never held grudges. What’s your intention this time? Don’t think I’m not holding grudges because I’m afraid of you!” Blood Axe roared loudly, but the other group seemed unshaken.
“Get out! Get out! Don’t come in! Don’t come in!” The Ratman Elder seemed to only know those two phrases, his voice even sharper. Blood Axe’s face darkened as he figured out what to do.
At that moment, Forty-Seven stepped forward, causing a slight stir among both the ratmen and Blood Axe.
“What are you doing? Step back!” Faced with this, Blood Axe also grew frustrated.

“One more step,” Si Qishi whispered, as if speaking to himself, then took another step forward.
“Get out! Go away! Don’t…” The ratfolk elder raised his hand, pointing at Si Qishi with his dry fingers. His shrill voice seemed capable of piercing the sky. Just as Quick and Kane tried to cover their ears, the elder’s voice suddenly stopped.
Si Qishi’s hand already gripped the elder’s neck, though he himself remained about a dozen steps away by Blood Axe. A thin, long chain connected his palm to his arm—he had managed to bring Marcus’s chain with him after all.
The ratfolk grew restless, but before they could take any action, Si Qishi’s chain retracted, pulling his palm along with the elder, bringing them under his control in an instant.
“What are you doing? Stop being stupid! You’ll get us all killed!” Kane screamed in terror.
“I know these creatures well. Without their elder, they’ll fall into chaos and scatter everywhere!” Si Qishi was certain of this, as he had spent years observing these intelligent creatures of the swamp in the mage tower, observing them for two years straight until he lost interest. “And I have questions for him. Hey! Where did you hide our companion? If you don’t tell me, I’ll crush your throat right now!”
The ratfolk elder stared at Si Qishi with his wide, small eyes, showing no fear or panic.
Si Qishi loosened his grip slightly on the elder’s neck and warned, “If you dare disturb us with those shrill screams again, I assure you, I’ll kill you first!”
“Get out, or you’ll all die without even a proper burial!” The elder’s voice was no longer so shrill, but it still sounded unbearable.
“Old guy, I’m curious—why have you burrowers all come up to the surface? This area is soft and damp; you should rarely come here!” Blood Axe spoke up.
The ratfolk elder didn’t answer him. He could no longer answer any questions—a nearly foot-long silver needle had pierced his head, ending his life. No one noticed where the needle came from; it seemed to have been there all along. Blood Axe and Si Qishi were right beside him, Jason and the others surrounded them, with even more ratfolk gathering from all sides. The elder suddenly died amidst this crowd, shocking everyone.
Si Qishi pulled out the needle and released his grip. The elder fell to the ground with a dull thud, lifeless—truly dead.
“What have you done? Why did you kill him?” Quick complained in a low voice, his voice trembling.
“I didn’t.” Si Qishi examined the silver needle in his hand. The ratfolk army showed no sign of retreating despite their leader’s death.