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Chapter 20 - Chapter Twenty: Shadows over Blackwater

Consciousness drifted in and out, tumbling through endless spinning and cold suffocation.

Lin Yan felt like a leaf torn by a storm, helpless in the current's grip. Water roared in his ears, a sound so vast it seemed to tear the world apart. His shoulder wound slammed again and again into the current's weight, pain crashing like waves—until even agony dulled, swallowed by blackness.

A slow, rhythmic rocking pulled him back from the void.

He forced his eyes open. Light—real daylight—stabbed them, blinding him until he blinked the blur away.

He was lying on the raft, half-submerged but steady, bumping gently against the shallows.

They were still alive.

They'd made it out.

He tried to sit, and pain ripped through his left shoulder. A hiss escaped his throat, sweat beading instantly.

"Don't move."

The voice was rough but steady. Familiar.

A Jin sat beside him, soaked through, her hair tangled and plastered to her face. Her lips were blue, her skin pale, but her eyes still held light. She clutched the broken half of the pole like a weapon.

"We… got out?" Lin Yan rasped, his throat raw as sand.

"More or less." She exhaled, a ghost of a smile flickering across her lips. "That whirlpool wasn't just chaos—it opened into a side channel. Pulled us through a maze, and finally spat us here."

She gestured around.

The river had widened into a murky expanse. They'd washed up on a gravelly bank strewn with smooth stones. Beyond it rose a wall of mountains—lush, steep, half-lost in mist. The air was heavy and wet, thick with the scent of soil and secrecy. This wasn't the crisp air of the frontier hills anymore. It was the air of wilderness.

"Blackwater River?" Lin Yan murmured, eyeing the dark surface.

"Should be," A Jin said quietly. Then, pointing upriver: "Look there."

He followed her hand. Far off, where the river bent under the cliffs, a cluster of structures clung to the mountainside—wooden houses, stilted lofts, even watchtowers—half-hidden by dense forest. A thin, serpentine path wound up toward them.

The place exuded danger and secrecy.

Blackwater Stronghold.

At last. After every chase, every near-death plunge, they had reached it.

Relief washed through him—but so did unease. Their journey's end was only the start of something larger. His vengeance, the truth behind the massacre, the name of the Butcher that the Mute Uncle had whispered… all of it waited there, in that mountain den.

"How do we get up?" he asked hoarsely. The stronghold sat high and fortified; the lone visible road would be guarded.

A Jin rose stiffly, scanning the riverbanks. "The map only led us this far. But places like this always have hidden ways—supply trails, secret docks. Maybe…" Her gaze dropped to the dark water. "…the river itself is one of them."

Before Lin Yan could answer, a deep horn call echoed across the valley—low, rhythmic, and ancient.

Its mournful tone rolled down from the mountains, vibrating through the mist.

Then, from the nearby treeline, birds burst skyward in a flurry of wings.

They froze.

That horn—was it a daily signal? Or an alarm for intruders?

And those birds—startled by beasts? Or by watchers?

"Move," A Jin said sharply. "We can't stay in the open." She hooked an arm under his. "You're in no shape to fight. We need cover—patch you up first, plan after."

He staggered to his feet, leaning heavily against her. The stronghold loomed above, crouched like a beast over its mountain.

The Mute Uncle had sent him here—to find the Butcher.

But who was the Butcher? The stronghold's master? An ally hidden within?

Would he recognize the iron token—or slit their throats for bearing it?

And behind them, perhaps not far downriver, the shadow of pursuit lingered.

They began the slow climb into the forest, leaving the raft behind on the stones. The trees closed around them, their breath ragged in the damp air.

Neither of them saw, farther downstream, a familiar narrow skiff half-sunk beneath a tangle of reeds. Its hull was cracked, splintered by force. On the muddy bank beside it, fresh footprints—too large to be A Jin's, too steady for Lin Yan's—led silently into the woods.

The storm was not over.

It was only changing shape.

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