CHAPTER 62 – SCRAP TOWN

JOHNNY WOLVESBANE

I blinked against the muted light filtering into the room, shadows dancing on the walls. A faint creak echoed as I shifted, feeling the cold metal beneath me. Beneath my fingers, I touched coarse, stained sheets that wrapped around me, the cold sterility of a hospital bed unmistakable. A solitary gas lamp flickered, casting eerie glows and emphasizing the grimy corners of the room.

A voice, soft yet insistent, cut through the stillness. "You're finally awake," it said, tinged with a hint of curiosity. "You were trying to cross the border, weren't you?"

My gaze followed the voice, landing on a young woman bathed in the dim light. Her skin held a sun-kissed hue, contrasting against the cascade of vibrant orange hair that flowed down her back. She stood with an unassuming stature, neither slender nor heavy, exuding an aura of youthful confidence. Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of crimson, seemed to capture the sparse light, giving them an ethereal glow.

Confusion muddled my thoughts. "Where am I?" I managed to stammer.

The dragonoid woman gestured to the surroundings with a hint of sardonic amusement. "Welcome to Scrap Town. Humans often dub it the walled slums."

"Scrap Town?" I rubbed my temples, shaking my head. "How did I end up here?"

"You were lost," she replied matter-of-factly. "Wandering the wasteland for days. I found you lying in a dumpster, so I decided to nurse you back to health."

She turned and opened an ancient cabinet, retrieving a single green feather. Holding it up, she examined it closely before showing it to me. "You clung to this feather even in your unconscious state. Is it yours?"

"Y-Yes," I replied, taking the feather from her hands. As I moved to secure it on my trench coat, realization struck – my clothes were missing. I stood there, uncomfortably exposed, with only my briefs preserving a semblance of modesty.

The dragonoid woman's cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as she averted her gaze. "I noticed your clothes were stained and bloodied, so I thought to wash them."

"Thank you," I replied, glancing down at my shoulder wrapped in bandages. Sensation was absent where the bandages lay, though I felt a vague discomfort. "You treated this as well?"

She beamed, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Certainly did! While not life-threatening, it looked like a breeding ground for infection. So I have to sanitize it."

Confusion and suspicion clouded my features as I locked eyes with her. "I appreciate the help, but why intervene?"

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze dropping to the mark on my hand. "That mark," she murmured, "it signifies you're one of the world's chosen saviors, doesn't it?"

My gaze fixated on my right hand, marked with the emblem of Vesryn. The V-shaped tattoo, once vibrant, now resembled a scar or a mere symbol, devoid of the intense reddish hue it once possessed. The Dragon Lord Commandment, once at my disposal, no longer responded, and the mark remained inert.

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The haunting image of Maggie's demise played vividly in my mind, and the weight of failure settled heavily on my shoulders. "I..." I mumbled, a heavy sigh escaping me. "I am no longer a Dragon Lord. I am not the savior you seek."

The dragonoid woman's smile persisted, undeterred. "It doesn't matter if you're a savior or not. I find fulfillment in saving people my own way."

A scoff escaped me, a bitter response to her optimism. Despite the trauma from the recent battles, I found it hard to fathom how one could still smile in the face of a life that felt, to me, essentially over.

"By the way," the dragonoid woman’s crimson eyes shimmered with curiosity, "What's your name?"

"Johnny," I replied, meeting her gaze. "Johnny Wolvesbane."

Her smile widened, genuine and warm. Gripping my hand, she shook it firmly. "Pleasure to meet you, Johnny Wolvesbane. I'm Meike Eaterium, the self-declared healer of Scrap Town."

"A self-proclaimed healer?" I quipped, a playful smirk on my face.

She chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. "Well, I never had formal training. Most of what I know comes from discarded books I've stumbled upon. So, not exactly conventional."

I tilted my head, offering a sincere nod. "Still, that's commendable. Healing others without formal training? That's truly amazing."

"Thanks, but I've got a lot to learn still. My goal is to master healing magic properly so I can assist even more people," Meike admitted with determination in her eyes.

Grinning, I pushed myself up, surprised by the renewed strength coursing through me. My legs supported my weight effortlessly, and even my previously injured shoulder felt functional and devoid of pain. "Look at that. I'm on my feet again. You've got some skills, nurse."

Meike let out a playful huff, resembling a princess feigning offense. "Your injuries weren't severe to begin with, so it wasn't much of a challenge." Her eyes darted around the modest surroundings. "Apologies for the humble setting. It's the best place I can manage."

Shaking my head, I reassured her, "No need to apologize. It's the help that matters, not the place."

Gazing out, I noticed a fractured windowpane. Peering through, my eyes settled on the bustling heart of Scrap Town, where a congregation of dragonoids filled the square below.

Scrap Town stood as the epicenter of Alterra's sprawling slums. Tales from old newspapers and history tomes recounted its origins as a sanctuary for fleeing dragonoids during the dark era of their enslavement. Yet, it was equally infamous for harboring those who'd rebelled, taking the lives of their human oppressors.

Despite the enactment of the Dragonoid Rights Law two decades prior, Scrap Town's essence remained largely unchanged. Poverty clung to its residents like a shadow, a constant companion. While dragonoids enjoyed newfound freedoms, the town's isolation meant that the empire's oversight was minimal at best. Consequently, crime thrived in its winding alleys and hidden corners.

The juxtaposition struck me profoundly: amidst this turbulent backdrop, Meike, with her gentle demeanor, carved out a niche as a makeshift healer. It was hard to reconcile the two worlds, yet here she was, a beacon of kindness in a place known for its darkness.

Meike's voice trembled with urgency, pulling me from my contemplation. "Johnny?"

I turned to her, noting the anxiety etched on her features. "What's wrong?"

"Please, avoid lingering near the window," she implored, her eyes searching mine. "And I'd advise against venturing out, especially when the streets aren't empty."

Confused, I pressed, "Why's that?"

She took a deep breath, her next words heavy with gravity. "Haven't you heard about Gazelle Lockwood's declaration? There's a fierce conflict between the dragonoids and the human empire right now. Every male is conscripted into the Republic."

"The Republic?" I echoed, trying to piece together the information.

Meike nodded grimly. "The Republic of Dragons. A global militia hell-bent on eradicating humans from this world. If they spot you, it won't end well."

A whirlwind of emotions churned within me. While a part of me felt a perverse satisfaction that Gazelle had initiated the Purge of Humanity—a cause Maggie had fervently believed in—those feelings were overshadowed by grief. With Maggie gone, my priorities had shifted drastically. Humanity's fate no longer concerned me; my singular focus was exacting vengeance upon Lysander Faradeiss.