Chapter 9: Midnight Conversation

Bloodshot eyes shifted, catching a glimpse of the baby girl cradled in the beggar's arms. With a tone filled with disdain, it spoke, "Human, is she related to you?"

The question was unmistakably rhetorical.

The beggar did not respond. His cold, indifferent gaze remained fixed on the infant's face. But after a brief pause, he suddenly gathered the baby girl into his arms and began running.

Bloodshot eyes fell silent, its gaze still icy as it fixed on the beggar. After the beggar had dashed through three alleys, the chain attached to the sword hilt suddenly tightened, pulling the dagger entirely into the beggar's right arm, which was tightly bound by the chain, securing it.

...

It was now well past midnight. The entire city of Senag had transformed into a true "dead city." Darkness had enveloped everything, with no light to be found—only coldness and the white blanket of snow that covered all. Streets, houses, signs, carriages—everything blended seamlessly into this indifferent monochrome, no longer resisting its erosion.

However, beneath an archway, there was a small area encircled by tattered cloth. From this half-transparent, makeshift tent, an orange glow escaped, adding a burst of color to the otherwise black-and-white world.

Inside the simple tent, dried grass covered the floor, along with a blanket scavenged from a deceased beggar. The seams of the tent had been carefully sealed with newspaper, and a bit of paste could be found in the trash bin behind the civil affairs office.

In the corner of the tent stood a broken oil lamp. Its light flickered faintly, the oil producing a foul, black smoke. This was no surprise, as the oil had been scraped from a drain. Even this small amount of oil had been fought over by three beggars, only for the young beggar to slyly claim it as his own.

The infant was laid upon the dried grass, her complexion pale and sickly. The beggar pulled the nearby blanket aside and covered her with it. He then grabbed a kettle next to the grass pile, stepped out of the tent, and filled it halfway with water from the river.

...

Yet, the beggar stood motionless at the riverbank, still holding the half-filled kettle.

"Hey, human boy, what's wrong now?"

The voice of Bloodshot echoed in his mind, but as before, the beggar remained silent. He merely stared at the river before him, watching the rotting logs, the carcasses of wild dogs, the stinking mud, and the ink-like water. After a long pause, he turned his gaze to the pure white snowflakes descending from the sky...

"Whoosh."

The half-kettle of water was poured away. The beggar walked out from the archway, scraped snow off the ground with his hands to clean the kettle, and then walked back onto the bridge. He gently shook fresh snow from the rail, returned to the archway, and began to build a makeshift stove out of bricks beside the tent. He pulled out the dried grass from inside the tent and placed some wood to weigh the tent down, starting a fire.

The snow slowly melted into water, which then began to steam. The beggar coughed dryly, his throat sore and parched. His severe dehydration almost drove him mad as he gazed at the luxurious, steaming water. Yet, he held back, extending his hand to carefully retrieve the water.

The taste of the water... the fresh taste of water... This was not the filthy river water, but rather the precious liquid he had exchanged for the little oil left from the lantern and the wood to hold the tent down. Watching the steaming liquid, it seemed to beckon him, whispering softly in his ear—

"Come, drink. Look, how delicious and fragrant we are. Surely, you long to taste us?"

The beggar swallowed his dry saliva, his thirst unbearable. He bent down, leaning toward the water...

He blew on it.

Then, he returned to the tent, crawled under the blanket, and cradled the infant in his arms. He dipped a clean dry stalk in the water, bringing it to the baby's lips.

The warm liquid made the infant hastily open her mouth. She was starving and thirsty. The fever had drained much of her strength, and she urgently needed nourishment.

"Goo... ooo... wah...!"

The baby's cries made the beggar pause. Suddenly, he remembered something. He pulled out a half-frozen piece of bread from his chest. He looked at the bread, then at the baby, whose mouth was still moving. After a moment's hesitation, he bit off a piece of the bread, using his saliva to soften it into a mush, which he then fed to the baby.

A bite of mush, a sip of water. The infant was truly famished, gulping down the food eagerly. Soon, the entire half-kettle of water was consumed. But, fortunately, the baby seemed satisfied. Her little head drooped to the side, and she fell into a deep sleep. The beggar then undid the tattered clothes on his back, wrapped the infant and her swaddling tightly in his arms, and pulled the blanket over them. He sat against the wall of the archway, extinguishing the oil lamp.

