Ultimate Spin System: Ero Spin?-Chapter 147: Unravel

Lucas stared at the ground for a moment, jaw tight. "Of course they saved the worst for last..."

Sylmara stepped closer, voice low but firm. "If we move fast, we can reach them before the next convoy arrives. But we leave tonight."

****

They arrived just before dawn.

The mountains parted into a wide valley, bathed in soft, golden light. Mist clung to the hills, and below them, nestled between the stone ridges, was the village.

But it wasn’t what any of them expected.

No guards.

No chains.

No screaming prisoners.

Just... life.

Children ran through narrow dirt paths, laughing. Farmers moved between fields, carrying baskets of vegetables. A group of elders sat under a tree, playing some kind of board game. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys. Chickens clucked. Dogs barked.

It looked... normal. Peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Lucas squinted, scanning the scene. "You sure this is the right place?"

Sylmara didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were sharp, calculating.

Velwen crouched behind a rock beside them, eyes narrowed. "They don’t look armed. Hell, they don’t even look alert."

"They don’t need to," Sylmara said quietly. "If the rot is hidden... it’s hidden deep."

Lucas crossed his arms. "Could it be a front? A fake village?"

"No," Sylmara said. "Look closer. That’s real bread they’re baking. That’s real sweat on the farmers’ backs. These people live here. They believe in this place."

Mbaku grunted. "So where’s the damn slaver fortress?"

Sylmara stood slowly, the wind catching the edge of her cloak. "Underground."

Lucas frowned. "You’re sure?"

She nodded. "Old slaver strategy. Build a village above the pit. Keep it looking clean. Noble. Peaceful. Let the surface world see only what you want them to see."

Velwen hissed under her breath. "Disgusting."

Sylmara’s voice grew colder. "Efficient. Harder to raid. Harder to justify an attack. Especially if the surface is full of innocent-looking families."

Lucas turned his gaze back to the valley. "So what do we do? Walk in and hope no one notices our swords?"

"No," Sylmara said. "We split. Scouts infiltrate quietly. Look for signs—trap doors, hidden paths, buildings with basements."

Lucas glanced at Velwen. "Think your crew can handle that?"

Velwen smiled thinly. "Like ghosts in daylight."

"Good." He nodded. "Then let’s peel the skin off this lie."

Mbaku cracked his knuckles. "And if we find the entrance?"

Lucas’s eyes hardened. "Then we open the gates of hell."

The slime whispered from his shoulder, "And we do it quietly, right?"

Lucas gave a humorless smile. "For now."

The valley might’ve looked like a haven.

But they all knew the truth.

No place that peaceful...

...was ever truly innocent.

"We just got back," Mbaku grumbled, crossing his arms. "You realize some of us are still dragging splinters out of our legs, right? A few haven’t even eaten yet."

"And some of those prisoners haven’t had clean water in weeks," Sylmara snapped back. "You can choose—rest now, or regret it forever."

Silence.

Not hesitation—just the heavy pause of people measuring the cost of action.

Lucas, as always, stood at the center of it all.

"I know we’re tired," he said, his voice calm but resonant. "I know our backs ache, our feet are swollen, and some of us—" he glanced at the slime on his shoulder, "—are experiencing deep emotional trauma from being near so many exploding potatoes."

"Hey!" the slime squeaked. "That was one time!"

A few laughs rippled through the crowd. The tension cracked, just slightly.

"But this isn’t about us," Lucas went on. "It’s about the ones still trapped. The ones who can’t fight back."

He looked around at the faces surrounding him—beastmen, elves, humans. All of them bruised and battered, but still standing.

"We can rest after. But tonight... we move."

Velwen gave a sharp nod. "I’ll prepare the scouts."

Mbaku groaned but slapped the side of the nearest wagon. "Fine. But if this is a trap, I’m carrying your unconscious body back myself."

Lucas smirked. "Noted. Slime, make sure he gets a gentle pillow."

"Aye, boss!" the slime chirped with a tiny salute.

---

By twilight, they were on the move again.

No banners. No horns.

Just a quiet line of warriors slipping into the trees like shadows.

Lucas walked at the front with Sylmara and Velwen. The path ahead dipped into dense forest, then began to rise toward the jagged silhouette of the southern mountain pass.

The air grew colder. The scent of moss and iron filled their lungs.

"How far?" Lucas asked quietly. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

"Four hours on foot," Sylmara replied. "If we’re lucky. The terrain’s rough near the old stone pits."

