Plundering Worlds: I Have a Shotgun in a Fantasy World-Chapter 44: The Other Path

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Kael wiped his sword clean and walked toward the buildings.

[Aether: 21]

A decent haul.

The lean one gave 7. The younger gave 5. Most of the others gave very little—around 0.3. A few near 1 skewed the average upward.

Including those on the road earlier, twenty-seven in total.

Kael started searching the surrounding structures first.

He kicked open storage chests, overturned crates, and checked the corners for anything worth taking—dried grain, cured meat, spare weapons. Most of it had already been consumed or hidden in haste. What remained, he set aside.

Only one structure remained unsearched—the longhouse.

It was larger than the others, built from thick timber logs darkened by smoke and weather. The roof sagged slightly in the middle, patched with mismatched planks and hides. Crude trophies hung along the outer wall—broken shields, rusted blades, animal skulls nailed in uneven rows. It was meant to look rough. Intimidating.

Kael stepped inside.

The difference was immediate.

The interior was orderly. Weapons were racked in straight lines. Supplies were stacked and tied properly. The floor had been swept clean. Even the table at the center stood aligned with care.

In a locked chest beneath the central table, Kael found a wrapped bundle of oilcloth.

Inside was a manual.

The cover was plain. No sect mark. No lineage seal. Just a stamped title:

Field Conditioning Method — Third Battalion Issue

He flipped it open.

It was not refined. No complex meridian theory, no esoteric diagrams. The instructions were blunt—circulation routes meant to thicken the breath, harden muscle, and reinforce bone. Repetition over elegance. Endurance over speed.

A soldier’s method.

It would not make a man swift. It would make him last.

Kael skimmed a few more lines.

Practical. Direct.

Good enough. A foundation method for his men

He closed the manual, wrapped it back in oilcloth, and took it.

A faint sound came from behind the longhouse—movement, low and uneven.

Kael turned toward it and walked around the structure.

There, partly masked by tangled roots and deliberately stacked brush, he found the cave.

The smell hit him immediately—rot, filth, and the sour tang of sweat left too long in darkness, and something worse.

He knew that scent.

Fear.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness. Three people, chained to the wall. Iron manacles around their wrists and ankles, bolted to the stone. The chains were short, barely allowing them to sit.

A woman, slumped against the wall, her head hanging forward. Her hair was matted with dirt and blood, clothes torn and filthy. Her wrists were raw, skin rubbed away by the manacles.

A boy, curled into a ball beside her, rocking back and forth, whispering something—too quiet to hear, just a constant, breathless murmur.

An old man, lying on his side, breathing shallow and wet. Blood stained his shirt, dark and thick. His eyes were half-closed.

Kael stepped forward. The boy’s head snapped up, eyes wide, pupils dilated. His mouth opened and he screamed.

"NO! NO! PLEASE! NOT AGAIN!"

He thrashed against the chains, pulling so hard the manacles cut deeper into his wrists. Blood welled up, dripping onto the stone. "PLEASE! I’LL BE GOOD! I’LL BE QUIET! PLEASE DON’T—"

The woman’s head lifted slowly. Her eyes were empty, hollow. She looked at Kael, but there was no recognition, no fear, no hope. Just nothing.

Kael stopped and looked down at himself. Blood, dried and dark, smeared across his chest and arms. Dirt. Grime. To them, he looked the same as the bandits.

He lowered his sword and raised his hands slowly, palms out. "I’m here to help."

The boy kept screaming.

Kael stepped closer. "I killed the bandits. They’re gone. You’re safe."

The boy scrambled backward, pressing himself against the wall. "LIAR! LIAR! YOU’RE LYING!"

Kael’s gaze turned cold.

"Be quiet."

The boy’s frantic shouting cut off at once. He went rigid, staring at Kael.

Kael reached for the manacle on the boy’s wrist.

The boy bit him, teeth clamping down hard on his hand.

Kael withdrew it.

The boy’s teeth had failed to break the skin.

He looked at the boy.

Kael sighed and gripped the chain and pulled. The iron snapped like dry wood.

The boy froze, staring at the broken chain.

Kael’s expression did not change.

In the next instant, his hand shot forward and closed around the boy’s face, fingers digging into bone and jaw.

He lifted him off the ground with one hand.

Kael turned and walked out of the cave, the boy still clamped in his grip.

Once outside, he swung his arm and hurled him down.

The boy’s body hit the packed earth shoulder first, then rolled onto his back. Dust burst up around him. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs in a harsh gasp.

Kael stepped forward and looked down at him.

"Now," he said evenly, "do you understand when someone speaks?"

The boy lay there, chest heaving.

The wildness in his eyes drained away.

He nodded.

"Stay there. Don’t move."

He turned and walked back into the cave, moved to the woman and broke her chains next. She slumped forward, limp. He caught her before she hit the ground. Then he turned to the old man.

The old man’s eyes were open now, watching him. Kael knelt beside him and broke the chains. The old man coughed, blood bubbling at his lips.

"Thank you..." His voice was a whisper, barely audible.

Kael pressed his hand to the old man’s chest. The heartbeat was faint, irregular, fading. He tried to channel his Qi —Lu Zhihuan’s memories held fragments of healing techniques, methods used by Wuzhe to mend wounds, stabilize injuries.

But Kael didn’t know how. The Qi flowed through his hand, but it had nowhere to go, no direction, no purpose. It just dissipated.

The old man’s breathing slowed. His eyes met Kael’s. A faint smile touched his lips. "No need..."

Then his chest went still.

