As Kazel took in the diverse life of The Fang—robes, armor, merchants, and drifters—he barely noticed the small figure darting through the crowd until it bumped into him.
"Sorry, young master!" the kid called, disappearing into the sea of people.
Kazel only caught a glimpse: tattered clothes, quick feet, definitely not someone belonging to a sect.
He tapped the front of his robe, feeling the lightness where there shouldn't be.He smirked. "Thief."
Before he could give chase, a guard in bronze armor stepped into his path, halberd at his side, helm glinting under the sun.
"Young master, do you require assistance?" the guard asked, voice muffled beneath the helmet. "The Shield and Spear are at your service—for a price, of course."
Kazel tilted his head slightly, amusement flashing in his blue eyes. "Can you catch a thief?"
"Naturally," the guard said. "For a price depending on the item stolen. Perhaps we can discuss it at our barracks? The receptionist will handle everything for you."
Kazel gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Too long of a process."
The guard stiffened. Most newcomers, caught in a petty loss, were eager to rely on hired hands and easy solutions.
"Move aside," Kazel said simply, pressing the guard aside by the shoulder without much effort, slipping past him and into the crowd.
The guard watched him go, clicking his tongue beneath his helm.(Heh. I guess I'll see him later at the barracks... after he gets frustrated.)
But Kazel wasn't the average newcomer.
Slipping into the mass of bodies, Kazel whispered under his breath, "Frostfang."
Immediately, a cool sharpness invaded his senses. His nose, empowered by the soul beast, picked up the distinct trace of a scent—a mix of sweat, dirt, and the faint unique musk of the Shishi spirit beast.
The scent cut through the noise and the smells of spices and burning oils.
Kazel's smirk widened.(This city... might just be entertaining after all.)
The scent trail was fresh—recent enough that Kazel didn't even need to rush. His strides were calm, confident, almost leisurely, as he weaved through the crowd like a wolf among sheep.
The Fang's streets weren't cleanly laid out. They twisted and forked like an unruly beast, with cramped alleys branching off the main roads, merchant stalls blocking half the paths, and beggars sprawled across corners. It was a maze meant to confuse outsiders.
But Kazel wasn't just anyone.
He turned into a narrow alley where the scent grew stronger. Shadows loomed overhead from the tall, uneven buildings. Children played with sticks in the dirt, a drunken man slumped against a wall muttering nonsense, but Kazel ignored them all.
Ahead—scurrying between two stalls—he spotted a flash of tattered cloth.
"There you are," Kazel muttered.
The boy was clever, darting through food stalls and knocking over baskets of fruit to create obstacles. Vendors shouted, curses flew, but Kazel's steps never quickened, never faltered. Every movement was efficient, predator-like.
The boy glanced back—and that was his mistake. He saw Kazel gaining ground without effort, saw the inevitability in the man's cold blue eyes. Panic filled him. He turned sharply into a side street.
Kazel watched him disappear, then took a different path. (Corner yourself.)
A few steps later, he emerged onto the boy's only escape route—a dead-end fenced by crumbling stone walls.
The boy skidded to a stop, staring in horror at the dead-end, then spun around to find Kazel already there, arms crossed casually.
"You've got spirit," Kazel said. "But spirit without strength is just a fancy way to die slower."
The boy's eyes widened. "P-Please, young master! I needed the money!"
Kazel walked forward, each step deliberate, until the boy crumpled to his knees and held out the stolen pouch with both trembling hands.
Kazel accepted it back without a word.
But then he crouched down to the boy's eye level. "Tell me, little thief. Who put you up to this?"
The boy's lips quivered. He hesitated.
Kazel's smile widened—but there was no warmth in it. Only the cold patience of someone willing to wait... or break.
"Hm?" Kazel frowned.
He crouched lower, inspecting the boy more carefully. Beneath the dirt-streaked skin, he saw it—bruises, red, blue, and black blooming along fragile limbs. Without a word, Kazel spun the boy around and tugged down the collar of his ragged shirt. His eyes sharpened.Dry blood, welts from a whip, and angry bruises marred the boy's back.