Mbaku returned from ahead, a coiled rope slung over one shoulder and a few throwing knives tucked into his belt. "Scouts checked ahead. No patrols. No movement."

"Yet," Velwen muttered under her breath.

Lucas exhaled, eyes scanning the treetops. His gut twisted—not with fear, but with a familiar, creeping certainty.

Something was waiting.

Sylmara must’ve noticed the shift in his expression. "You feel it too."

He nodded. "Yeah. This whole thing... it’s too smooth. Like they want us to walk in."

"Then we walk in prepared," Velwen said grimly. "Sometimes, survival isn’t about playing it safe. It’s about who’s more reckless."

Lucas gave a dry smile. "Then let’s be the most reckless bastards in the woods tonight."

And so, they pressed forward, deeper into the dark.

Not as an army.

Not even as rebels.

But as a ragged collection of survivors, thieves, and war-weary fools...

...determined to burn through the shadows and drag the stolen into the light.

Whatever waited in those underground pits, Lucas was done running from it.

He would meet it.

He would face it.

And if necessary...

He’d burn it all down.

Sure thing—here’s the continuation in English, picking up with them entering the village while the rest of the group holds position, mirroring their previous infiltration strategy:

---

Lucas adjusted the straps on his chestplate, eyes never leaving the village below. "Same strategy as before," he said quietly. "Minimal group goes in. The rest wait here, hidden."

Mbaku grunted. "Like last time. We sneak in, poke around, and hope we don’t end up in a pit of spikes."

"Exactly," Lucas replied, patting him on the shoulder. "So you’re with me."

"Of course I am," Mbaku muttered. "Because I love quiet walks through enemy territory."

Sylmara stepped forward, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "I’ll come too. I know what signs to look for. Hidden glyphs, enchantments, illusion barriers."

"Velwen, you and your scouts stay back," Lucas said. "Fan out through the ridgeline. Eyes on the village. If anything moves—any bells ring, any doors slam—we need to know immediately."

Velwen nodded without hesitation. "Consider us shadows."

Lucas looked over the rest of the group—some resting, some tense, hands on blades. "No one moves until we signal. No fire. No sound. No footprints. If something goes wrong..."

"We come screaming?" a young beastman asked with a hopeful grin.

Lucas smirked. "No. You don’t come. Not unless it’s the whole damn mountain coming down. If we disappear, you fall back. You hear me?"

Murmurs of agreement. Grim nods.

Then Lucas turned, exhaled, and started down the slope with Sylmara and Mbaku close behind.

The descent was calm.

Too calm.

The village didn’t stir. No one questioned the approach of three strangers—dirty, armed, and clearly out of place. A few villagers glanced their way, then returned to hauling baskets, feeding goats, tending to morning chores.

As they passed a group of children playing with wooden swords, one of them waved.

Lucas waved back, confused.

"They’re not faking it," he muttered under his breath. "These people really don’t seem to know."

Sylmara’s voice was barely a whisper. "That’s what makes it worse."

They reached the heart of the village—a small market square where fresh bread was sold beside handwoven rugs. A woman offered them apples with a kind smile. Mbaku bought one just to keep suspicion low, biting into it with a frown.

"...It’s good," he said, disappointed. "Why is it good? That makes this worse."

Lucas scanned the buildings around them—stone foundations, wooden frames, tiled roofs. Simple, sturdy, and well-kept.

But then his eyes caught something—a small temple at the edge of the square, its door slightly ajar. Not abandoned. Not neglected. But... off.

"There," he said, nodding.

They approached slowly. A plaque above the doorway read: Shrine of Unity. Harmless enough.

Lucas pushed the door open.

Inside was quiet.

Too quiet.

The room was circular, lit by a single shaft of light from a skylight above. Incense still burned at the altar. But there was no statue. No offerings.

Just a round stone slab in the center of the room.

Sylmara knelt by it, running her fingers along the edge. "These carvings... they’re old. Hidden with dust. Deliberately masked."

"Is it a trapdoor?" Mbaku asked.

"Worse," she replied. "It’s a seal."

Lucas crouched beside her. "Can you open it?"

"I can," Sylmara said. "But once I do... there’s no going back."

Lucas looked at her, then at the stone.

"Then get ready," he said, voice low but firm. "Because I want to know what this place is really hiding."

Sylmara placed both hands on the slab.

The carvings began to glow.

And the lie of the peaceful village...

...started to unravel.