Several seconds into the transformation, the lightning armor that coated her entire body vanished without a trace. “Huff…! It’s unfortunate that the consumption of source energy for coating all my body is too large, especially when I’m only a Tier-1 evoker.”
Truly. The only way to maximize your potential as a source user was to become both an enhancer and an evoker. Without the extraordinary endurance of that of an enhancer, the body wouldn’t be able to withstand the immense power of the source element. Conversely, without the supply of source energy from the source heart, an enhancer wouldn’t be able to manifest such extraordinary ability. It was the harmonious union of these two that made this possible.
“Still, it’s a very cool ability!”
If used right, it would make the user invincible in a war. And if that wasn’t enough, I, who mastered all basic source elements, would be like an Avatar— No, even stronger than that!
Realizing that I was getting a bit carried away, I cleared my throat to regain composure. “Anywho, the carapaces of the crustacrawlers are worth some money, and they won’t make their way to the outpost on their own. Besides, the sun is about to set. How about we get back?”
The night in the interval zone would be many times more dangerous than the day; I didn’t want to spend any more minutes staying here. Additionally, the looming possibility of the red fog's reappearance only added to the peril.
Hearing my reasoning, Tuilë agreed to my notion and we both returned to the previous pack of crustacrawlers we killed to bring some of the good quality carapaces back with us. The problem was, each weighed a lot… like tens of kilograms at least, so we couldn’t carry much, but it was better than nothing at all.
***
A Certain Scavenger’s Perspective
Renn didn't think his scavenging days would be cut short, as it had been his glimmer of hope to find something truly valuable. Well, it wouldn’t be enough to make him quit, but what he just found could last him for weeks or even months to come.
Before him were crustacrawlers corpses lying on the ground — half with seemingly broken carapaces that were bashed by some kind of hard object. As he scuttled through the corpses-filled road, he inspected them, finding that these corpses had their source crystals taken.
“Hunters, sque,” he muttered, his wiry frame blending seamlessly with the shadows.
It had been years since Renn had spent his days as a scavenger, venturing into the world beyond the outpost and deep into the red fog in search of anything valuable or useful. He might not be talented enough to be a source user, but through a miracle power that was bestowed upon him since he was brought into this world, he was able to scrap for a living in this harsh world.
Only through years of experience could he tell that whatever had killed these mutated monsters was likely to be people.
And yet, this exact scene made him scratch his snout. Hunters were known for their resourcefulness and wouldn’t leave anything behind, not even a trace of their prey. Every part of the hunted creatures would be utilized, from their hides to their bones, and even their poisonous meat. They would go to great lengths to sell or trade everything they could, aiming to maximize their gains in every possible way. The fact it was the other way around this time left him wondering about their true motives.
Born into poverty and abandonment, Renn was also the same as them. So even if these corpses were someone else’s, he would snatch them under their nose if he got the chance.
With a small bent dagger tied to the tattered clothes of his waist, he sliced open the hard shell of a crustacrawler. His movements were quick and agile, thanks to the many years of experience butchering mutated creatures for food. His dark, sunken eyes darted from side to side, always vigilant, as if searching for any sign of danger.
Renn’s hands were his most valuable tools in this unforgiving world. Even though they had grown calloused and bore the stains of grime and dirt, they had helped him nimbly rummage through the rubble, picking locks, and finding hidden wealth amidst the ruins.
Done with dismantling, he gathered up a whole corpse’s worth of carapace and tied it to his back with a glowing vine he found nearby. Despite his small stature, he carried it without any signs of falling. In truth, he would have taken more if he had the strength, but one had to know the limit of what they could chew to survive long as a scavenger. He knew that the most dangerous phase of this was the journey of getting back into the outpost.
***
“Sque! That Old Thief is only willing to exchange half a source crystal for that carapace!” complained Renn as he looked at a lowest quality First Order source crystal that had been cut in half.
Behind him was a recycling store where scavengers were lining up to trade in their loot. Beneath the rolling door, a vintage electronic scale lay, notorious for its inconsistent measurements, while beside it stood a weathered sign proclaiming, “Equitable Prices, Equitable Exchange.”
The “Old Thief” Renn mentioned earlier was a shrewd merchant that would take extra length to squish and cheat every scavenger that wasn’t a source user of their loots. But it wasn’t like they had much of a choice…
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Merchants in the Eastern Outpost were afraid of him because he employed a group of strong source users, whose services were paid from the hard-earned money that the scavengers painstakingly gathered. There had been instances when daring merchants attempted to rival his operations, only to vanish overnight without a trace, their whereabouts remaining a mystery to this day.
The only way to break this cycle was to become a source user yourself, enabling direct sales to other merchants. Or take extra length to go to town or other outposts in search of potential buyers.
Renn scratched the faint crisscross scar on his cheek as he thought deeply. There was nothing more mighty than true power in this world, but he didn’t want to give up and join a group of freaks that was the Cult.
Better check those corpses again, sque. The longer he complained, the more likely that someone else would come and snatch the free meal that he had found.
As he walked in a steady gait across the harsh terrain back to the parking lot where the corpses were, an idea sprung inside his head: As opposed to doing such a meager task with low return, why didn’t he follow where the hunters killed these creatures?
