Chapter 93: Escaping Crookback Bog

No more than a few hours had passed before Ciri shoved Rudra awake, her face pale in the dim light.

"What’s your deal?" Rudra groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Can’t a guy get a few hours of sleep?"

"No time to explain—get up!" Ciri snapped, hauling him out of bed by his arm.

Rudra let out a heavy sigh, swinging his legs over the edge. Yawning continuously, he stumbled after her as they slipped out of the cottage and fled Crookback Bog, putting as much distance between themselves and the swamp as possible.

Only when the murky fog finally began to clear did Ciri skid to a halt. Rudra immediately slumped against the nearest tree trunk, his eyelids drooping.

"Alright, what’s the fire?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "Why are we sprinting through the woods at midnight?"

"Those damn hags!" Ciri barked, her hands balling into white-knuckled fists. "They played us! They were setting up a bargain to hand us over to the Wild Hunt on a silver platter!"

A faint spark of memory flickered through Rudra’s hazy mind. Oh right... completely forgot they do that.

He let out another massive yawn while Ciri paced a frantic trench into the dirt, cursing the Crones under her breath. When she finally ran out of steam, she turned back to find him nodding off against the bark.

"Rudra!" she yelled.

His head snapped up. "I’m awake, I’m awake."

"We need to keep moving. Now," she commanded, spinning on her heel.

Rudra offered a lazy thumbs-up and fell into step right behind her.

They hadn’t made it more than ten paces before Rudra abruptly killed his momentum and stopped dead in his tracks.

Ciri whipped around, her expression instantly twisting into sheer frustration. "What now? The Hunt could be on our trail any second!"

Rudra’s face went deadpan serious. "I know... but we have a massive problem."

Seeing his grave expression, Ciri’s irritation evaporated into immediate concern. "What is it? Are you hurt? Did one of those hags cast something on you?"

"No... it’s just..." Rudra hesitated, staring into the treeline with dark intensity.

"Spit it out!" Ciri demanded, her hands dropping to her sword hilts.

"I need to take a piss."

Ciri froze. Her mind took three full seconds to process the words before her voice pitched up. "Are you serious right now?!"

"Hey, you’re the one who told me to report everything to you since you’re protecting me," Rudra countered with flawless, solemn logic.

Ciri pinched the bridge of her nose, visibly fighting off the urge to draw steel. "I meant threats, Rudra! Monsters! Immediate danger!" She let out a heavy, defeated sigh. "Fine. Go. Just don’t wander off."

"Understood, Boss," Rudra nodded respectfully.

He ducked behind a thick cluster of bushes, safely out of her line of sight. Forming a swift tiger seal, a quiet poof of white smoke cleared to reveal an exact Shadow Clone.

The clone stared at Rudra. Rudra stared back and whispered, "Go take one for the team."

The clone gave a solemn, dutiful nod and stepped deeper into the woods, while the real Rudra immediately strolled back out into the clearing, casually adjusting his belt.

Ciri glared at him, her eyes narrowing in deep suspicion. "That was ten seconds."

"I’m a man of efficiency," Rudra said smoothly, falling back into step beside her. "Lead the way."

Shaking her head in utter disbelief, Ciri turned back toward the path, leading them out of the swamp’s domain and toward the nearest town.

Meanwhile, back in the heart of the swamp, tension hung thick enough to choke on.

A unit of the Wild Hunt stood among the twisted trees, their bone-adorned armor glistening with swamp filth. They were locked in a sharp, hissed argument with the three Crones over Ciri’s sudden disappearance.

"Man... I really hate doing chores for the original," a relaxed voice drawled from the shadows.

The argument snapped shut. The Crones and the Wild Hunt warriors turned in unison as Rudra’s shadow clone strolled casually into the clearing, stretching his arms behind his head.

"It’s him!" the Brewess shrieked, her twisted finger pointing accusingly. "That’s the pest traveling with the swallow!"

"Grab him!" the Weavess screeched, her voice echoing unnaturally through the mist. "He knows where she fled!"

The cold eyes of the Wild Hunt shifted to the solitary figure. The lead warrior stepped forward, his icy voice rumbling through his heavy helm as he glanced back at the hags. "Are you certain this is the boy? If this is another of your grotesque deceptions, your blood will freeze before your screams clear this bog."

Before the Crones could frantically defend their claim, the clone waved a lazy hand.

"Oh, don’t bother asking those three ugly bitches," the clone interrupted with a dry smirk. "I’ll save you the hassle. Yeah, I’m the guy traveling with the girl you’re chasing—the ashen-haired one named Ciri."

The Crones erupted in furious shrieks at the insult, but the clone completely ignored them, keeping his eyes locked on the towering commander.

One of the Wild Hunt warriors clicked his tongue, swinging a heavy leg off his mount. "No need to execute him just yet," he grunted to his leader. "Restrain him. We extract the swallow’s location, then break his limbs."

The commander grunted in agreement and turned back toward the cowering Crones.

Before he could utter a word, a chorus of sharp gasps broke from the ranks behind him.

The commander whipped around. The warrior of the Wild Hunt who had just stepped forward was already crumpling to the swampy earth, his body collapsing like a felled oak—completely headless.

