The Heavens Chose Me; They Are Looking Down on Me

In the silence of the darkness, Rupert's groaning could be heard. He had blacked out after being surprise attacked, but how long had he been unconscious? He couldn't know. Slowly, he opened his eyes, his eyelids heavy, resisting as if they had been glued to his lower lids. The area inside his skull, the nerves and muscles attached to his eyeballs, ached. He could feel his optic nerves tingling, as if starved ants were chewing on them. It felt like he had just woken up from an afternoon nap—napping in a hot sauna while suffering from a nasty cold, drenched in warm, uncomfortable sweat.

Upon opening his eyes, he was met with the darkness surrounding him. Pitch-black darkness. He blinked twice before finally starting to absorb the almost non-existent light bouncing and reflecting on the surfaces of the room.

"Aah...water, I'm thirsty and hungry..." he groaned. "Eh...?"

He assessed the layout of the room. He realized he was tied to a pillar. There were four pillars in the room, seemingly arranged in a square, evenly spaced from each other and the wall. Rupert looked around. To his right was a wall just a step away, to his left a pillar four steps away. The same went for the pillar in front of him. Diagonal to him was another pillar, and beyond that pillar, a stone staircase led to a floor above. The thickness of the pillars was comparable to a mature birch tree trunk.

Rupert felt the pillar with his arms tied around it. There was no way to break free; the rope was knotted so tightly it wouldn't budge.

"No way, no way, no way, no way. I can't believe I'm still alive. I can't believe it. Thank God, the heavens, and every divine entity watching over me, for letting me stay alive. I can't believe I'm still here, breathing. I was so sure I would be killed off by them. My death was inevitable..." He paused, then the realization hit him, one after another. "I didn't deserve to be saved. It's only natural for the weak to be killed by the strong, the simpletons by the intelligent. Yet, I was spared. It's against the laws of nature for the weak to survive against the strong. I'm pissed off. They pitied me for getting tricked. They looked down on me, indifferent to whether I lived or died. My life mattered so little to them, they probably viewed me as lower than a weak creature—so low they'd ignore the laws of nature, the laws of the world, of any world."

Although Rupert was grateful to still be alive after making such a huge, life-threatening mistake, he felt infuriated at the same time. In this world, or any world for that matter, those with power have the authority to rule and decide the fate of the weak. Power, whether through position, status, money, or gifted abilities, allows them to trample over the weak. They rise higher with each step, while the weak can only struggle to crawl out of the way, hoping they won't be crushed by the destructive forces that could ruin their lives.

In this case, the group that lured Rupert to the corner of the town and ambushed him, causing him to black out, had the power to decide his fate. They literally had his life in their hands. The natural outcome would have been to silence him by ending his life and burying him underground. This way, no one would raise an eyebrow, and he would just be filed as missing.

But there exist abilities that are unconventional for thieves and murderers—abilities that can track others. Though these abilities don't enhance the wielder or make them a powerful mage, they can be used in professions like detective work and guarding. They are crucial for maintaining law and order in these corners of the world.

Lawres, realizing this, decided that leaving Rupert alive, tied to a pillar, was the best choice. If he were found alive, which would eventually happen—perhaps by a homeless person looking for a place to sleep—the only real crime committed would be theft. This would make their case a lower priority. Filing a report on theft without proof of the stolen money would only slow down any investigation, if there were even one. But if Rupert were found dead, it would immediately become a high priority, making its way onto the town's murder board. Residents would make a ruckus, forcing the investigation to become urgent, and a detective would likely be on their tail much faster.

Lawres didn't care if Rupert died while restrained, but at least leaving him alive would buy them time to decide their next move.

Rupert tried calling for help, shouting out with his life on the line, his screams desperately reaching for someone, anyone. But after a few dozen shouts, his throat grew sore, and he could taste blood on his tongue. His throat was bleeding. He realized shouting wasn't going to help; it would only make him thirstier and could seriously injure his throat. He chose to abandon this strategy, as it seemed like no one—no matter how loud he shouted—could hear him. It was expected. Why would they tie him up in a place where people could hear him? Why wouldn't they imprison him in an isolated area, far away from anyone?

Rupert realized shouting wouldn't free him from this place. He felt depressed, sitting alone in silence for what seemed like a long time. He wanted to cry. He really felt like crying. But he knew tears wouldn't help either. He felt a deep sense of hopelessness, drowning in a sea of emotions. His mind was like a turbulent sea, the sky furious like a raging dragon. The waves humongous, the force so strong, that even the most experienced sailors would be taken down by them. And here Rupert was, riding this ocean in a wooden raft. How could he expect not to be overwhelmed by the waves? How could experience, hope, or mental strength help him in this situation? Only hard, objective reality could save him now. His fate was out of his hands. He closed his eyes, retreating into his mind.

Rupert had realized it already—the money pouch had been stolen from him, evident by the lack of the bulge it had caused in his pants. One large gold coin was equal in value to a thousand gold coins. Knowing this, Rupert realized his whopping ten thousand and four hundred gold coins had been stolen from him.

"Mr. Han, I'm sorry, but I don't care about you or the money right now. Right now, I just want to break free from these ropes. My life is more important than your money, my life is more important than anything in this world. I can pay you back later, but I won't get a second chance at life. You can be mad at me all you want later, but right now... right now... right now... I just... need to piss..." He sighed with relief after relieving himself. How embarrassing, how shameless. I don't want to be seen right now.

Rupert hadn't urinated in a long time—probably over a day by now. It was natural for him to lose control over his bladder after holding it in for so long. Thankfully, he hadn't eaten anything since his last bathroom break, when he returned home to store his equipment. Otherwise, the room would likely have smelled foul by now—perhaps even more so than his own sweat— and he would've died from the smell before starvation.

Time passed. Rupert, unsure how long he had been there, began to feel drowsy and slowly drifted to sleep. How could he fall asleep in this position? How could he be so relaxed at this time? Not only that, but it seemed like this was the best sleep he'd had in a while. He fell into a deep slumber, so deep that it felt like he would never wake up from the dream. His heart rate slowed, his muscles relaxed. Sitting down, leaning against the pillar, his head bent forward, chin resting on his collarbone—Rupert was asleep, dreaming sweet dreams.

Tired from the recent events, Rupert fell into a deep sleep.