After all, the dots finally connected inside his tiny, angular head. These hunters weren’t hunting for the sake of hunting, but they were looking for treasure. At least no better explanation would fit better from what he’d come up with.
Thus, he followed the traces these hunters had left behind, from one group of miserably squashed crustacrawlers to another. In the end, it brought him back to the outpost where he saw two people carrying the same crustacrawlers carapaces he just sold — one of them even had a massive wrench on her back.
He knew that both of them were strong source users. To be able to kill that many packs of crustacrawlers was way more than enough to prove it without using words.
Renn’s hairy tufts twitched; the furless ape that appeared to be the leader among the two was carrying a gun. Not many people knew of the existence of guns, or at least they did not know how much they were worth and how potent they were. However, almost no one, except for some merchants, would recognize it better than him.
That Old Thief — Tarlak was his name — possessed a collection of firearms from a bygone era. Among his arsenal were a bulky steam gun and several black powder firearms. And the one carried by this man looked a bit different and more advanced, indicating that it was probably a relic of the past civilization. A coveted treasure that held immense value, exactly something that he was hoping to find in his scavenging endeavors.
It was worth noting that, on a very rare occasion, a new group of refugees would possess firearms. Rarer still was to find a functional gun hidden within the ruins of the city. Most of the firearms discovered were broken and beyond repair, reduced to nothing more than scrap metal. Even those that managed to retain some functionality had deteriorated to the point where their usefulness was questionable at best and doomed to deteriorate further because the know-how to fix them wasn’t something this place had.
Renn gulped down a mouthful of saliva and inched closer toward them to get a better look. He wasn’t scared that these two powerful source users would find him. His miracle power could mask him even from the most ferocious of monsters, as long as he wasn’t moving too obviously and wasn’t close enough to them.
“That Old Thief may not be the most trustworthy fellow, but this is my only chance. Sque.” He scrutinized his eyes.
There was strength in numbers. He understood he alone could not accomplish this and banding a group of miscellaneous scavengers wouldn’t do much good either. He required professionals to do this deed with him.
Renn had braved the red fog for years, teetering on the knife’s edge between life and death. Even when the odds were stacked against him, he always persisted.
Driven by greed, he was about to do something immoral. Naturally, he wouldn’t resort to killing, if possible, but stealing from another scavenger was a common occurrence in this place.
With that in mind, Renn moved through the outpost, his presence went largely unnoticed by the pedestrians. He blended quietly into the backdrop of faded hopes and shattered dreams, a silent observer of a world long forgotten.
***
Maxim’s Perspective
After selling all the carapaces to a merchant for two source crystals, I learned about one intriguing piece of information: The merchants here apparently were unwilling to trade with the items scavenged by the scavengers, and the only place they should trade was a recycling store near the gate facing the red fog. Well, unless you were a source user.
It was strange.
The stark contrast in treatment was impossible to ignore and it left me intrigued about the hidden machinations at play. Curiosity tempted me to inquire further, but I swiftly dismissed the idea because I didn’t want to put my nose on something that would only add to my already burdensome mission. It was wiser to focus on the task at hand and not entangle myself in potentially troublesome affairs.
As the sun cast its warm orange glow at me, I turned my field of view upward. “The sun’s about to set… Shall we make our way back to the airship?”
“Mm, I suppose so—”
“Just stay here for today,” Lunaria quickly interjected.
“Huh? Why is that?” I asked, confused by her unreasonable demand.
“What’s this, what’s this?” Tuilë made a whimsical smile. “Lunaria, is there something on your agend—”
She repeated, “I said, ‘Just stay here for today.’”
“Ey, you cut my line again!”
Why is Lunaria so adamant that I stayed here for the night?
That was so unnatural of her always sensible self. Nonetheless, I didn’t bother to argue with her because I was curious about what kind of accommodation this place offered.
“Yeesh, fine. Then, Ms. Just-Stay-Here-For-Today, what do you propose we do instead of heading back to the airship?”
“Find a lodging,” said Lunaria with a hint of sarcasm in her voice as if to tell me that this was all in hindsight.
I let out a long sigh. “Tuilë, any chance we can find a place to stay around here?”
“Mm-hmm.” She nodded, raising two fingers. “There are two options as far as I know: either rent a run-down shack or stay overnight at an inn.”
“A shack? Seriously?”
“Yup! Scavengers and hunters alike often tend to stick around the Eastern Outpost for a prolonged period of time, accumulating all sorts of odds and ends. As such, they need a more permanent spot to stash their junks…” She paused for a moment and corrected, “Well, scratch that. There are actually three options, with camping outside as the last resort.” Tuilë, someone’s trash may be someone else’s treasure, you know…
“Forget it. We’re not gonna stay here for that long, and neither do I want to stay in the cold. So that leave the second option for us.”
“Suure, but I don’t know where the inn is at.” Tuilë scratched her temple.
“Welp,” I shrugged and said, “if you are shy of asking questions, you will get lost in your way.”
Accordingly, we approached a passerby to inquire about the inn and ultimately got our most needed answer.