Deep hate

The tavern's warm atmosphere lingered even after the meal had ended. The plates were cleared. Ronan stood from his seat, wiping down the table with a rag, while Noira gathered the empty dishes, his movements practiced and efficient.

He made his way toward the passage behind the counter—a narrow hallway leading deeper into the inn and the kitchen. Bon and Kartia, still in awe of their surroundings, glanced at each other before their attention was drawn back by Ronan's voice.

"He's a great kid," Ronan mused, his gaze following Noira's back as he disappeared into the passage.

Bon and Kartia turned to him, now fully focused.

"That boy's got talent. I can't even imagine how sharp his mind is, but I've lost count of the times his brains have saved this business. He's truly something special," Ronan said, a strange melancholy slipping into his tone.

Bon sensed there was more behind the tavern keeper's words, but for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he chose not to press the matter.

Kartia, on the other hand, was less interested in Noira's past and more focused on what his intelligence could do for them. She beamed, clasping her hands together as an idea struck her.

"So, he can read maps, right?" she asked, her voice brimming with confidence as if she had already decided on the answer. To her, Ronan's praise practically confirmed it—Noira was their guide.

Bon immediately jumped in. "Oh yeah! If he's got a big brain like you say, Alehouse man, then that means we're set!"

Ronan chuckled at their enthusiasm. Their energy was infectious, and though he could already see where this was going, he humored them.

"I suppose he could, though I've never actually seen him do it myself," Ronan admitted with a shrug. "You see, I'm a merchant—I trust my nose more than anything."

"Bah! Nothing beats my instincts!" Kartia declared. She turned to Bon with a confident grin. "Bon, it's him! He's the one!"

Before Bon could respond, an irritated voice rang from the passageway behind the counter.

"Forget it."

The trio turned their heads in unison. Noira stepped into view, his sharp blue eyes carrying a clear message—he had heard everything. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, but there was an unmistakable firmness in his expression.

"Come on now, Noira," Ronan sighed. "Just read their map and give them a few pointers."

Bon and Kartia, sensing the moment to strike, put on their most convincing faces.

"Please, Noira!" they said in unison.

For a moment, Noira simply stared at them. His unreadable expression made it impossible to tell if he was considering their plea or simply enjoying watching them squirm. Then, after a long breath, he exhaled sharply.

"No."

His answer was final.

Bon and Kartia blinked.

"Why not?"

"Pooper."

Again, they spoke at the same time.

Noira sighed and leaned against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other. His eyes darkened slightly, the lantern light casting long shadows across his features.

"You two," he started, "are predators, right?"

"Yup," Bon answered without hesitation.

"You're on a quest to become the King of the Jungle—to climb higher than any predator before you, to reach the peak of the Great Jungle, where only one man in history has ever stood. That's your goal, isn't it?"

Bon's grin widened. "Pretty much."

Noira's gaze suddenly sharpened. The air in the room grew heavier, and for the first time since they met, the young man's aura carried something colder.

"Predators. Rangers. Scavengers," Noira muttered. "The three pillars of an endless war."

Bon frowned slightly. "What's your point?"

Noira's eyes glowed like ice under the dim lantern light.

"Predators," he began, his voice steady but filled with quiet venom. "They leave nothing but destruction in their wake. They care only about their names, their strength, their reputation. 'King of the Jungle this, peak of the jungle that'—it's all the same. They're just beasts who have no remorse. I hate them."

Bon's expression didn't waver, but Kartia shifted uncomfortably.

Noira continued.

"Rangers. The so-called 'protectors' of the Jungle. They vow to be a shield for the people, a spear against evil—but what happens to those on the outskirts, in places where the Jungle Governing Body has no jurisdiction?" His lips curled in disgust. "They turn a blind eye. They let people suffer."

Kartia's brows furrowed. "And the third group?"

Noira's jaw tightened.

"Scavengers," he spat. "The filth that preys on the weak. They don't challenge predators. They don't fight rangers. They steal from the ones who have the least to give. Pathetic."

Silence followed.

Then Bon spoke.

"So what?"

Noira's glare snapped back to him.

Bon met his gaze without flinching. "So what about it?" he repeated.

"You mean to tell me," Noira said, his voice low, "that you're oblivious to how this endless cycle destroys people?"

Bon tilted his head. "Maybe. I dunno."

Noira's hands clenched into fists.

Bon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His expression was calm, yet there was something wild in his eyes—something untamed, something immovable.

"I don't know everything about this world," Bon admitted. "Maybe I don't get what you're saying. Maybe I should care. But you know what?" His grin widened. "I can't stop chasing this dream of mine. My heart won't let me."

His voice carried weight, an unshakable conviction.

"These flames inside me? They're raging. They won't die down. And if that means setting the whole damn Jungle on fire just to reach the top, then so be it."

The room fell silent.

Kartia blinked.

"So… you're not gonna fight?" she asked, tilting her head.

Everyone turned to look at her.

She had cleared the entire space—tables and chairs had been pushed aside, making room for an obvious dueling area.

Ronan rubbed his temples. "Why would there be a fight?"

Kartia crossed her arms. "Well, Noira was glaring at Bon, and Bon was grinning like an idiot, and then there was all that tension, so I figured someone was about to throw a punch."

Ronan chuckled, but Noira just sighed in frustration.

"A dream, huh…" Noira muttered. He looked at Bon, his expression unreadable. "To think someone could leave a blood trail while chasing a dream…"

There was a flicker in Noira's cold blue eyes—something distant, something buried deep.

And then, Bon said something that made his eyes widen in shock.

Something that sparked a fire in him, whether he wanted it or not.