“Oi, kid,” a voice called out. Karl turned to see a dark-skinned man with a pale, greenish hue to his complexion. He looked sickly—or at least his coloring did. Karl recoiled slightly in disgust.

The man was dressed in a dust-stained, side-buttoned coat, black trousers, and wore several green beads around his neck. He leaned forward. “Lad, what bring you here?” he asked, speaking in a language that seemed like a mix of Canese and Maw tongue. Despite never having formally learned the language, Karl instinctively understood it.

Horn tongue! The realization struck him as if he were recalling forgotten knowledge. He frowned, staring coldly at the man who had triggered this memory. Karl disliked surprises, and this was certainly one. Fixing the man with a hard stare, he replied, “I came to buy something.”

“Alright then,” the man said, rubbing his fingers together. “Well, don’t I have something for you? This is good for skin.” He pulled out a round crystal stone. At first glance, it appeared to be glass, but upon closer inspection, it revealed a liquid inside that seemed to ripple and pulse. “Special, huh? Makes you stronger, good for skin, and makes you look good for fair bitches.”

“Bitches?” Karl asked skeptically, unconvinced by the obvious sales pitch. Even if it wasn’t fake, he had no reason to spend money on something he didn’t need. Why would I?

“Fair Bitches?” The man looked confused for a moment. He touched his neck beads and glanced around before pointing at a woman entering the pathways. “Fair bitches!”

So “fair bitches” means women, Karl thought, not particularly concerned with the man’s use of language and racism. What could he expect from an empire that prided itself on enslaving other races? He waved the man off dismissively and, without waiting for anything further, strolled into the market pathways.

Suddenly, the noise faded in, assaulting his heightened senses. He could hear haggling from three pathways over—the voices of men, women, and even beastmen all melding together into an overwhelming cacophony that drowned out any distinct sound. It was disorienting. He struggled to stay focused, staggering bit by bit through the uneven pathways. Rocks and bumps were enough to trip a man, and Karl seemed almost drunk as everything spun in a dizzying blur. Just as he lost his balance and started to fall, a hand reached out, grabbing his shoulder and steadying him.

Gritting his teeth, Karl regained some control amidst the chaos. He looked up to see who had helped him: a beastwoman, dressed in rags, her skin dirtied and bruised. The dark, deep marks on her face were clearly the result of abuse, likely by a human.

“How are you, sir?” the woman asked, quickly releasing his shoulder, her eyes cast downward. Beastmen weren’t allowed to look humans in the eye. For a moment, Karl was taken aback by her lowered gaze before remembering he was now human. He gazed at her for a while, causing her to visibly tense, her hands gripping the hem of her tattered dress. Karl took out ten ment coins, crouched down, and gently took hold of her hands.

She froze, likely confused as to why a human would touch her. Karl placed the coins in her palm and then closed her hand with his own. “These are yours,” he said. “Use them wisely until utopia comes.” He stood and walked deeper into the pathways.

The woman stood in silence, bewildered but strangely uplifted. She didn’t know what “utopia” meant, but the word… it made her feel happy. Why?

Karl spent the next hour wandering through the market, searching for any sign of Harrison or the Poison Fang gang. Eventually, he approached a cart selling cakes. He handed a few golden ment coins to the female merchant and purchased a fruit cake. The merchant had initially offered him a fried pork stick, but recalling how it was made, Karl found the thought repulsive. Perhaps he had adopted Tobias’ motto. The price for the cake was five ment coins.

As Karl ate rich in spice cake, his attention was drawn to a nearby cart. A beastwoman knelt beside it, a chain collar around her neck, fastened to the cart’s wheels. She held up a pole supporting an umbrella. Even from a distance, with carts blocking his view, Karl could see the blood-red lines on her body, patches of bruised skin, and the swollen parts of her face. This treatment was common for female beastmen in the city, often used and abused by men. She reminded him of the beastwoman he had given coins to earlier.

“Hey, you,” a man with a deep scar across his eye crouched beside her. He wore a plain white shirt stained with red and matching trousers, his grin malicious. “Why don’t you drop that pole and find something better?” he sneered. “A beast like you must want a good time.”

No one spoke up for the woman. The shop owner stared absently into the distance, acting as though nothing were happening, as though this were all perfectly normal.

Is he someone important? Karl wondered. Normally, task enforcers were little more than mindless brutes serving their lords and employers, never speaking so freely to anyone of real significance. This man had to have connections to the gang that controlled this market. That was the only explanation, as he was clearly neither a tycoon nor a noble.

The man dragged the beastwoman, causing the umbrella to topple over. The merchant hurriedly retrieved it, ensuring his goods weren’t spoiled by the dust.

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Karl watched the two disappear into an alleyway. After walking a short distance along the pathways, he sighed and muttered to himself, I suppose I do need some practice before killing Harrison. Maybe this is the way to get into the gang.

That’s what he told himself, but deep down, he knew he felt a sense of responsibility. Though not directly his fault, his actions had denied Astrid and the others the chance to prepare for the River of Souls. Maybe this was his repayment. Of course, he wouldn’t be doing this if he thought it would pose a significant danger to him. And besides, he had learned many things from Anette. Perhaps this was an opportunity to test his skills.

He followed the pair into the alleyway, feeling the weight of the sickle hidden inside his clothes.