The child shivered under his gaze, his whole body trembling. His little feet crossed and lapped over each other—a pacifying motion, the instinctive behavior of someone used to fear.
Kazel spun him back to face him. The boy's eyes were glossy and red, close to tears.
"Do you have any friends?" Kazel asked quietly.
The boy shook his head.
"I take it someone would punish you if you didn't meet a certain quota," Kazel said.He added, "Don't answer. Blink once if yes, open your mouth if no."
The boy blinked.
( Rotten, ) Kazel thought. ( This place is rotten to its core. )
Kazel stood up slowly, looking down at the boy with a dark glint in his eyes."This town reeks of chaos," he muttered before smirking. "Tell me, boy, why steal? Why not do honest work?"
"My mother... she is gravely in debt, young master," the boy said, wiping his tears with the back of his hand.
Kazel tilted his head. "Have you not sought help from the powers here? There are six."
"I... I did," the boy stammered, voice cracking. "But they treated me like trash."
"Only one offered help," the boy continued, his voice growing smaller.
"And you are too afraid to say their name," Kazel said flatly. "Because if you speak, the punishment would be death—and your mother would grieve for you."
The boy nodded, biting his lower lip to stop himself from crying again.
"Tell me," Kazel said, his voice soft but cold, "how were you recruited?"
The boy sniffled. "One day... after I tried and tried to get help, a man cloaked in black came to me. He said he could offer me work... that it would help my mother."
Kazel narrowed his eyes. ( A debt—and they have the child pay it off? )The notion disgusted him. He looked again at the boy's frail body, his sunken cheeks, the way his ribs poked through the thin fabric.
"Where is your father?" Kazel asked.
The boy shook his head. "Gone, young master. I never even met him."
Kazel exhaled slowly, fighting down the simmering anger that rose within him. He reached out and placed a hand lightly atop the boy's head—not a caress, but a silent acknowledgment.
"For now," Kazel said, "I'm going to need that back. It's not worth much on the market, but it is valuable to me."
The boy nodded quickly, reaching into his tattered shirt and pulling out the bundle of Shishi fur. He offered it with both hands, eyes wide and reverent.
Kazel accepted it, tucking it safely back into his spatial ring.He stood there for a moment, watching the boy silently—his mind already spinning with plans.This land... it needed more than just punishment. It needed cleansing.
"Take care, kid," said Kazel casually before blending into the crowd.
The boy stood there, frozen, expecting punishment to come raining down at any moment.But it never came.He let out a shaky breath, some of the tightness in his chest easing.
Then—heavy footsteps.The sound alone struck him cold.He turned, and his heart dropped.
A burly figure loomed over him. A man, round as a cow yet built like a boulder—solid muscle packed under layers of fat. His head was bald, his thick arms rippling as he stepped closer.
"I... I..." the boy stammered.
The fat man sneered, making a mockery of his trembling."'I...I...I' what?" he barked, grabbing the boy by the collar and hoisting him up effortlessly."I saw what happened, brat. That was a young master, by his getup alone you could tell he was dripping with riches!" he snarled. "And what did you do? You failed."
"P-Please, sir... please, no more..." the boy whimpered.
The fat man slammed him against a dead-end wall with a sickening thud.
"Guha!"Blood splattered from the boy's lips as he crumpled weakly against the stone.
The fat man loomed over him, a cruel grin spreading across his face."How many times have you failed to meet your quota now, huh?" he sneered. "I wish you had the same fire as when we first bought you. Now you're just a waste."
The boy's blurry eyes widened."B-Bought...?" he croaked.
The fat man chuckled—a deep, rumbling sound that echoed against the alley walls."Oh? Heh, oops." He gave a mock shrug. "Not like it matters.You were sold, boy.Sold by your own mother!"
The words rang out and pierced the boy's heart, heavier than any blow.Disbelief.Betrayal.Despair.
