Azren dragged his feet across the dark soil, each step heavier than the last. His breathing was shallow, his eyelids half closed.
"I'm so tired…" he whispered weakly, rubbing his eyes as he looked around.
'Where can I find them…' he wondered, scanning his surroundings.
The houses were still made of steel plates, patched together with ropes and rusted nails. But here, things looked slightly better. Some homes had a second floor, though crooked. Others were patched cleanly, with stronger plates that didn't rattle with the wind. People sat around small campfires cooking thin fish, mostly bones, barely any meat, yet they cooked them with an expression of pride.
"This place looks good… people here must be rich… I wonder why Mr Moltur sent me here…"
He looked up and saw the sky slowly shifting to orange, another evening creeping near.
"I think I should ask people around here for their location…" he muttered and turned around.
But after only a few steps—
Bump!
Azren hit something solid and fell back, the bag dropping from his hand.
"I-I'm sorry!" he blurted out and looked up.
Three men stood there. None of them wore anything on the upper half of their body. Their skin was covered in dirt and old scars, while their pants were torn and stained. Their expressions were hard, unpleasant, and the way they looked at him made his chest tighten.
"The hell's wrong with this little fucker," the man Azren bumped into growled.
Another man bent down and grabbed the fallen bag.
"What is this?"
"That's mine!" Azren said weakly, pushing himself up.
The man opened the bag and grinned.
"Oh, Gerato! Look, this brat's carrying some good stuff."
Gerato leaned in, his grin widening.
"Damn, you're right."
The third one came over and smirked.
"Looks like we're eating tonight."
Azren staggered forward, his voice shaky and tired.
"No… that belongs to me… you shouldn't take it…"
One of the men glared at him, eyes burning with anger.
"The fuck you saying, you little son of a bitch!"
He raised his hand, aiming straight for Azren's face.
Azren's eyes widened tiredly, unable to even lift his arms—
But then.
A hand stopped it mid-air.
Azren blinked and looked beside him.
A tall man stood there.
Red hair falling over the side of his face.
Red eyes sharp and serous.
Old rusty clothes clinging to his scarred upper body.
His expression was cold… frozen like winter stone.
"Huh? The hell's your problem?" the man who tried to hit Azren barked.
The red haired man didn't answer.
He just moved.
His other hand clenched into a fist, and he launched a punch.
The target dodged it quickly, but as he moved, the red haired man's elbow shot up like a hammer.
DUNG!
It smashed into the back of his head hardly.
The man dropped instantly, passing out on the dirt.
The remaining two froze, shock twisting their faces.
One snapped out of it and pulled out a knife, then ran forward with a wild scream.
"Dieeeeeeeeee!"
The red haired man didn't even flinch.
As the knife swung toward his ribs, he stepped aside, grabbed the attacker's wrist, and twisted it sharply.
The attacker screamed as the knife flew out of his hand.
Before the blade could fall—
CRACK!
The red haired man kicked it in midair.
The knife spun like a wheel—
and stabbed straight into the other man's leg.
"ARGHHHH!!"
The man collapsed, holding his bleeding leg.
The last man cursed and charged with his injured wrist, trying to tackle him, but the red haired man simply lowered his body, letting the man pass over him—
Then hooked his foot, sending him rolling across the dirt.
"Get lost from before i kill you all!!" he shouted, his voice echoing.
Terrified, the two conscious men scrambled up, dragging their unconscious friend as they ran away as fast as they could, not daring to look back.
Azren stood frozen, trembling slightly, not from fear, but exhaustion and shock.
The red haired man didn't look at him right away.
He simply stood there, silent… still…
Then the red haired man slowly turned his head back to Azren, his steps coming to a stop. He studied Azren's face for a moment before speaking in a calm voice.
"Are you alright?"
Azren froze. His shoulders tightened as he looked up at the man, and then, almost in a panic, he quickly bowed his head.
"Y-yes, thank you very much!"
The man let out a small breath and walked over to the dusty ground where Azren's bag had fallen from the man's hand. He picked it up with one hand, brushed off a bit of dirt, and then held it out toward him.
"You should be more careful, you know. You can't just leave your things lying around where anyone can grab them."
Azren reached out slowly and took the bag, holding it close. A faint smile appeared on his tired face.
"I'm sorry… I was feeling too tired and sleepy, so I held it in my hand so I wouldn't fall asleep. I thought if I focused on holding the bag, I'd stay awake. I didn't know people would try to steal it..."
The red haired man raised an eyebrow. His eyes lingered on Azren trying to figure him out.
"Oh? Hmm, interesting." He leaned slightly closer, studying him with more attention.
"You don't look like someone from around here. Are you from another village?"
Azren nodded lightly.
"Yes… I was sent here by someone to find someone named Fateli."
The man's eyes widened, just a bit, but enough to show his surprise.
"Fateli? You mean the holy leech Fateli?"
Azren blinked in confusion.
"I don't know about that, but the name is Fateli…"
A small smile formed on the man's lips, almost amused.
"Well then, boy… I found you at the perfect time."
Azren tilted his head, unsure what he meant.
"Huh… what do you mean?"
The man straightened his back and crossed his arms with a confident look.
"I was just on my way to her place to deliver some drugs. You can come with me if you want."
Azren's face brightened instantly, his tiredness forgotten for a moment.
"What! Really!"
The man nodded.
"Yes. And my name is Dezork Hati. What should I call you, boy?"
Azren held his bag close, a small but sincere smile on his face as he answered quietly.
"My name is… Azren Lumonging."