Plundering Worlds: I Have a Shotgun in a Fantasy World-Chapter 62: Echoes and Choices

[Western Road - Morning]

Kael walked along the dirt road that followed the river upstream, the morning sun burning against his back. His wounds ached with each step—a dull throb that pulsed through his ribs and shoulder.

The river flowed beside them, wide but shallow. The drought had exposed rocks and mud along its banks, and the stones caught the light and reflected it in brief flashes.

The hills were brown and dry. Grass had withered to yellow stalks. Trees hung their leaves limply, waiting for rain that would never fall.

Behind him, two sets of footsteps.

Baihe hummed a tune, light and cheerful. Lianghong’s boots dragged slightly against the dust.

They walked in silence for hours. The sun climbed higher. The road stretched ahead, empty and dusty.

[Midday - Riverbank]

The sun beat down. Sweat soaked through their clothes. Kael stopped at a cluster of rocks near the water’s edge.

They descended to the riverbank. Lianghong knelt immediately, cupping water to his face and drinking deeply.

Kael moved upstream, away from where Lianghong was drinking. He crouched and splashed water on his face, then drank carefully.

Baihe sat on a rock, watching them both with amusement. "Tired already? How disappointing. We’ve barely walked half a day." 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

Lianghong ignored him, refilling his water gourd.

Kael stood and moved to a flat rock, sitting down and leaning back against a larger boulder. His hand went to his ribs, pressing gently. The bandages underneath were damp from sweat, but the wounds had closed. Qi circulated through his body, slowly but steadily, knitting flesh and bone. The pain had dulled to a faint ache.

Two more days, maybe three. Then he’d be fully recovered.

Lianghong noticed him checking the wounds. "Are you—"

"They’re healing."

Lianghong frowned but fell silent. He sat near the water, eating some dried meat from his pack.

Baihe stood and stretched. "Well, this is boring. Shall we make it interesting?"

Kael’s eyes opened slightly.

"There’s a village about an hour south of here." Baihe gestured vaguely. "Small place. Maybe fifty people. I could go kill them all. Would that make the journey more exciting?"

Lianghong’s hands froze on his water gourd.

Kael met Baihe’s gaze. "No."

"No?" Baihe tilted his head. "Why not? You don’t know them. They mean nothing to you."

"They mean nothing to you either."

"Exactly! So it’s perfectly fair." Baihe smiled. "Unless you think you can stop me?"

Kael stood slowly, his hand moving to his sword.

Baihe’s smile widened. "Oh? You’ll fight me again? You barely survived last time."

"If you go to that village, I’ll follow you."

"And?"

"And I’ll stop you."

"How?" Baihe walked closer. "You know you can’t beat me. You know I’ll kill you. So why would you try?"

Kael’s grip tightened on his sword hilt. "Because that’s all I can do."

They stared at each other. The air grew heavy. Lianghong held his breath.

Then Baihe laughed—loud and genuine. "There it is! That stupid, pointless determination!" He turned away, waving his hand. "Fine, fine. I’ll spare them today. You’ve convinced me with your noble sacrifice speech."

He walked back to his rock and sat down. "But only because watching you suffer is more entertaining than slaughtering peasants."

Kael remained standing for a moment, then slowly sat back down. His hand stayed on his sword.

Lianghong exhaled shakily. "You were really going to fight him."

Kael leaned back against the boulder. "Yes."

"Even though you’d lose."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Kael closed his eyes.

Lianghong stared at him. He wanted to say something—that it was noble, that it was stupid, that he understood—but the words wouldn’t come.

Baihe hummed his cheerful tune, swinging his legs like a child.

[Afternoon - Refugee Camp]

They resumed walking, the road following the river upstream and curving with the water’s path through the hills.

Around mid-afternoon, smoke rose ahead. The smell of unwashed bodies. Disease. Desperation.

They rounded a bend and saw it—a refugee camp sprawling along the riverbank. Hundreds of people, maybe more. Makeshift shelters of cloth and branches. Cooking fires sending thin smoke into the sky.

Children sat in the dirt, too weak to play. Women stared at nothing. Men huddled in groups, talking in low voices. The drought had driven them from their villages, and now they gathered here near the river, hoping for water and fish and any chance of survival.

Lianghong stopped walking. "So many..."

Kael kept walking, passing the edge of the camp without breaking stride.

People noticed them. Eyes followed—hungry eyes, desperate eyes.

A woman stood, holding a skeletal child. She walked toward them. "Please... food... anything..."

More people started moving. Slowly at first. Then faster.

"Food..."

"Water..."

"Please..."

"We’re starving..."

Lianghong’s hand went to his pack—he had some dried meat, some rice—

Kael grabbed his wrist. "Don’t."

"But they’re—"

"If you give to one, they’ll all demand. You have enough for maybe ten people. There are hundreds."

