Chapter 22: Emerich and Clarice

In the blink of an eye, the two bone gang thugs had their throats twisted shut.

An Aeta-level psionic, unless directly confronted by regular troops, is virtually a “demon” to ordinary people!

Of course, before taking action, he made sure to destroy the surveillance.

“You refuse the cup of wine, so you’ll drink the cup of punishment.”

Alvin sneered, rifling through the two scumbags and pulling out dozens of crowns.

Shoving the dozens of crowns into his pocket and reclaiming the nutrient tube, he walked straight into the South Zone—the territory controlled by the Bone Gang.

The Lower Nest districts were virtually indistinguishable: filthy alleys choked with sewage and radiation fumes, littered with corpses of the starved and gaunt scavengers who moved like zombies—slow, stiff, lifeless.

Alvin knew the reason: to conserve as much energy as possible, to avoid unnecessary expenditure.

In the original’s memories, ever since his mother fell ill and died, he had often done this, barely surviving on three meals every nine days.

Dressed in new, ill-fitting clothes, Alvin found a nearly deserted filthy alley: “No one will find me here. I’ll hide for a few days until I hear from Tucker.”

He tightened the oversized robe, then bowed his head and stepped into the alley.

The brother and sister huddled together in the filthy alley; at the sudden appearance of the “outsider,” the older boy snapped his head up.

On his filthy face, a look of tension flickered.

His eyes held cruelty and wariness—like a beast defending its territory, fixed unblinkingly on Alvin’s intrusion.

“I mean no harm.”

He lowered his voice, speaking in a hoarse tone: “I won’t disturb you. I won’t come near.”

With that, Alvin said no more, curling into the corner of the alley, his oversized robe fully concealing his form.

Though still several meters away, the boy’s vigilance did not waver.

Alvin understood the reason for their suspicion.

In the eyes of Lower Nest scum, the category of “food”... was extremely broad.

Especially for boys like this—barely surviving themselves, let alone carrying a girl?

In the eyes of some Lower Nest scum, such a pair was nothing more than... spare rations!

In Alvin’s memories, he himself had nearly starved to death and been eaten by scum several times as a child.

The Lower Nest was never a greenhouse—it was more brutal than the wild forest!

And ironically, in the entire Warhammer universe, across the Emperor’s hundred million worlds, this brutal environment was among the better ones.

If there is hell, congratulations... you’re already there!

Beneath the hood’s shadow, Alvin observed the siblings—they had clearly been starving for a long time.

Both were reduced to skin and bone, with not an ounce of excess muscle; the girl cradled in the boy’s arms had not eaten in ages, her breath shallow and weak.

After a half-second hesitation, Alvin finally tossed the nutrient tube toward them.

He comforted himself: consider it rent for temporary shelter. Besides, this thing wasn’t worth much to him anymore.

Could he really just stand by and watch two people nearly starve to death?

He was a scumbag, yes—but within his means, and without endangering himself, helping these two siblings was still possible.

The boy stared at the tossed nutrient tube, his face filled with hesitation.

He was starving, his eyes bloodshot, yet despite the tube’s proximity, he restrained his hunger, watching Alvin with wary eyes.

In the harsh environment of the Lower Nest, unprovoked kindness was rare.

“Eat.”

Alvin admired the boy’s composure; his voice hoarse: “The girl’s about to die.”

“Th-thank you...”

After several cautious checks confirming the figure in the alley corner meant no harm, the boy carefully retrieved the nutrient tube.

He twisted open the cap, stared at the milky nutrient gruel, swallowed hard, and though starving himself, gently pressed the tube to the girl’s lips.

Carefully, tenderly, he squeezed the milky gruel into her mouth.

The unconscious girl instinctively gulped it down, finishing the entire tube; her pale face slightly improved, a faint flush returning.

Only after his sister finished did the boy turn to himself.

He slowly rolled the tube from bottom to top, not wasting a single drop, licking the residual milky sludge with desperate focus.

Watching the boy’s actions, Alvin felt a stone lodge in his chest—heavy, silent, speechless.

“What are your names?”

He asked, almost without thinking.

“Emerich.”

Perhaps because of the nutrient tube, the boy’s vigilance had lessened; he whispered: “I’m Emerich. She’s my sister, Clarice.”

“Oh.”

Alvin fell silent, his mind a jumble, unsure how to continue.

“Thank you, sir. If not for you, my sister... might have starved.” The boy lowered his head, gazing tenderly at his unconscious sister, and thanked him again with sincerity.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

Alvin opened his mouth, but all he could manage was this useless question.

How could he not be hungry?

One tube of nutrient gruel, if rationed, could sustain an adult for seven days.

But ultimately, it could only fill one stomach.

“It’s fine—I’m strong! I don’t get sick easily!”

On Emerich’s filthy face, a smile broke through.

Yes, strong, not prone to illness—so... better at enduring hunger, isn’t that right?

Alvin felt inexplicably irritated. Reason told him such situations were countless; even if he wanted to help, how many could he truly save?

Besides, he himself wasn’t even safe—how could he possibly help others?

But his emotional side—or the faint residue of moral conscience from his past life—made it impossible to look away.

Emotion and reason clashed like two little figures arguing inside his head!

“You can help them now, but can you help them forever?”

“But you have the power to help them!”

“Hypocrite! Fraud! Who do you think you are? A savior?”

“No, I’m just... an ordinary person!”

The internal battle ended. Alvin couldn’t bring himself to watch Emerich and his sister—those who shared his past but endured far worse—starve to death.

Fine. Consider it repayment to the scavenger who once saved him.

When he was nearly starved to death, a kind, crippled scavenger had given him his last ration—and starved himself.

Precisely because he had received help, Alvin chose to help these pitiful siblings.

He sighed, pulled out thirty crowns, and tossed them over: “Buy three tubes of nutrient gruel. That should last you a while.”

Thirty crowns were a substantial sum in the eyes of many Lower Nest scavengers.

Emerich’s eyes widened in disbelief; he stammered: “Y-you... you’re really giving me all of this?”

“Don’t misunderstand. I can’t go out myself.”

Alvin gave himself an excuse: “Three tubes include my share. Understood?”

“Y-yes, thank you, sir!”

Emerich picked up the three coins, tense as he looked at him: “I—I won’t tell anyone you’re here!”

“Mm.”

Alvin murmured in reply.

In truth, he didn’t care whether Emerich revealed his whereabouts.

Many hid in the Lower Nest; even if Emerich spoke, the Bone Gang wouldn’t immediately suspect him.

Besides, in the surveillance footage, he wore a robe with his face hidden by the hood—such attire was far too common in the Lower Nest to be distinctive.

“C-could you... watch over my sister?”

Emerich clenched his teeth, hesitated, then gently laid his sister down in the alley.

This kid... surprisingly clever.

Alvin was taken aback—he instantly understood: the boy had left his sister behind as a guarantee he wouldn’t betray him.

And a child going alone to buy nutrient gruel carried real risk of being targeted.

Leaving his sister behind showed his resolve—and avoided danger. A perfect two-for-one.