Chapter 35: Chapter 35: Into the Crimson Verge (4)
I went under.
The bridge’s shadow wasn’t shade; it was a place where heat talked less. I hung from a chain whose links weighed more than my bad ideas, hand-over-handed to a support rib, then to a bolt, then through a seam that let me slip to the far side of the river without boiling.
The rim was close. So was the storm—ash ribboning in pretty curtains that would sand a face off if you stayed there to admire them.
I ran. Not fast. I didn’t have fast anymore. I had quiet and stubborn and the ugly little laugh I make when the math says I shouldn’t make it.
[Lightning Step — Step 1/3 Active]
[Cooldown to next Step: 2 s]
[Warning: Musculoskeletal stress accumulating]
One blink to clear a patrol that came early because of course they did. I saved the rest. Be nothing.
Our overhang showed. My legs tried to sprint the last ten meters and faceplant to celebrate. I made them walk. Miracles didn’t like being pointed at.
Varga met me at the edge. He didn’t say good job. He said, "Report."
I sat on a crate that used to be water and now was theater, peeled ash off my tongue, and pointed at the world.
"Whole city," I said. "Not a horde—an actual city. Foundries carved into the cliffs, barracks stacked by the rivers. Power grid running through the rock like veins. Golems guarding a chain bridge that feeds straight into the forge. Generals. Priests. And they spoke perfect human—no grunts, no mimicry. Actual words."
Elise’s eyes went wider than she wanted. "How many?"
"Thousands," I said. "Streets full. Patrols in groups of twelve, marching like they’ve got training manuals. Matching scars, matching armor. I counted six patrols in three minutes near the rim—routes shifted twice. There are more in tunnels. And the lava barges? Iron platforms with chain-wheels, hauling ore and core-stone like clockwork."
Lucien pressed a wet cloth to the back of my neck. His hands never shook; the world would break before he did. "Civilians?"
"Smaller bodies carrying plates. Old ones doing quality control. Maybe kids—ashen, burned out, still working. The elders tap each plate once, listen, and toss the bad ones back in. This isn’t a warband. It’s a factory that found God."
Varga grunted—approval, maybe. "Command chain?"
"Red-plate general with a spear, runs the patrols. Above him, someone in a chain-cloak—armor that moves like fabric, dead quiet. He bowed to a robed figure holding a staff made of bone. That one didn’t bow to anyone. And on the bridge? There’s a golem—half metal, half meat—posted like a bouncer, chest humming on the forge’s tone. It watches the river. The rest stay still; that one breathes."
Elise leaned forward. "Detection?"
"They sniff," I said. "Like actual bloodhounds in plate. Their armor gives off its own light—no torches—so they’re tracking heat and mana. I watched a red flare crawl along a path like a tongue, taste the air where I’d just been. The blind ones on the bridge? No eye slits. They listen. And the ground—" I tapped my boot—"it remembers you. Footprints glow for a second, like it’s filing complaints."
[Body Temperature: 42.1°C]
[Hydration: Critical → Improving]
[Heart Rate: 117 bpm]
Varga folded his arms. "Chokepoints?"
"Yeah, three I’d actually bet my rent on," I said. "First: the switchbacks up to the rim. Tight corners, decent cover, but they rotate sentries like clockwork. Second: the bridge anchors—it’s all anvil and chain down there. Cut the wrong rib and you get the scenic lava-plunge experience. Third: those red veins running through the stone? Power nodes. They feed the whole grid. Hit one and either half the city goes dark or everything wakes up to eat us."
Elise’s mouth twitched. "So... if I drop a wall, where?"
"Don’t," I said. "Not unless I throw your cheat disk. They eat heat. I watched a flare vanish without smoke. But you might be able to bend the ash. The wind lays in lanes—there are quiet bands between the storms."
She nodded like she was already building impossible geometry in her head. "Ash lanes. I can try."
Lucien’s eyes cut to mine. "You’re hurt."
"Ribs complained. Regen’s sulking. I’m functional."
[Absolute Regeneration — Suppressed (Crimson Verge)][Recovery Efficiency: 27% • Residual Injury: Minor]
He didn’t look thrilled. "Mechanism rhythm?"
"The drums keep time for the forges," I said. "Foundry hammers answer back. Every fourth cycle, a deeper note rolls the basin. When that hits, the red lines brighten along the walls. I caught a clean look at the loop for a heartbeat—rivers into forges into constructs into walls into ground and back again. Eighty-four percent efficient, if my system isn’t lying."
Elise blinked. "You can feel efficiency now?"
"My eyes do math when I’m scared."
Varga tapped the ash with a knuckle. "Language."
"They spoke human common," I said. "Clear. ’Sweep the rim. The Falseborn’s scent is fresh.’ That’s not mimicry. That’s a school."
"Drum codes?" Varga asked.
"Maybe. I heard a three-note alert when I stepped onto the metal plates. Patrol routes shifted within a minute. They don’t chase; they net."
Lucien exhaled slowly. "Which means we go through where it’s loudest. The bridge."
"Yeah," I said. "They built the whole place to feed that span. It’s the artery."
Selene’s voice cut in, thin and bossy. "Copy, scout. Bridge coordinates."
I glanced at my band. Lucien’s tether rune pulsed and bled a stream of numbers I didn’t need to understand. "Sent."
"Confirm inner structure," Selene said. "Guards? Sentry spacing?"
"Two blind sentries on the span," I said. "Spears moving like metronomes. They’re listeners, not lookers. The big one—the doorman—tracks the river. If anything climbs out, it gets hammered flat. I didn’t see it walk. Doesn’t mean it can’t."
"Any sign of the boss?" she asked.
"Nothing with a crown," I said. "If I were this place pretending to be a city, I’d hide him under the biggest hammer and dare people to ask."
"Hold and hydrate," she said. "Plan’s adjusting."
"Maybe adjust it toward less dying?" I said. The channel clicked off, which was about as close to a no as you could get.
Elise nudged the disk in my pocket with two fingers, like checking it was real. "If it goes bad, throw that and run. I’ll make weather."
"Copy," I said.
Varga scanned the ridge, the sky, then us. "We hit at light-turn. Lucien anchors the safe zone. Elise shapes cover. Cross climbs."
"Over the bridge?" Elise asked.
"Over, around, or through," Varga said. "His call."
The system chose that moment to flex its deadpan timing.
[Quest Update: Reach Inner Ring — 45%]
[Sub-Objective Added: Identify Command Structure of the Ashspawn]
[Hidden Path — Forgewalker Resonance +2]
[Warning: Proximity to Power Loop Increases Detection Risk]
I lay back on the rock, let the heat soak in, and watched the sky switch between red and darker red. The ridge hummed like it was practicing a hymn.
"You okay?" Elise asked.
"Define okay," I said. "I’ve got ash in places I didn’t know could feel shame, my legs are filing a complaint, and apparently an entire civilization of knife-people knows my name."
Lucien snorted. "Still moving?"
"For now."
Lucien actually snorted. "Still moving?"
"For now."
Varga gave one short nod. A benediction, coming from him. "Lets move."
"Yeah." I closed my eyes for one breath and saw that mask on the span. Opened them fast. "Because what’s the worst that could happen? We only have to cross a living bridge guarded by golems and politely ask a nation to stop being itself."
No one laughed. Not even me.
The drums kept time anyway.