Chapter 23

Emerych, clutching 30 kronen, wound through narrow alleys until he reached a bar.

Yes, even in the Lower Nest, there were such places as bars—though most were closely tied to gangs.

Boys like him never enter through the front door.

In the backyard, piles of corpses, mangled beyond recognition, mostly young girls, all of them barely children.

“Oh, isn’t this Emerych?”

The gang members in the backyard, their arms tattooed with crossed bones, grinned as the boy entered: “It’s not work time yet. Did you finally come to your senses?”

“No, not at all, Master Bari.” Emerych bowed his head humbly, refusing to look at the corpses.

He had a job: every so often, he came to this bar controlled by the “Bones” gang to haul away the girls’ corpses—those who had been tortured to death by powerful figures—and deliver them to the Corpse Guild.

The pay for this job was low, barely enough to buy half a ration for one person.

“I’ve told you before: if you sold your sister to Lord Luke, you wouldn’t have to suffer like this.” Bari forced a lewd grin, patted the boy’s thin shoulder, and lectured him in the tone of a seasoned veteran: “Then I’ll speak well of you—maybe you’ll become a full member of the ‘Bones.’”

Emerych said nothing, but his lowered head hid flames of fury burning in his eyes.

“How boring. You always act like a corpse.”

Bari sneered, accustomed to the boy’s silence: “We’ll see how long you can hold out, huh.”

“Master Bari, I—I’m here to buy nutrient agents.” Seeing the topic wasn’t continuing, Emerych exhaled in relief and quickly stated his purpose.

“Huh? Buy nutrient agents?” Bari was surprised, sizing Emerych up suspiciously: “Where’d you get the money? You know how many krona a vial costs?”

“I—I have money, Master Bari.” Emerych pulled out three coins, each worth ten krona.

Bari half-closed his eyes, took the thirty krona from the boy’s hand, and feigned a stern tone: “Where did you get this money? Speak honestly!”

“Master Bari, I found it on a dead scavenger.” Before coming, Emerych had already prepared his excuse.

Finding money on a dead scavenger wasn’t unusual—just good luck.

“Hmm...”

Bari, as expected, didn’t suspect a thing. He rolled his eyes and grinned: “Kid, lucky break. Where’d you find it? Next time, take me along—I want in on the fortune.”

Emerych scratched his head with a naive smile: “Sure, Master Bari. But I don’t know if I’ll find another one, hehe.”

“Wait here.”

Bari tossed out the words and turned into the bar.

Not long after, he reappeared and tossed two vials toward Emerych: “Here. Your nutrient agents. Hold onto them.”

“T-two vials?” Emerych’s eyes widened, his voice anxious: “Master Bari, it should be three, three vials!”

“Three? That was before.”

Bari sneered, feigning helplessness: “My price now is fifteen krona per vial. Take it or leave it.”

“Then—then give me my money back—I’ll buy elsewhere!” Emerych summoned courage, pleading softly: “Is that okay, Master Bari?”

“Fuck you, little stutterer!”

To his surprise, Bari’s brow twitched, he exploded in rage, and punched Emerych straight in the face.

Emerych was knocked to the ground, dazed—but Bari charged again, kicking him hard in the abdomen, stomping down repeatedly, screaming: “Do you think I owe you something? You dare ask for more? Two vials—that’s it! Take it or fuck off!”

Accustomed to years of beatings, Emerych curled up instantly, shielding his organs and head, enduring Bari’s blows in silence.

After a moment, Bari seemed tired. He looked down with contempt at the trembling, curled-up boy and spat directly onto the ground: “Get lost. I’m in a good mood today—I’ll let it slide.”

Emerych bowed his back silently, leaned against the wall, and shuffled step by step out of the bar’s backyard.

He knew perfectly well: there was no price hike.

Bari had simply seen the money and pocketed ten krona for himself.

The boy’s eyes burned with fury, but he clenched his teeth, saying not a word.

He dared not offend Bari—Bari was a full member of the “Bones.” To survive in this district, he had to obey.

Unless one day he became a high-ranking member of the “Bones”—only then could he seek revenge.

Emerych carefully wiped his hands clean, then respectfully held out the two vials to Alvin.

The boy was nervous, his eyes filled with guilt, stuttering: “I—I’m sorry. They said... the price went up. Thirty krona only buys two vials.”

Alvin stared at the boy’s face—a dark bruise already forming, clearly from a beating.

He’d experienced similar things before. A moment’s thought told him the truth. He sighed inwardly.

Damn gangs. Always the same, no matter where you go... I wish they’d all die.

Emerych thought he didn’t believe him, and stammered anxiously: “I—I’m not lying. It’s true!”

“I know.” Alvin lowered his eyelids slightly and pushed the two vials back: “Keep them. You don’t need to give them to me.”

“B-but how can that be?” Emerych, flustered, stuttered even more: “You’ve helped us so much. I—I and Kris can’t...”

“Just take them. No more talking.”

Alvin cut him off, voice cold and firm: “I don’t need nutrient agents. Understand?”

“Th-thank you!”

Though his tone was harsh, Emerych knew: this man was good.

“Don’t mention it.”

Alvin turned his head away coldly.

He’d done all he could. The rest... he was powerless. They had to rely on themselves.

The alley fell silent again.

Emerych curled back into his corner, glancing at Alvin now and then, lips moving as if to speak but holding back.

With his senses amplified by spiritual energy, Alvin felt clearly that he was being watched. He sighed: “What else do you want?”

“I—I want to know your name,” Emerych whispered. “I—I mean no harm, really.”

“Why do you want to know my name?”

Alvin didn’t think the boy had ill intent.

“Because you saved me and my sister. You’re a good person!”

Emerych gathered courage, his eyes filled with innocence and simplicity: “When I grow up, I want to repay your kindness.”

After a long silence, Alvin spoke slowly: “Alvin. My name is Alvin.”

“Your surname?” Emerych tilted his head curiously. “Mr. Alvin, don’t you have a surname?”

“Surname... you asking makes it feel strange.”

Alvin rubbed his brow, his thoughts drifting back to the word his mother repeated before she died.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Alvin. I didn’t mean to—”

Emerych waved his hands in panic, realizing he’d touched a wound: “Actually, many people don’t have names, right?”

Yes. Many in the Lower Nest had never been given a “name” since birth.

“No. I just remembered something.”

Alvin smiled faintly, shook his head, and murmured: “My name is ‘Alvin Valthus.’”

Valthus was his father’s surname.

Of course, he’d never seen that so-called father since the day he was born—likely dead in some garbage pile in the Lower Nest.