The day Krei was captured felt like any other day.
He walked through the streets that cold evening, a memory that remained vivid to him playing in his mind.
The moment when he witnessed a noble's kid swipe a piece of candy and make away with it undisturbed.
The street was full, and looking back on it, he was certain that others had seen it happen too, yet no one did anything.
Back then, it had replayed in his adolescent mind for days on end, until one day, the compulsion to give it a try got the better of him.
At first, it was just the occasional piece of fruit here and a loaf of bread there.
It became easier to keep doing it after that.
He started taking things that would draw more attention. He always got away, though, and he made sure to never show his face.
Years passed, and he had garnered a reputation in the underbelly of Lukaria as a man who "acquired" things for people.
He was sure that if his mother could see him now, she would disapprove. His life was a wreck.
Taking care of a child whose mother had left them both behind, and singlehandedly failing at every turn to clean his life up.
That was the cruellest part.
Whenever he went looking for honest work, the rejections came quickly and politely. His clothes were wrong. His posture was wrong. His eyes lingered too long.
He could understand the unspoken message. They wanted someone "clean," someone who fit their image, and someone like him was the furthest thing from it.
He learned to recognise the look before they even spoke. That silent judgment that decided his worth before they even heard his name.
He didn't blame them. Not really.
He, himself, was painfully aware of his own flaws, his hypocrisies. In the same way he thought they judged him, he judged them.
Everyone was broken in some way.
Life was costly, not because the world was lacking, no… he had learned that early. The world was give and take, and it gave more than it took. People, however, were quite different.
Another memory long repressed came to the forefront of his mind.
He remembered being small, too small, hiding behind a table as the city guards tore through their home. A woman stood at the door, basically covered head-to-toe in jewellery. She had accused his mother of theft.
There was no proof as far as he could remember. But realistically, those people didn't need any.
The guards beat her while Krei watched. Hard. Methodical. Practiced. Like they had done it plenty of times before.
She was never the same after that. She spoke less. Smiled less. Strived until she couldn't anymore. When she died years later, Krei always believed that day had killed her long before her body gave out.
He honestly didn't know whether she did it or not, but the fact that they hit her before they even found anything had killed his belief in fairness.
If it had been a lie, he wondered what the wealthy lady had to gain from it. People didn't seek only monetary gain, so maybe it was some twisted sense of self-satisfaction. He would never know.
Shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts, he looked up at a house. It was exactly what you'd expect from the rich. Gaudy design with no actual substance.
He sighed, rubbing his hands to fend off the cold.
His kid had to live.
That truth overrode everything else.
---
"Why did you do that?!"
The announcer looked absolutely livid, his face flushed red as he stormed up to Gewalt.
"That fight was over! It was settled! Two winners!" He gestured wildly toward Krei's crumpled body. "That's how it works!"
Gewalt looked at him plainly.
"I don't share my wins," he said simply.
The announcer faltered for half a step, thrown off by the flatness of his tone.
"What?" he sputtered. "The rules—!"
"Were followed."
"This guy," he started, pointing at the now still corpse of Orwell. "He wasn't dead yet. In fact, he was still moving. That means there weren't "undoubtedly" two fighters remaining."
"As for the rest. Kill or don't kill," he continued, voice steady. "Fighters' discretion."
"A dying man thrashing on the ground counts as moving now? That's bullshit!"
"Let's ask everyone then. Did he move?"
The crowd was filled with murmurs as everyone debated what to say, until a voice broke out.
"He did! He was moving!"
Another followed. Then another. Until the whole crowd joined in.
The announcer looked around in shock. His mouth opened, then closed again.
"Still! You're supposed to entertain," the announcer snapped, grasping at his authority. "Not disrupt the flow of the tournament!"
Gewalt tilted his head slightly.
"And have I not?" he raised his arms at his sides.
The colosseum erupted into absolute chaotic screams.
The announcer froze.