The crowd was getting closer. More voices. More hands reaching out.

Baihe watched with interest. "Oh, this is getting exciting."

An old man pushed forward. "Please, young master! My grandchildren haven’t eaten in three days!"

"We’ll die here!"

"Just a little food!"

"Anything!"

The crowd pressed closer—desperate, on the edge of threatening.

Kael drew his sword.

The crowd froze.

"Back."

The word was cold, final.

The old man stared at the blade. "You... you would kill us? We’re just asking for help!"

"I have too little to help you."

"You have food! I can smell it!"

"And if I give it to you, what about him?" Kael pointed his blade at another man. "And her? And those children? I feed ten people. The rest starve. Then they’re angry. Then they riot. Then people die."

The old man’s face twisted. "So you’ll just walk away? Let us die?"

"Yes."

The word hung in the air.

Lianghong’s hands clenched. He looked at Kael, shocked.

Baihe laughed softly. "How honest! I like it!"

The crowd muttered—angry voices—but they backed away from the blade.

Kael sheathed his sword and kept walking.

The refugees watched them go. Some crying. Some cursing. Some just staring with empty eyes.

Lianghong hurried to catch up. "You just... you just left them..."

"What would you have me do?"

"Help them!"

"How?" Kael’s voice was flat. "I have three days of food. There are hundreds of them. Who do I help? How do I choose?"

"You... you could try—"

"Try what? Feed ten people while the rest watch? Start a riot? Get us all killed?" Kael kept walking. "Saving everyone is impossible, Lianghong. So I save no one."

"That’s... that’s terrible..."

"Yes."

Baihe skipped ahead, delighted. "Oh, this is wonderful! You see, chronicler? This is who he really is! Just someone who makes choices. And sometimes, the choice is to do nothing."

Lianghong looked back at the refugee camp—the smoke, the desperate faces.

He wanted to go back. To help somehow.

But Kael was right. What could he do?

He walked forward, hating himself.

[Evening - Town Gates]

As the sun sank toward the horizon, they reached a larger town built along the river. Wooden walls surrounded it, taller and sturdier than the previous village. A stone bridge crossed the river at the town’s edge, its arches high above the lowered water level.

But Kael’s attention went to the walls first.

Bodies hung there. Five of them. Twisted, inhuman shapes.

Yaomo.

Their skin was grayish-green, mottled and diseased-looking. Limbs too long, joints bending at wrong angles. Faces stretched and distorted—mouths too wide, filled with sharp teeth. One had horns protruding from its skull. Another had claws instead of hands, each finger ending in a blackened talon.

They’d been dead for hours, maybe a day. Flies swarmed around them. The smell of rot carried on the wind.

These had been human once. The twisted remnants of their original forms were still visible—a nose here, an ear there—but whatever they’d become was something else entirely.

Refugees crowded around the gate—dozens of them, sitting against the walls, lying in the dirt, begging.

A guard stood beneath the hanging corpses, addressing the crowd. His armor was dark with sweat, his face red from the heat. "See these? Yaomo. Killed five last night." He gestured impatiently at the bodies. "More out there. We check everyone. Entry requires coin."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. A few voices rose, quickly drowned by others. Most lowered their heads.

The guard waved them off and turned away, muttering under his breath about the heat.

Lianghong stared at the yaomo bodies, his face pale. "What... what are those?"

"Yaomo," Kael’s voice was flat.

"Are they... are they real?"

A guard near the gate overheard, wiping sweat from his brow. "Real enough. Border fell. They spread west to east. We’re close to the borderlands here." He gestured vaguely westward, too hot and tired to elaborate.

Another guard added, "General Hong retook the fortresses. But yaomo got through. All over the western provinces now."

"Attacks every few nights," the first guard muttered. "Lost two men last week."

Baihe walked closer to examine the corpses, his blue eyes bright with interest. "Fascinating. I haven’t seen yaomo this far east in years."

The guard’s hand tightened on his spear, his eyes darting to Baihe’s strange eyes.

"Oh, I know many things." Baihe reached up and poked one of the corpses. It swayed slightly. "These are low-grade yaomo. Stupid ones. Driven by hunger more than thought. The smart ones are too clever for simple traps."

The guard’s face went pale. "There are... smart ones?"

"Of course. Some can even speak. Plan. Deceive." Baihe smiled. "Those are the dangerous ones. They can live among humans for weeks before anyone notices."

The guard looked at the refugees outside the gate with fresh suspicion.

Baihe turned away, humming cheerfully.

One of the guards approached them, clearly wanting to get back inside the walls. "Entry tax. Two coppers each."

Lianghong paid, his hands shaking slightly. The guards stepped aside quickly.

As they walked through the gate, Kael heard the noise rise behind them—voices overlapping, pleading, arguing, swearing. Someone shouted about coin. Someone else cursed the guards.

