Chapter six : "slums"

Nevallis stepped out of the alley, his black eyes widening slowly, not out of fear, but sheer disbelief at what he was seeing. Before him unfolded scenes that seemed unreal, a place like a living nightmare that swallowed every shred of hope or light. The first thing that struck him was the smell—an overwhelming mixture of decay, waste, and burnt debris, with a strange, foul scent he couldn't identify. He felt nausea rising in his stomach and pinched his nose tightly, trying to block out the stench, but it was futile; the smell was everywhere, as if the air itself was tainted.

He began to move slowly, step by step, avoiding small pits filled with a viscous black liquid whose origin he didn't care to know. The ground beneath his feet was clayey, soaked with water, mixed with dark ash, as if the rain itself had conspired with this place to make walking a terrifying experience.

On either side of the path were houses, or rather, structures. Dilapidated shacks made of cardboard stained with mud, sometimes constructed from broken wooden planks nailed together with rusty nails. Some were covered with pieces of rotting fabric barely holding up against the wind. Windows were missing, and the doors were just slanted planks that barely kept the outside from seeing the inside.

And despite the misery that oozed from every corner, the people themselves were worse than he had imagined. He saw people walking slowly, their bodies so thin it was as if their bones refused to stay beneath their skin. Their faces were pale, their eyes sunken, reflecting a harsh emptiness, an emptiness that didn't belong to the realm of the living. They moved silently, as if life had abandoned them, leaving behind nothing but hollow shells.

The children were the cruelest part of the scene. Nearly naked, wearing ragged pieces of cloth barely covering them. Their faces were dirty, and their bodies so emaciated that seeing their ribs was a painful experience. They sat in corners or ran barefoot among the garbage, their large eyes filled with despair, watching everything in silence.

But the worst was what gathered in some corners. Piles of something shiny and black, resembling tar or industrial waste. Nevallis didn't know what those piles were, and he didn't want to know. The smell coming from them was particularly foul, almost like ancient decay mixed with chemicals.

One scene caught his attention particularly. An old woman sitting on the doorstep of a dilapidated shack, holding a piece of moldy bread and eating it slowly. Her face reflected the exhaustion of decades, and her white hair was tangled like a neglected spider's web. Behind her, a small child barely able to stand, holding onto her skinny leg as if she were his only pillar in this destroyed world.

Nevallis realized, upon seeing these scenes, that he was in the "slums"

His steps continued, his eyes flicking between these horrifying scenes. "This is the lowest layer of the kingdom..." he thought to himself, remembering the nobles' words, often said with contempt, about the people of the poor district. But he couldn't help wondering: how could people live in a place like this?

......

Nevallis couldn't hide his disgust at the scenes surrounding him. He was trying with all his might to control his facial expressions, but he failed. Hatred mixed with disdain was evident in his gaze, as if the very place was attacking him and threatening his aristocratic nature. His disgust wasn't only about the foul smell or the extreme poverty before him, but also his own perception of these people.

He had spent twelve years surrounded by nobles who considered themselves superior to everyone. They despised all other classes, describing them as nothing but parasites on society, unworthy of even the nobles' pity. And although Nevallis didn't feel a true connection to these nobles, their upbringing and culture had left a mark on him.

"Just failures..." Nevallis thought, watching a thin man sitting beside a pile of garbage, greedily eating something unknown, as if he hadn't seen food for days.

Deep down, Nevallis saw these people only as victims of their own failures. "Even those born here couldn't escape this hell? They couldn't do anything to change their fate?" This was the thought that took root in his mind. In his eyes, they were merely miserable, a burden to society offering nothing but pain.

But with all these thoughts, he couldn't deny the strange feeling slowly creeping inside him. Perhaps this place wasn't horrific in itself, but rather a reflection of the corruption that thrived in the kingdom—corruption that allowed such layers to exist without any genuine attempt to improve their lives.

Nevallis continued walking steadily through the poor district, trying to pretend he was one of them, but he soon realized that his attempt was in vain. Despite wearing an old, faded robe, it was still luxurious compared to what these people wore. And his personal appearance, even with his black hair and dark eyes, still drew attention. His beauty and aristocratic features stood out like a beacon in a sea of misery.

The eyes began to follow him. People weren't speaking, but their stares were on him like a hunter watching his prey. He felt their gazes tearing through the mask he was trying to wear, as if they knew he didn't belong here.

He muttered under his breath, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, trying to hide his face. "I need to get out of this garbage dump quickly."

He began to quicken his pace, avoiding crowded paths and places where people gathered. He knew that staying here too long could bring trouble, especially since he had no idea about the laws governing these districts or the nature of its inhabitants.

The more he moved away from the heart of the slums, the less dense the air became, and the stench slowly began to fade. But even as he approached the edges, Nevales could not ignore the feeling that he had, the vast difference between his past life and what he saw here.

With each step away, Nevalius would leave behind a world full of misery and despair, but he knew this place would not simply vanish from memory. He was his first real experience of the cruelty of life outside the confines of luxurious palaces.