Shouts of awe, fear, and exhilaration blended into a deafening roar. Some screamed Gewalt's name. Others screamed curses. Many didn't scream words at all, only raw sound, overwhelmed by what they had just witnessed.
The announcer turned slowly, his protest dying in his throat as he took in the sight.
They loved it.
Gewalt turned away from him.
"I'm leaving now," he said, already walking toward the tunnel.
The announcer forced a brittle smile and spun back, trying to ride the momentum of the moment as he threw his arms up with theatrical flair.
"A-Ah…! W-What a display!" he cried, voice trembling despite himself. "As expected of the Lukan Arena's undefeated champion! The sole winner of this round is Gewalt!"
The cheers intensified.
Gewalt boredly raised his fist into the air as he disappeared into the tunnel.
Finally making it further in, the noise faded behind him, replaced by the familiar echo of his own footsteps against stone.
The guys who'd been in the tunnel earlier were gone. He'd hoped Pendrick would stick around. The thought of having to go look for him annoyed him.
As he entered the slave chambers, everyone went silent.
Before, everyone had been too occupied with themselves to pay him any mind whenever he went by, despite his unconventional appearance. Now that they knew who he was, he could no longer move unnoticed. Not to mention, it seemed they were also aware of his extra kill.
'One of those bastards in the tunnel must've turned it into the room's gossip…'
He scanned the room for any trace of blond hair, and when he found none, he headed deeper into the chambers.
Once there, he dropped onto a bench and stared up at the ceiling with a grim glint in his eye.
"I misunderstood you."
The voice caught him off guard, but he remained still without showing a hint of surprise. He recognised who it was, so it was fine.
Pendrick took a seat on the bench to his right. He stared straight ahead, not sparing the helmeted man a glance.
"And what do you mean by that?"
"You seemed like a simple, jovial guy," Pendrick said. "I figured there was some bit of battle junkie in you, but not what you did out there."
Gewalt's eyes looked toward the other man despite his helmet not letting him see the blond from the angle.
"You can't stomach what I did?"
"It was a lot," Pendrick admitted. "But I'm more invested in the why."
"Why I did it, huh?" Gewalt sat up, mirroring Pendrick's forward stare. "I'll tell you. I was going to talk to you about it anyway."
Pendrick finally turned to face him.
It dawned on the blond then that the other man's intentions had always run deeper than he had assumed.
---
- Random Boutique -
In the city of flowers and beauty, Verna, an entire street had practically frozen, everyone's attention locked onto a clothing store, or more specifically, one of the patrons currently visiting it.
A head of long, deep purple hair stood out immediately. Paired with her dark complexion, she was a beauty that would draw looks wherever she was in the Empire.
A sizeable pile of outfits was scattered on the ground by the entrance. Crouched in front of it, she rummaged through the clothes, small grunts of frustration and dissatisfaction slipping from her mouth every few seconds.
Suddenly, she straightened, a childish look of disappointment on her face. She looked on the verge of tearing up when, without warning, she was smacked on the back of the head by a man much shorter than her.
"Arie," he said flatly. "What do you think you're doing?"
The young woman shot upright, visibly flustered, like she'd been caught somewhere she wasn't supposed to be. Her brown eyes suddenly found great interest in the sky as she carefully avoided the gaze of the man she was clearly associated with.
"I'm running around, actually trying to find Astelle," he continued, irritation creeping into his voice. "And you're here goofing off?!"
"I wasn't goofing off!" she shot back, genuinely offended. "There was some really cute stuff in there! I was going to get a few things for Astelle… and me too."
The man pinched the bridge of his nose. If his hair hadn't already been an unusual shade of grey, it probably would have turned that way from stress alone.
"And whose fault do you think it is that we're wandering about like this?"
"My sister?"
"Both of you idiots!" he snapped, clutching at his hair like he was on the brink of madness.