The boy sagged against the wall, his soul as battered as his body.
The fat man tossed him to the ground like a piece of garbage.The boy barely caught himself, scraping his palms raw against the rough stone.
"You think anyone cares about you now, brat?" the fat man sneered, towering above him. "Better make yourself useful next time... or you'll be sold again. Piece by piece."
With a grunt, the fat man spat to the side and lumbered away, leaving the boy crumpled there—small, broken, and trembling.
The boy didn't move.The world around him blurred; the voices, the footsteps, the bustling noise of the market faded into a hollow ringing in his ears.
He clutched at his chest, his tiny fingers curling into the filthy cloth of his shirt.( Sold... )The word echoed again and again in his mind, each repetition a dagger twisting deeper.
His mother's smile—fake or real, he couldn't tell anymore—flashed before his eyes.All the nights he stayed awake, starving but hopeful that one day they would have enough.All the promises she whispered, saying everything would get better.
( Lies. )( Lies. )( Everything was a lie. )
Tears welled up, hot and bitter, but he didn't have the strength to sob.He bit his lip so hard it bled, trying to stop the whimper that threatened to escape his throat.
He was alone.He had always been alone.But somehow, now it hurt differently—like the ground beneath him had given way, and he was falling endlessly into darkness.
The boy curled into himself, knees to his chest, hiding his face as if the world itself had turned against him.The alley stank of piss and rot, but he couldn't move. He couldn't even care.
A cold wind whistled through the narrow path, lifting dust and debris around his small, trembling frame.The bruises on his body throbbed. The scrape on his palms burned.But none of it compared to the raw, gaping wound inside his heart.
For the first time in his short life, he wished he could simply disappear.
Kazel smirked, his voice light and mocking."What's this? A cow beating a child? I never thought this town had a circus."
The bulky man turned with a grunt, and his small eyes widened when he recognized Kazel—the same young master he had been eyeing earlier.
"Well, well, well, young master," the man said with a forced chuckle, his greasy face contorting into a grotesque grin.
"Not so well," Kazel replied, giving a casual shrug, "even if you said it thrice."
His eyes flicked to the boy curled up against the wall."So... the boy's mother sold him," Kazel said, voice almost absent-minded. "Poor kid."
"Heh, but he won't stay poor if you help him," the fat man said, rubbing his thumb and fingers together—the universal gesture for money. "With your spirit stones, of course."
Kazel chuckled under his breath."The mother sold him, his eyes have gone blank, far gone into the darkness. He hears nothing now, sees nothing."
He stepped forward. A ripple of killing intent laced the air.In a blink, Kazel summoned his halberd into existence—sleek, cold, and humming with restrained violence.
The fat man flinched, panicking, and hastily summoned his own weapon: a heavy, iron-bound club.It looked as crude as its wielder.
"You—Young master!" the fat man stammered, backing up a step. "You better not do anything rash! I have a huge backing!"
Kazel tilted his head, grinning sharply."You bought his service with coin... But I—"
He gripped the halberd with both hands. His grin widened.
"—I will earn his undying loyalty!"
The fat man barely had time to widen his eyes before Kazel moved.A single, clean arc—fast and merciless—split through layers of fat, muscle, and bone.There was no scream, no desperate plea.Only a dull, wet thud as the two halves of the man's corpse collapsed to the ground.
The stench of blood quickly overpowered the alley's usual stink.
Kazel rested the butt of his halberd on the ground, casting his gaze down at the boy.The child's small body was trembling, his head lifting slightly.Wide, glassy eyes looked up at him.
"Still alive?" Kazel asked with a smirk.
"Y... Young master...?" the boy whispered, his voice weak and disbelieving—before his body finally gave in to exhaustion and he passed out.
Kazel chuckled quietly to himself, lifting the boy up with one hand as if cradling a fragile treasure.
Without sparing the corpse a second glance, Kazel disappeared into the crowd, the boy safe in his arms.