Chapter 3: The Accidental Rescue (and a Slightly Larger Coin Pouch)

The task of “observing” the Whispering Woods had been unexpectedly lucrative. The local villagers, relieved that the prophesied Lumina Blade was “protecting” them (even if all he did was nap under trees, swat oversized insects, and occasionally mutter cryptic things about the wind), had showered him with offerings of food and—more importantly—silver coins. One elder even offered him a goat. Feng respectfully declined. The goat bit him anyway.

By the end of his “mission,” Feng’s advisor’s stipend had nearly doubled, and his satchel jingled with every step—a sound that was both deeply satisfying and mildly concerning, considering the nearby squirrel population had apparently developed a taste for shiny things.

Back at the Veridia Sword Clan, Mei had returned from her diplomatic mission looking slightly frazzled but surprisingly successful. Her genuine earnestness and wide-eyed idealism had apparently resonated with several regional leaders. Feng welcomed her back with theatrical enthusiasm, complete with a celebratory banner he “commissioned” (read: paid a local child two coppers to draw).

“You see?” he told her, grinning. “Your words are like well-aimed daggers—sharp, direct, and mildly terrifying in the right context.”

“I mostly just begged them not to start a war,” Mei replied, dropping into a chair. “One of them gave me a goat.”

Feng winced. “Ah. Be careful. They bite.”

Their reunion was short-lived. The Sect Leader, as if sensing Feng’s brief window of peace and financial growth, had another task.

“The Azure Orb,” he said gravely, “has been stolen. A group of bandits raided the shrine outside Windveil Village. The villagers are terrified. The Orb is a sacred symbol of peace.”

Feng blinked slowly. “Peace, huh? Couldn’t we, I don’t know… send them a strongly-worded message? Maybe with… diplomatic ribbons? A ceremonial muffin basket?”

The Sect Leader was not amused. “You must retrieve it, Lumina Blade. The people believe in you.”

Feng sighed, dramatically enough to make nearby birds scatter. “Why is it always me? What happened to delegation?”

But duty—or at least the threat of further guilt-laden glances from Mei—called. So Feng packed his satchel, tucked away some emergency snacks, and set out with a plan. A simple one: find the bandits, observe from a very safe distance, and then signal someone more capable to deal with the actual fighting. Maybe send a carrier pigeon. Or shout encouraging words from a tree.

Unfortunately, his tracking skills were less “hunter of men” and more “guy following a trail of snack wrappers.” Luckily, the bandits were apparently messy eaters. Eventually, after slipping in a puddle of pickled radish brine and narrowly avoiding a collapsing bamboo bridge, Feng stumbled upon an abandoned temple perched on the edge of a ravine.

From behind a crumbling pillar, he spotted them—at least a dozen bandits, loud and boisterous, clustered around a makeshift altar. There it was: the Azure Orb, glowing faintly, its light pulsating like a heartbeat. Feng squinted. Why do magical artifacts always look so... breakable?

Then he saw them—three villagers, bound and gagged in the corner. That complicated things. He couldn’t exactly wait for backup if there were hostages.

As he considered his options—

Option A: wait for divine intervention;

Option B: fake a landslide;

Option C: faint

He leaned against the pillar and accidentally dislodged a stone.

Clatter.

A silence fell over the clearing.

“Someone’s out there!” barked a burly man with a scar across his face.

Feng cursed under his breath. So much for subtlety.

He had two options now: run like a very fast and very cowardly wind, or do something hero-like. His escape fund wasn’t quite at “vanish into the mountains forever” level, and despite himself, he didn’t like the idea of the villagers getting hurt.

So, against every shred of his better judgment, he leapt out from behind the pillar holding… a rusty farming hoe.

“Release those villagers!” he declared, voice wobbling somewhere between courage and panic.

The bandits blinked. Then laughed.

“Well, well,” said the leader, cracking his knuckles. “The legendary Lumina Blade. Come to prune our cabbages?”

They advanced. Feng braced himself. Something inside him snapped—or maybe clicked. As the first bandit swung, Feng dodged. Not elegantly, not even entirely on purpose, but his body moved with instinct born from countless hours of not paying attention during training.

He sidestepped, twisted, and jabbed with the hoe. The flat end caught the bandit in the shin. Another rushed him. Feng ducked, tripped over a rock, and accidentally rolled into a sweeping kick that sent the man sprawling.

One bandit lunged for the Orb.

“Not today!” Feng yelled, flinging the hoe like a javelin.

It spun awkwardly through the air and thunked the man square in the forehead. He crumpled with a groan. The Orb rolled to Feng’s feet.

The other bandits hesitated. Was it fear? Confusion? Or simply an overwhelming sense of “What is happening right now?”

Either way, it was Feng’s chance.

“Now, villagers!” he shouted, grabbing the Orb. “Run!”

The hostages, sensing their cue, kicked and thrashed. One managed to break free and untied the others. Feng, heart pounding, led the charge out of the temple, clutching the Azure Orb like it was made of noodles and bad luck.

They didn’t stop running until the forest swallowed the temple behind them.

---

Back at Windveil Village, chaos turned into celebration. The villagers wept. Children clung to Feng’s legs. Someone composed a song on the spot—it was mostly off-key humming, but the effort was appreciated.

The Sect Leader looked vaguely stunned as Feng handed over the Orb.

“Well done,” he said slowly, as if unsure how exactly it had happened. “You’ve exceeded expectations.”

Feng forced a smile, secretly wondering if the old man had finally gone senile.

Later that night, as fireworks lit up the sky and roast duck filled his plate, Feng sat alone beneath a quiet tree, counting his coins by lantern light. It was a good haul. More than enough to add a “disguise budget” to his growing escape fund.

But the thrill of the fight lingered. He’d acted without thinking. Fought with skill he didn’t remember learning. Saved people. And it had… worked.

He stared up at the stars, expression unreadable.

“This is going to be more complicated than I thought,” he muttered.

Then he paused. “Although I am getting quite good at dramatic exits.”

He flipped a coin, caught it midair, and smiled.

“Time to start charging for them.”