The guards ignored them. The gate closed with a heavy thud.

Inside the town, life continued. People walked the streets. Shops stayed open—as if the hundreds of dying people outside the walls and the yaomo hunting in the darkness were invisible.

Baihe spread his arms. "Welcome to civilization! Where the strong thrive and the weak die quietly out of sight." He grinned. "Isn’t it beautiful?"

The town was larger than the previous one. Two main streets crossed in the center, lined with shops and inns. People moved about, finishing their business before dark, but there was tension in the air—hurried movements, eyes darting to the darkening sky.

"There." Lianghong pointed to a decent-looking inn. "Let’s find rooms and—"

"Wait." Kael stopped.

Voices drifted from a teahouse nearby. Loud voices, arguing.

"—heard it from a merchant who came through yesterday—"

"A whole village! Slaughtered!"

"How many dead?"

"Fifty! Maybe more!"

Kael’s jaw tightened slightly.

Baihe’s smile widened. "Oh, how delightful. Let’s listen."

They moved closer to the teahouse. Through the open door, they could see a crowd gathered around a table where several men were talking animatedly.

"It’s true!" One man slapped the table. "A merchant from the west told me. Yaomo attacked a fishing village by the river."

"Yaomo?"

"That’s what he said! Some kind of swordsman—either possessed by yaomo or working with them! Killed over fifty people in minutes!"

Another voice chimed in. "I heard differently. My cousin lives near there. He said it was a xia who did it."

"A xia? How can killing fifty people be heroic?"

"Because those villagers were yaomo worshippers! They were performing dark rituals! Trying to summon more yaomo! The xia came to stop them!"

"That’s ridiculous—"

"No! I heard they were all bandits working with the enemy! Spies for the western kingdom!"

"I heard it was the Dragon King’s punishment!"

"I heard the swordsman was possessed by a yaomo!"

"I heard there were two swordsmen—one human, one yaomo!"

"I heard it was Dongfang Baihe!"

Baihe perked up at his own name, a delighted smile crossing his face.

The voices overlapped, each person adding their own version. The story twisted and changed with each telling—yaomo, possession, slaughter, conspiracy.

The panic was spreading. Every story fed into the next.

Baihe’s choice went unmentioned. Wei’s name, absent. The survivors, forgotten.

Just monsters. Just evil. Just fear.

Lianghong stood frozen, listening to the chaos of contradictory accounts.

Baihe laughed softly. "Listen to them. Each one so certain they know the truth. Each one completely wrong." He glanced at Lianghong. "Still think recording the truth matters? No one will believe it anyway."

Lianghong’s hands clenched. "That’s exactly why it matters. Because of this." He gestured at the teahouse. "Because without someone who actually knows what happened, the story becomes whatever people want it to be."

"And you think anyone will believe your version over theirs?"

"Maybe not everyone. But some will. And that’s better than nothing."

Baihe shrugged. "How optimistic."

Kael turned away from the teahouse. "Let’s go."

They walked toward the inn. Behind them, the voices continued arguing, each person convinced they knew the truth about the demon swordsman who’d destroyed a village.

The impossible choices, unspoken. The moral dilemmas, ignored. The complexity of survival, buried.

Just a monster who killed for no reason. Or a xia who saved people from yaomo. Or a conspiracy. Or divine punishment.

The truth was buried under fear and speculation.

Lianghong looked back at the teahouse, then at Kael’s back.

[Inn - Night]

They secured two rooms—one for Kael, one for Lianghong. Baihe announced he’d stay in Kael’s room "to keep an eye on him."

Lianghong retreated to his room and sat on the bed, pulling out paper and ink he’d bought from a shop on the way.

For a long time, he just stared at the blank page.

How do you write this story? How do you explain what happened without making Kael sound like a monster or a saint? How do you capture the complexity, the impossible choice, the uncertainty? How do you make people understand when they’d rather believe in simple stories—heroes and villains, yaomo and saviors?

Lianghong picked up the brush.

On the fifth day of the ninth month...

He paused. Too formal, too distant.

He started again.

I witnessed something I don’t fully understand...

He stared at the words. Then crossed them out.

The truth is more complicated than the stories...

Crossed out.

How do you write the truth when the world wants lies?

In the other room, Kael lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. His wounds itched faintly as they healed—uncomfortable, but bearable. The wounds would close. That much was certain.

Baihe sat by the window, looking out at the town. "You know," his voice came without turning, "eventually you’ll make a wrong judgment. You’ll bet on the wrong outcome. And people will die because of it."

Kael said nothing.

"I wonder what you’ll do then. Will you keep making judgments? Or will you realize you’re no better at playing god than anyone else?"

Silence.

"I can’t wait to find out." Baihe glanced back with a smile. "Sleep well. Tomorrow brings new opportunities for you to be wrong."