Chapter 30

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"We're going around." Shen Lu was the first to speak, voice low but edged with tension."This minefield's been here for years. One wrong step, and forget casualties—a single blast could wake every guard across the river."

The Chief frowned, impatience flickering in his eyes."Around? If they've mined this direction, the other routes must be crawling with guards. We don't have time to play tourist—we strike fast or not at all."

One of the Skinners muttered,"If we can find a safe path through, we might be able to slip by. Safer than gambling on a longer detour."

Shen Lu snorted."Safe path? What are you gonna do—test it with your feet?"

The air snapped taut. Just as voices were starting to rise, Maverick slipped quietly back into the circle. In his hands, he cradled a dirt-smeared bounding mine like it was a sleeping baby. His brow was knit so tightly it could catch rain.

"No good," he murmured."They're hunter-jump mines. Randomly placed. And worse—there are pressure mines ahead, tuned to detect anything larger than a raccoon on steroids."

Shen Lu blinked. Then:"How the hell do you know that?"

Maverick, already tinkering with his gear, answered without looking up:"Every mine has a blueprint. Tactical forums are full of them. You just need a love for mechanical chaos."

Shen Lu wasn't ready to give in. He jabbed a finger at the field."Even if you're the one-in-a-million lucky guy who doesn't blow himself up—look over there!"

Everyone turned. Two industrial-grade searchlights were sweeping the minefield ahead like twin scissor blades slicing through darkness. A hundred meters long, fifty wide—and under those lights, every shadow was peeled away.

Then the Chief glanced instinctively at Maverick—and did a double take. The man had pulled a stack of tiny black paper airplanes from his bag, each no wider than two fingers, their tails strung with fishing line.

Shen Lu squinted, incredulous."You planning to fly us across with those? Should I flap my arms too?"

Maverick ignored him. He stared toward the far wall, where the searchlights were performing their deadly ballet. Every ten seconds, the beams would sweep the center.

"Now," he whispered."Go time."

With a flick of the wrist, the first paper plane soared into the night—silent, graceful, darting toward the searchlights like it had a death wish.

One meter away from the beams—it nose-dived into darkness.

Plane two… missed.

Plane three… missed.

But plane four, oh, she was a star. It looped like an acrobat, curving around the spotlight's frame—and then, at the perfect moment, snagged itself on the rotating axis. The light hiccuped. Froze. Twitched like it had caught a cold. Its angle shifted ten degrees off-course.

Maverick squinted at the result, voice soft but urgent:"Move. Now."

The misaligned light had cast a long, thin shadow across the field—a narrow strip of darkness barely wide enough for one person.

Shen Lu gawked."You… used paper airplanes?"

Maverick was already crouching, pulling out a toy drone patched with wires and dignity."Every plane starts as a paper plane, friend." He tossed out an old spool of fishing line with a shrug."Also, tonight's wind is a south breeze. Helpful."

He fastened the line to the drone and sent it zipping across the gap. As he worked, Shen Lu folded his arms, eyebrows climbing into sarcasm range."You want us to… crawl along that fishing line?"

Maverick didn't even blink."Try it and see."

The Skinners crowded in, eyes wide with curiosity. Shen Lu kept up the sneer, but something uneasy stirred in his gut.

A few minutes later, Maverick had the line looped around a tree on the far side and reeled back the end. He began swapping it out—fishing line to thread, thread to cord, cord to climbing rope, knotting and looping with practiced hands.

Shen Lu's expression cracked a little."Well. I'll give you this—stupidly smart." But he couldn't hide the awe creeping into his voice.

Maverick glanced at him, a mischievous glint in his eye."So? Want to go first, or do your headstand now?"

Shen Lu clenched his jaw. Retreat meant humiliation—and his pride had thicker armor than a tank."Just a rope. Nothing to fear." He grabbed it… and his fingers trembled slightly.

All eyes were on him. He stepped up to the line like it was a gallows.

But Maverick threw out an arm."My setup, my ride. I go first."

He pulled out a single, sad bottle of machine oil and smeared it over his belt. He handed instructions over his shoulder:"Grease up your belt or find a slick stick. Friction's not your friend tonight."

And then—he launched.

With a whoosh, Maverick shot into the dark like a greased bullet. The speed caught him off guard. One second he was gliding, the next—bam! He slammed into the far tree like a particularly determined squirrel, and dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Out cold.

Shen Lu exhaled, face pale as chalk. He grabbed the rope like it might vanish, knuckles whitening. He peeked into the void beneath him—his stomach clenched like it had seen the bill for all his bad decisions.

"Nope. Nope. Gonna die. Definitely gonna die—"

His brain screamed in warning, but his pride refused to back down. With a grunt, he kicked off.

Fwoosh—!

The wind punched him in the face. The rope blurred beneath him. His heart tried to beat its way up his throat. He opened his mouth to scream—

—but his throat had locked itself shut in protest.

He barreled toward the tree.

At the last second—his hands slipped.

He tumbled.

Flailing. Screaming (silently). A whirling ball of panic and regret.

THUD!

He crash-landed squarely on Maverick's unconscious body. Maverick's face took an elbow to the everything.

With a groan, Maverick shoved Shen Lu off him. He sat up, ready to curse him into the afterlife—when they both heard it:

"Creak… creak…"

They looked up.

Something huge was hurtling toward them. Fast.

It was one of the Skinners—mid-slide, looking like a freight train made of muscle and doom. The rope groaned under the strain, fibers screaming.

Then the Chief stepped on.

Snap. Snap. SNAP. Thin cords gave way like piano wires under a giant's foot.

And then—

"CRACK!"

The main rope split with a thunderclap.

The Chief plummeted.

Mid-air. All weight. No brakes.