EX-Grade Grass

Chapter 11

The bottle’s power faded faster than Ren hoped.

By the time he reached the lower ridge, the strength in his arms was already gone. The cut on his shoulder burned with every step. Blood had soaked through his cloak. He kept one hand pressed against it and used the other to push branches aside.

Floor 3 did not care that he was hurt. Distant howls echoed between the twisted trees. Something large moved in the dark to his left. Ren did not stop to look. He only had one goal now—reach the teleport point and give Kael the box.

He checked his inventory for the tenth time. The black box was still there. Still closed. Still cold.

A branch snapped behind him.

Ren spun and grew a wall of grass without thinking. Two dark shapes stopped just short of it. Not Drake. Two of the wolf-like monsters from earlier. Level 7. Their yellow eyes fixed on the blood on his cloak.

They split left and right.

Ren’s mana was low. He could not build a full forest like before. He made sharp blades of grass and sent them flying. One wolf took a cut across the face and fell back yelping. The second one leaped over the wall and slammed into him.

They hit the ground hard. The wolf’s claws raked across Ren’s already hurt shoulder. Pain turned white. He shoved a short spear of grass up into the wolf’s neck and rolled free as it collapsed.

He lay there for a few seconds, breathing hard. The second wolf was already circling again. Ren forced himself up and finished it with the last of his flying blades.

Silence returned.

He tore a strip from his cloak and tied it tight around the shoulder. It was messy, but it slowed the bleeding. Then he started walking again, slower than before.

The teleport point was still far.

An hour later the trees thinned. Ren saw the faint lights of a small safe camp that some parties used on Floor 3. He almost stepped toward it. Then he remembered Kael’s warning. The badge under his shirt and the box in his inventory were not things he wanted strangers to notice.

He stayed in the shadows and went around.

That was when he heard voices.

“He has to pass this way. The only teleport is east.”

Drake’s voice.

Ren dropped low behind a fallen log. Three figures stood near the path ahead. Drake and the two dark-coated men. They looked tired and angry. One of the men had a bandage around his head from the tower fight.

Drake held a small crystal that glowed faintly red. “The tracker still points this direction. He’s hurt. He can’t be far.”

Ren’s blood ran cold. They had a tracker. That was how Drake kept finding him.

He could not go forward. He could not go back the way he came. The only open path left led higher into the rocky hills where the map showed nothing useful.

Ren turned and climbed.

Every step sent pain through his shoulder. He used small patches of grass to pull himself up steeper parts. Behind him he heard Drake shout and the three men start moving.

The hills were rough and full of loose stones. Ren kept going until his legs shook. He found a narrow crack between two large rocks and squeezed inside. It was just big enough to hide a person. He pulled moss and grass over the opening and sat in the dark, trying to keep his breathing quiet.

Footsteps passed close by.

“He came this way,” one man said. “Blood on the stones.”

Drake’s voice was tight with anger. “Spread out. He has the box. We do not leave without it.”

They moved away slowly. Ren waited a long time after the last sound faded. Only then did he crawl out.

The sky was getting darker. Night on Floor 3 came with a cold wind. Ren checked the bottle again. Empty. No more borrowed strength. His mana had recovered a little, but not enough for another big fight.

He needed a different plan.

Ren opened his inventory and stared at the black box. Kael had said not to open it. But Kael was not the one bleeding in the hills with trackers hunting him.

He left the box closed.

Instead he took out a handful of sword seeds and planted them in a wide half-circle behind him. If anyone followed, the grass would rise and buy him seconds.

He kept climbing until he found a high ledge that looked down on the main path. From there he could see the lights of the safe camp far below and the direction of the teleport point. He could also see three small figures still searching the lower slopes.

Ren sat down and pressed his back against the cold stone. He tore another strip of cloth and tightened the bandage on his shoulder. The bleeding had slowed, but he felt weak and cold.

He took out the map Kael had given him and tried to find another way down. There was a thin line that might be an old path leading east around the hills. It looked longer, but it avoided the main route where Drake was waiting.

Ren folded the map and stood up.

That was when the black box in his inventory grew warm.

He froze.

The warmth spread until he could feel it clearly against his side. A soft pulse, like a heartbeat. Once. Twice. Then it stopped and went cold again.

Ren did not like that.

He started down the hidden path as carefully as he could. Loose stones slid under his feet. Once he had to grow a quick vine to stop himself from falling. The whole time he listened for voices or footsteps.

After a long time the path leveled out into a narrow valley. The teleport point could not be far now. He could already see the faint blue glow that marked the exit.

Ren allowed himself a small breath of hope.

Then a figure stepped out from behind a broken pillar ahead of him.

It was not Drake.

It was a woman in dark gray clothes. Her face was covered by a simple mask. She held no visible weapon, but the air around her felt heavy.

Inspect failed completely.

She looked at Ren, then at the direction he had come from, then back at him.

“You are carrying something that does not belong to you,” she said. Her voice was calm and cold. “The Quiet Hand should not have sent a child.”

Ren’s hand moved toward his seeds. “Who are you?”

“Someone who was paid to make sure that box never reaches them,” she answered. “Hand it over and you can still walk away. Refuse, and you will not leave this valley.”

Behind him, far up the hill, he heard Drake’s voice shout again. The tracker was still working. They were coming.

In front of him stood a stranger who clearly knew about the box and the Quiet Hand.

Ren was trapped between them, hurt, low on mana, and carrying something that everyone seemed to want.

The woman raised one hand. A thin black mist began to gather around her fingers.

“Last chance,” she said.

Ren felt the grass under his feet wait for his order.

He had only seconds to choose what to do next.