Since ancient times, humanity had always been divided by hierarchy—
those who ruled, those who served, and those who were ruled.
It was an inevitable order of power.
Heh. Absolutely so.
Yang bit into the cold, hardened bun and chewed without expression. It was made of coarse grains, rough on the throat and difficult to swallow, but it was still better than nothing.
Without hesitation, he finished one quickly and carefully tucked the other away for later. Even feeling a little smug as he watched the greedy gazes around him withdraw one by one.
Hmph. He would never make the same mistake twice!
Whenever Yang recalled his foolish act of throwing food away yesterday, only to starve the entire day, he wanted to smash some sense into his waterlogged brain.
This was his blood and sweat!
Idiot.
Wasn't having a full stomach better than acting picky? At a time like this, when everyone around him was ready to pounce on the slightest scrap of food, he had actually thrown it away?
Yang could only sigh inwardly, shaking his head.
He dusted off his old, ragged clothes twice while gripping his precious rusted iron axe as he vigilantly followed the large crowd ahead.
His pale eyes swept coldly over the prying eyes around him, deterring them—at least a little.
Then as he looked at the desolate expanse ahead, Yang felt an even deeper desolation settle into his heart.
The once-bustling roads lay in ruin, choked with debris and silence. Abandoned vehicles were piled haphazardly at the corners. Buildings leaned at crooked angles, their windows shattered.
Every corner reeked of death and abandonment—burnt storefronts, collapsed homes, walls blackened by fire and time.
Yang lifted his head and stared at the clear yet lifeless sky. He was going crazy!
As the ordinary son of the Holy Guardian, the kingdom's strongest knight, Yang had always lived a life of luxury, arrogance, and bliss.
Even though he had been declared to possess no magic affinity, no one dared to look down on him.
Why? Because he had a powerful father!
Everything he ever wanted had been placed at his fingertips. Yang might lack mana, but he had never lacked flattery.
Tsk.
After all, his father was the greatest. Who would dare treat him poorly?
Lost in past glory, Yang suddenly felt his ears ring as his body shuddered violently. A sharp, frigid wind slashed against his skin.
With his current thin body, if he wasn't careful, he might actually be blown away.
Sighed.
"Everyone crouch down! Cover your head! Don't open your eyes—it's a wind shear!"
At this moment, a rough voice shouted urgently from the front of the group.
Yang reacted instinctively. Along with the others, he crouched down, shut his eyes tightly, lowered his head, and shielded it with his arms.
He grimaced.
Even the heavens must have been jealous of his comfortable life, throwing him into this godforsaken era just to reform him.
Yang felt the violent wind scraped against his exposed skin, the cold quickly numbing the pain. Faint whispers echoed around him, coaxing and tempting him to open his eyes.
Yang gritted his teeth and endured. No. He couldn't.
Wind Shear.
To be honest, he had only ever read about it in books or heard of it during academy lectures.
According to the tomes of Arcana, Wind Shear was the most common form of attack used by souls. Though considered mild, it was still dangerous. They usually lasted no longer than ten minutes.
In his nineteen years of life, Yang had never encountered one. Yet—he had only been here for a day and a half!
He could only pray silently for it to end.
Gradually, the wind weakened and the whispers faded into nothingness.
It should be fine now…
Yang cautiously opened one eye, let out a breath of relief, and sank down onto the ground. His legs were slightly numb from crouching too long.
He began checking his small bundle which contain only a few clothes and some food, when something caught the corner of his vision.
A wisp of black air.
His movement froze almost immediately. Wait...Black mist?
Yang's fingers trembled imperceptibly as his head turned stiffly toward it.
The black mist lingered in the air, coiling faintly around a thin, small figure standing not far away.
An older woman, presumably the girl's mother, was kneeling in front of the child, carefully checking her over. She cupped her daughter's face, searching for even the smallest injury.
"Baby, are you feeling uncomfortable anywhere?" she asked softly. "Tell me, did you close your eyes and stay low like Mama told you?"
Upon hearing the question, the little girl fidgeted, her gaze darting away.
"…I did," she murmured.
After seeing her daughter's reaction, almost instinctively, the color drained from the woman's face. She swallowed and tightened her grip, her voice trembling as she pressed on.
"Bubu, did you really listen to Mama?" she asked, almost pleading. "You didn't open your eyes, right? Not even once?"
"Tell me the truth… you did what I said, didn't you?"
Probably startled by her mother's intense gaze, the little girl flinched and nodded quickly.
"Yes! Bubu was obedient!"
The woman's eyes flickered, deep in thought.
Yang couldn't tell whether the woman believed her or not but he absolutely do not believe that bullshit.
Tell that to the shadow hovering around the little girl!
But still, he didn't shout it out like an idiot, inviting a beating.
These people clearly trusted the woman; she was already reassuring others nearby that everything was fine.
He couldn't just say, This child is already infected by a soul. There's no hope left. If you want to stay alive, you should kill her now.
Unless—
Unless someone could cast a Healing Rune.
Which, at this point, was next to impossible.
Yang quickly shoved everything he could into his little bundle, crying inwardly.
He didn't want to be beaten. He wanted to survive.