A few feet away, Rudra’s clone casually caught the dead warrior’s helmeted head with one hand and tossed it back toward the group like a spent apple core. Resting the stolen steel greatsword over his shoulder, he tilted his neck until it cracked.

"Honestly, I’ve got places to be," the clone said, his tone dripping with bored condescension. "Why don’t all of you frostbitten tin cans jump me at once? That way I can kill the lot of you and get back to my nap."

That broke the dam.

Enraged roars tore through the swamp as the remaining Wild Hunt warriors lunged forward alongside a pack of snarling ice hounds. The Crones shrieked in unison, summoning foul water hags and drowners from the muck to join the slaughter.

It didn’t matter.

Within minutes, the brutal cacophony faded into absolute silence.

The swamp floor was littered with shattered plate mail, frozen black blood, and the carcasses of dead beasts. Standing in the center of the carnage, the clone casually wiped a speck of dark blood off his cheek, dropped the giant blade into the mud, and scratched the back of his head with a vacant expression.

"Wait..." the clone muttered aloud, staring up at the canopy with a furrowed brow. "Why the hell did the original send me back here again?"

He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto the three Crones—the only living things left standing. The hags shrank back in pure terror, trembling beneath their ragged shawls as they stared at the monster disguised as a boy.

"Did he send me to slaughter the three of you?" the clone mused, taking a deliberate step forward.

The Crones clutched each other tightly, horror bleeding through their ancient, sunken eyes.

"No... that doesn’t sound like him," the clone muttered, shaking his head.

A collective, shuddering breath escaped the hags’ chests.

"Though honestly, he’d probably just kill you all to save the headache," he added thoughtfully, resting his hand back on his sword hilt.

Instantly, the Crones froze, terror seizing them once more.

"Wait, I remember now!" The clone snapped his fingers, a wide grin spreading across his face. "It was definitely about you three."

"Please! Spare us!" Weavess begged, her rasping voice cracking with desperation. "We will do anything! Anything you ask!"

"Well, that makes this nice and easy," the clone smirked.

"Yes! Name it! Speak your terms!" Brewess squealed frantically.

"Release the Baron’s wife," the clone demanded, his tone dropping flat and cold. "And every single child you’re holding in this swamp."

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the bog. The hags exchanged uneasy glances before Whispess dared to speak up, her voice trembling. "Could... could you perhaps ask for something—"

Swish.

A silver arc flashed through the mist. Whispess’s ear flew into the mud before she could finish her sentence. She dropped to her knees with a blood-curdling scream, clutching the side of her head as blood leaked through her fingers.

"You seem to be mistaken," the clone murmured, flicking his blade clean. "This isn’t a negotiation. It’s not a polite request, either."

The remaining two Crones stood petrified, too horrified to move.

"Tell you what," the clone shrugged lazily, raising his sword again. "It’s honestly less work if I just kill the three of you right now. Solves the problem anyway."

"No! We’ll do it! We’ll do it right now!" Brewess shrieked, frantically hauling Whispess to her feet as they scrambled backward into the gloom to fulfill the command.

"See? That wasn’t so hard," the clone called out after them. "Oh, and one more thing—I’ll be checking back. If I find a single child locked up or some poor woman slaving away for you again, you can kiss your miserable lives goodbye."

A short while later, Anna stood outside the cottage, her hands trembling as she gathered a group of terrified children around her. She cast nervous glances toward the tapestries hiding the grotesque reality of the hags within.

The clone stepped beside her, his expression softening just a fraction. "Head toward Oxenfurt. Your daughter’s there—she’s with those religious zealots calling themselves the Church of the Eternal Fire."

Anna clutched the children close, her eyes brimming with tearful relief. Before she could utter a word of thanks, the clone gestured down the path.

"Come on. I’ll walk you out of this graveyard."

He escorted the group through the thick swamp mist until the murky bog finally gave way to safer forest paths near the outskirts of a nearby town. Once the distant lights of the settlement flickered in the dark and their safety was guaranteed, the clone cast one last look back toward the defeated swamp.

With a quiet poof, he vanished into thin air.

Miles away, the real Rudra was jogging through the dense forest while the thundering hooves of another Wild Hunt party pounded against the earth behind them.

Suddenly, a sudden rush of memories hit his mind as his shadow clone dispersed.

Well, that ended peacefully, Rudra thought with an internal chuckle.

t ended with a severed ear, death threats, and terrorized hags, his System chimed in flatly. I don’t think your definition of ’peaceful’ aligns with standard dictionary terms.

Details, details, Rudra dismissed internally. The kids are safe, the lady’s alive, and the job’s done. Same difference.

...I am disabling my sarcasm module for my own sanity, the System grumbled before going quiet.

"Rudra, pick up the pace!" Ciri shouted over the deafening clatter of hooves, her sword clanking hard against her belt as she darted between the trees. "They’re on horseback—they’re gaining on us!"

"I’m moving, I’m moving!" Rudra yelled back, casually ducking under a low-hanging branch as frost-bitten dirt kicked up behind them. "You know, for guys riding armored warhorses through a thick forest at midnight, they’re really breaking the speed limit!"

"Less complaining, more sprinting!" Ciri snapped, vaulting over a fallen log as the icy howls of the riders echoed right behind them.

With the thundering hooves closing in and the freezing cold at their heels, the two plunged deeper into the night.