"I've veered so far off from what I'm even supposed to be doing…" he muttered, his voice soaked in somewhat exaggerated lamentation.
A genuinely repentant look crossed Arie's face. "I'm sorry, Ilan. I know we're always dragging you away from your search… We really do appreciate everything you do for us."
Ilan glanced sideways at the girl, only a few years younger than him, and sighed.
"It's fine," he said tiredly. "Get the outfit and let's go find your meathead twin."
He scratched the back of his head. "And next time, listen to my instructions. Don't tell her about those things. She always gets herself into trouble when you do. I've had enough alread—"
"But Ilan, that's the problem!" Arie interrupted. "I can't find anything that would actually look good on her!"
She immediately launched into a ramble about colours and designs, much to Ilan's growing irritation.
"Well, if you don't hurry it up," he snapped, "you might not even have a sister left to dress up at all!"
Arie froze. Then she burst into tears.
Ilan jumped in shock at her wailing cries, looking around at the gazes of the surrounding people.
"Stop crying! I'm sorry, damn it!" Ilan grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her desperately.
"You're always yelling at me," she sniffled, rubbing at her eyes. "It's not very nice. But…"
Her expression shifted. A serene smile settled on her face.
"What you said would never happen," she said firmly. "Astelle is strong."
"Yeah, yeah." Ilan waved a hand dismissively. "Even though the world's consumed by the Haze, it's still vastly bigger than you could ever imagine. You don't know what's out there."
He shooed away the crowd that had been gawking at them like a street performance.
"For all we know," he added casually, "she could've been sold into slavery."
---
- Lukan Arena (Slave Chambers) -
Astelle had never paid much attention to her surroundings. She had her sister for that. And when her sister wasn't around, she could usually rely on the grey, angry man instead.
They were all travelling together toward some destination, though in truth, it was more like she and her sister were just following him around since they had nothing else to do.
Some time ago, during one of their stops, they had overheard a story about a legendary warrior. Supposedly, he had carved his way through the treacherous expanse of the Haze, felling countless enemies along the way. The story piqued her interest instantly.
Then her sister mentioned a dream. In it, she had seen something within the low-tier Lukaria Haven, something related to the so-called "strongest in the world." That was good enough for Astelle.
She left without telling anyone, convinced it would be a quick trip. What could possibly go wrong?
Not long after, during a night training session near the boundary of the Haven, she blacked out in the woods. That was the last thing she remembered.
After that, she had been captured.
Honestly, she wasn't too panicked at first. With her abilities, breaking out should have been easier than breathing. That confidence was shattered the moment she felt the mark on her back activate.
If she even thought about escaping, let alone attempted it, searing pain shot through her entire body.
It made sense to her now how they kept this whole enterprise running.
"Are you actually insane?!"
And now there was this situation.
She had experienced another one of those "blackout" episodes, and by the time she woke up, she was involuntarily eavesdropping on a conversation between two men.
The blonde who had just spoken looked familiar, but the other she didn't recognise at all. Still, she could tell at a glance that he was strong. Sneaking always felt wrong to her, despite this case not being intentional. She was trying her best to ignore them and occupy herself with her thoughts, with little success.
"I might be," the helmeted one replied casually. "Living like this tends to break people's minds."
She couldn't just leave. The chamber ended behind her, which meant walking straight past them. And while she considered herself thick-skinned, that level of awkwardness was another matter entirely.
"So are you in, or not?"
"You really think it can be pulled off?" The blonde one didn't even attempt to hide the overflowing scepticism in his tone.
"It doesn't matter," the helmeted man said as he stood. "It's that, or we keep doing this."
He paused.
"Let's break free."
Astelle jolted upright before she could stop herself. She winced as the bench rattled loudly, the echo bouncing through the chamber.
She turned slowly, accepting that she was caught. Meeting their gazes, she let out a tired breath.
Straightening, she stepped forward.
"Um… hello," she began, her expression unreadable. "Could I join in on this discussion?"