Kael sat back. The old man was dead.

Kael looked at his hands. He had killed twenty-seven men today. Effortlessly. Without hesitation.

But he couldn’t save one old man.

His methods were direct. Efficient. Destructive.

Too narrow.

He needed more than ways to kill.

He stood and turned to the woman and the boy. The woman was unconscious, slumped against the cave wall. The boy had stopped screaming.

Kael had freed them. But they were broken.

A voice rang through the forest. "Hah! What a beautiful night for justice!"

Kael turned sharply. Footsteps approached the cave entrance, light and quick. A figure appeared, silhouetted against the moonlight.

A man, young—maybe twenty-five. He wore a simple robe, worn but clean, tied with a frayed sash. A sword hung at his hip, the scabbard battered but well-maintained. A pack sat on his back, bulging with supplies. His face was open, friendly, with a wide grin and bright eyes that swept across the cave in an instant.

He saw the chains, the bodies, Kael covered in blood. The grin vanished.

"Those bandits outside... did you do that?"

Kael nodded.

"All of them?"

"Yes."

The man’s grin returned, wider than before.

"Wow. Then you’re at least First-Rate, aren’t you?" He gave Kael a quick look up and down. "That’s impressive, brother. First-Rate at your age?"

He stepped into the cave, dropped his pack, and immediately knelt beside the woman.

"Don’t just stand there! Help me!"

Kael blinked. "What?"

The man was already pulling supplies from his pack—bandages, a clay jar of salve, dried meat wrapped in cloth, a waterskin.

"She’s dehydrated, malnourished. Look at her wrists—those need cleaning before infection sets in."

He glanced toward the boy outside the cave.

"And that one’s in shock. We need to get him warm, get some food in him."

He looked up at Kael, eyes sharp despite his grin. "You killed the bandits. Good. Now help me save the victims."

Kael stood frozen. The man sighed. "You’ve got Qi , right? Channel some into her. Warm her up. Stabilize her."

"I don’t know how."

The man paused and looked at Kael, really looked at him. Then he laughed. "You’re First-Rate, aren’t you? Maybe higher. And you don’t know basic healing techniques?" He shook his head, still grinning. "What kind of Wuzhe are you?"

Kael remained silent.

The man turned back to the woman. "Alright. Watch and learn."

He placed his hand on her chest, just below the collarbone. His eyes closed.

His breathing slowed.

A steady warmth spread from his palm, subtle but present, sinking into her body rather than flaring outward.

"Qi flows like water. You don’t force it. You guide it. Think of it as warmth, life. You’re giving her a piece of yours to help hers recover."

The glow intensified slightly. The woman’s breathing deepened. Color began to return to her face. The man opened his eyes and pulled back, then grabbed the waterskin and carefully tilted it to her lips. "Small sips. Don’t rush."

The woman coughed, then swallowed. Her eyes fluttered open. The man smiled at her. "You’re safe now. The bad men are gone."

She stared at him.

There was no panic in her eyes now. No tears. Just a hollow resignation, as if something inside her had already given up.

The man rested a hand on her shoulder.

"It’s alright," he said quietly.

He stood and moved to the boy. The boy flinched. The man crouched down, keeping his distance. "Hey. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help."

The boy stared. The man reached into his pack and pulled out a piece of dried fruit, holding it out. "Hungry?"

The boy’s eyes flicked to the fruit, then back to the man’s face. The man smiled. "It’s yours. No tricks. No cost. Just food."

Slowly, the boy reached out and took it. The man’s grin widened. "There we go." He stood and dusted off his hands then turned to Kael. "Now, let’s get them out of this cave and somewhere warm."

They carried the woman and led the boy back to the stronghold courtyard.

The man—he still hadn’t given his name—built a fire with practiced ease, carefully positioning it away from the bodies. He set up bedrolls, prepared a simple stew from the supplies in his pack, and tended to the woman’s wounds with careful hands.

Kael watched in silence.

The man worked quickly, efficiently, but there was no coldness to it, no detachment. He smiled, talked to them gently, reassuring them, making small jokes to ease the tension.

The woman ate slowly. The boy sat close to the fire, clutching his bowl. The man sat back and sighed, satisfied, then looked at Kael.

The man stood and walked over, clapping Kael on the shoulder. "I’m Liang Hong. Wandering swordsman. Self-proclaimed hero of justice." He grinned. "And you?"

"Lu Zhihuan."

"That’s strange," Liang Hong said, frowning. "I know the names of most first-rate fighters in the jianghu. Or is it that you don’t want to give your real name, brother?"

He didn’t wait for Kael to respond, simply studying him for a brief moment before continuing on his own.

"Well, Lu Zhihuan. I can see you’ve got a sense of justice."

He glanced back at the woman and the boy.

"But you’re not used to what comes after."

He looked at Kael again, grin returning.

"We could travel together for a while. Walk the path of Xia side by side. What do you say?"

Kael said nothing.

Liang Hong tilted his head, studying him for a moment.

"I have a unique technique," he said lightly. "Not something you’ll find in manuals."

He smiled again.

"Travel with me, and I’ll teach it to you along the way."

Kael looked at him. "What technique?"

Liang Hong’s grin widened. "A secret."

Kael turned his head and looked at the fire.

"No need," he said evenly.

"And I have no intention of walking that path."

He turned toward the exit.

"I leave at dawn."

Liang Hong opened his mouth, whatever he had been about to say catching in his throat.

Kael walked out and returned to the longhouse.

He chose a corner, set his sword within reach, and sat down to rest.