____________

Inside the alleyway, gray walls closed in on either side, and dust rained down even here. The boorish enforcer slid his hand into the beastwoman’s skirt, trailing his fingers into private areas. “You know, I might give you a little something for your kids,” he grinned, grabbing her brown tail roughly. “I could fetch a nice sum for this tail.”

Whimpering, the beastwoman pleaded softly, “Please don’t.”

“Of course, I won’t, bitch!” he snarled, curling his fist and driving it into her. Her head snapped to the side with a muffled thud, adding another dark bruise to her already battered face. This was her new normal, but there had been a time when she was beautiful, desired by every male in her pack. Now, reduced to this, she endured daily abuse just to keep her children alive.

A figure stepped into the alleyway, holding an umbrella. He was just a kid, barely sixteen—about the same age as her ten-year-old daughter. What is he doing here? She thought.

Karl stood silently, watching. The only sounds were the faint murmurs from the market and the steady fall of red dust, like blood staining the alley. If the dust were slightly wet, it might seem as though a man had been killed, his blood used to paint the walls.

Am I really going to kill him? Karl asked himself. Although he had seen Anette kill countless people using his body, it had never felt real. He had been more of an observer than a participant. Did watching someone else murder mean he was capable of it? This was a grown man, and Karl was just a boy. At least by the body.

“Hey, kid, what’re you doing here?” the enforcer called, a grin spreading across his face. But it quickly froze as he took note of the boy’s clothing. As an enforcer, he’d seen enough noble outfits to recognize one. Is this boy a noble?

Without warning, the boy drew a small, crescent-shaped weapon with a long handle—a sickle. He looked directly at the enforcer, sending chills down the man’s spine. What the black? Who is this kid? He’d heard stories of nobles killing commoners for sport, but he had never believed them. Sure, they’d kill beastmen or other creatures, but fellow humans?

Before the enforcer could react further, the boy dashed toward him, tossing the umbrella aside. His movements were slow and predictable to a seasoned veteran. What’s this kid trying to do? Kill me? he thought, Is he foolish? To try to kill Me?

He released the beastwoman and drew a smooth-edged small dagger. Though smaller than the boy’s sickle, in his experienced hands, the fight seemed unfairly tilted in his favor. But he had no intention of killing the boy. If this kid was a noble, doing so would be suicide. The enforcer loved life too much to sail the River of Souls.

The two metals clashed with a sharp screech, their friction filling the air. The enforcer clenched his left fist, aiming a punch at the boy’s stomach. Surprisingly, the boy crouched swiftly, his smaller frame allowing him to dodge the blow. But in that position, the enforcer felt exposed—the boy could easily slash his legs. Sensing danger, he quickly backed up, swinging his dagger in a wide arc.

The boy used his hands to push himself backward, narrowly avoiding the strike. Now they stood a small distance apart—the boy crouched, the enforcer steady with his dagger.

Red dust swirled around them, painting everything in its crimson hue. The boy’s black hair, clothes, and skin were now flecked with red, giving him the appearance of someone bathed in blood. The enforcer felt a growing sense of unease. Normally, killers or nobles seeking the thrill of murder would smile in such situations. But this boy… his expression was flat, emotionless. What the black is going on?

The boy moved again, picking up his discarded umbrella with his left hand and charging forward. This again? The boy was too slow. The enforcer readied himself, preparing to knock the sickle aside. But then something struck his face, and his world spun.

What just happened? The enforcer blinked, disoriented, only to find the boy standing over him—umbrella in his left hand, sickle in his right. As his vision cleared, he saw blood dripping from the pointed tip of the umbrella. So that was his plan?

The enforcer gritted his teeth, trying to stand, but pain flared through his body. His legs and arms burned, writhing in agony. He looked down to see his legs stained with blood and red dust. He could still feel them, but every attempt to move brought searing pain.

His wrists were in a similar state, slashed and bleeding. Sweat dripped from his forehead as fear gnawed at him. If the city of Canen hadn’t eradicated their gu worm population, the scent of blood would have surely attracted some by now.

“Hey, kid, don’t you think this is enough?” he pleaded. “You’ve had your fun, right? Let me get to the sanitarium. You don’t want blood on your hands… you’re too young for this.” He tried to sound confident, hoping the boy didn’t have the stomach to finish the job. Even if he was a noble, killing indiscriminately was illegal under the Sovereign’s rule, though the law was often ignored by the truly powerful. Surely this boy wasn't some descendent of the great nobles of the 12 high lords, right?

The boy, seemingly unmoved, parted his lips and said, “This should be enough for practice.”

“What?” the enforcer blurted out. “I’m part of a powerful gang! Kill me, and you’ll be in serious trouble. It doesn’t matter if you’re a noble or not—your entire family will feel the wrath of the Poison Fang!” He was babbling now, knowing he was just a low-level thug, expendable to the gang. But still, being affiliated with the gang gave him some leverage. He used its name for intimidation whenever he could.

“A powerful gang?” the boy paused. “What gang is that?”

He stopped? The enforcer’s heart lifted. He’s scared! I’ve got him. “It’s... it’s the Poison Fang gang!” The enforcer tried to stave off the pain, knowing that the more confident he sounded, the more the boy would buy into the threat. No way in hell I’m dying here!

“The Poison Fang gang…” the boy repeated softly, mumbling something to himself. It’s working! By the gods, I’m gonna live! the thug rejoiced.

“Is there anything your gang is planning in the next few days?"