Tonight, everything had finally turned black and white...

No! There was still one color that had not yet faded. Just as the warm orange glow disappeared, the color of blood emerged!

"Boy, we have some time now. We can finally start our conversation properly."

The beggar stretched his right hand out from the blanket. Through the chains, a faint glimpse of a black dagger was visible. And the blood-red pupil within the tent shone with a blinding light!

"First, I need to understand something. I think I know a little about your character, human boy. But before we officially introduce ourselves, I need you to answer me one question."

"..."

"Is this little girl related to you? If not, why haven't you thrown her away? Why are you taking care of her? Depending on your answer, I will decide whether to continue helping you or move on to the next awakener."

The bloodshot eyes widened, radiating an immense sense of intimidation. Before them, anyone who showed even the slightest hesitation would be completely devoured by that gaze.

"Because she's useful."

The beggar answered coolly, without a moment's hesitation.

"Useful?"

"She can be sold. Girls can be sold. Boys, no one wants."

The bloodshot eyes fixed on the beggar, and a deep silence followed.

After a brief moment, Bloodshot spoke first: "Hmm... Do you mean a brothel?"

The beggar nodded, succinctly.

"Ha... I see. Human boy, from your eyes, I can tell you're not lying. Good, I'm satisfied with this answer. Alright, now let's properly introduce ourselves. What's your name?"

"..."

The beggar stared at Bloodshot without responding.

Bloodshot scoffed, sounding dissatisfied: "Hey, what's your name?"

"..."

"...Boy, looks like you're really not cooperating."

"...I have no name."

The beggar replied coldly.

"No name? Ha, then what did your parents call you?"

"Idiot, bastard, son of a bitch, good-for-nothing."

"...And what did the people around you call you?"

"Thief, beggar, garbage, mold, dirty bastard, bad person."

A series of meaningless exchanges followed, until finally, Bloodshot stopped asking. The beggar fell silent as well. The red and black eyes resumed their intense staring contest, while the infant in the beggar's arms felt the warmth of being tightly held and gradually began to breathe steadily.

After a long while...

"Alright, boy, let's get to know some basic details. How old are you?"

"Ten."

"Good. What about your father?"

"Dead."

"Oh? How did he die?"

"Robbery. He was beaten to death by soldiers."

"Oh... interesting. Do you want revenge?"

"No."

"...Why not?"

"Couldn't survive, so he died."

"...What about your mother?"

"Dead."

"How did she die?"

"Couldn't agree on a price, killed by a client."

"Don't you want revenge?"

"Yes."

"How old were you when your parents died?"

"Father, five. Mother, six."

"In the next four years, who took care of you?"

"Myself."

The conversation came to another halt. Bloodshot and the beggar exchanged glances, not because of anything else, but because the exchange had been so brief and unremarkable. Bloodshot was almost surprised to find a child capable of holding his attention like this!

"Hey... I said, can you talk more? Answer everything I ask, don't be so brief!"

"..."

This time, the beggar didn't even respond.

"Fine, fine, I understand the basics. No father, no mother, not even a name. Your speech is as short as it gets. Oh, by the way, tell me, how did you come across me?"

The beggar was silent for a while. He lowered his head, looking at the infant in his arms. She was sleeping soundly, but the fever seemed to linger slightly. Seeing this, he gently pulled the blanket tighter around them.

"A man gave me you."

"Oh?" Bloodshot's interest piqued. "Did this man say what I'm called?"

"...Demon Sword, Dark Extinction."

"Ha, Dark Extinction? Demon Sword, Dark Extinction? Alright, not bad. From now on, I'll be called that."

The beggar stared at Bloodshot, his expression blank. Dark Extinction returned the gaze, scoffing: "What, you don't believe this is my name, do you?"

"...No."

"Heh, neither do I. But at this stage, I don't need to tell you my full name and origin. All you need to do is follow my commands, and in due time, I'll give you honors and wealth beyond anything you could ever imagine... By the way, what's the name of this continent?"

"...The Continent of Sorrow."