The two turned into an old stone-paved road, flanked by low shops with neatly hung wooden signs; some people were sweeping yards, while others sat repairing vehicles. The pace of life was slow, unlike a place that had just gone through an apocalypse.
Suddenly, from a street corner, a child rushed out.
Thud—
The boy collided straight into Lam Thanh Moc, losing his balance and falling to a sitting position on the ground. She was startled and immediately leaned down.
"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice softening by reflex.
The boy was about ten years old, thin, with patched but clean clothes. He shook his head instinctively, his mouth just about to say "I'm fine" when his eyes accidentally flicked to the side.
Thuong Sinh.
He said nothing, just stood there. But his eyes were looking straight at the boy—not sharp, not fierce, just too quiet, like deep water with no visible bottom.
The boy faltered for half a beat.
He turned his head back toward Lam Thanh Moc, swallowed hard, and then spoke again, this time more clearly: "No… I'm fine, ma'am."
Lam Thanh Moc didn't notice that detail; she helped the boy up and brushed the dust off his shirt.
"Walk more carefully."
The boy nodded but didn't run off immediately. He looked up at the two of them, his gaze more curious than afraid.
"Are you two…" the boy hesitated a bit, then asked, "not from here, right?"
Lam Thanh Moc was slightly surprised. "How do you know?"
The boy blinked, as if the answer were obvious.
"Because you two don't have a mark."
"A mark?" she repeated.
The boy raised his arm. On his sleeve, a small piece of light gray cloth was sewn, featuring a simple dark brown symbol embroidered with the shape of a cracked square block.
"Everyone in Luc Thuy has one," the boy said. "They aren't all the same, but everyone has one."
The boy pointed toward the street. The cart-pullers and vendors had brown armbands. Further off, a group of people on patrol wore dull metal badges.
"To know which sector someone belongs to."
"And to know if someone is standing behind them or not."
Lam Thanh Moc was silent for a few seconds.
"So what if you don't have one?" she asked.
The boy shrugged naturally: "Then you're a newcomer."
"Or someone without a faction."
The boy flicked another glance at Thuong Sinh, faster this time, then continued: "People who don't pick a side… usually don't stay long."
Having said that, the boy took a step back, bowed quickly in greeting, then turned and vanished into a small alley as if he had just said something he shouldn't have said too much of.
The road returned to silence.
Lam Thanh Moc turned to Thuong Sinh. "You scared him."
"I didn't do anything," he replied.
He looked in the direction the boy had vanished, then at the marks scattered throughout the city.
"Marks for distinction," he said slowly.
Lam Thanh Moc lightly squeezed her fingers. "Here… even children know the laws."
Thuong Sinh walked on, his voice dropping: "Because if you don't know them, you die fast."
The two wandered around the surrounding area without haste. Lam Thanh Moc began to pay closer attention to the sleeves, wrists, and ID tags of those passing by; they were not hard to notice.
First was the color, second the shape, and third the wearing position—everything had an order, not messy at all.
"Three organizations," she whispered. "But I see... four types of symbols."
Thuong Sinh had noticed this beforehand. He stopped by the roadside, pretending to look at an old board, but actually observing the flowing crowd.
He memorized them one by one.
Ding Stone Society: Dark brown armbands embroidered with a cracked square. Those carrying this mark usually accompanied cargo trucks or handcarts, or stood guard at major intersections. They had practical builds, and their eyes were always scanning the road ahead and behind.
Azure Line Alliance: Green cloth tied high on the left arm; the symbol was a curved line, like a vine. Most of these people had unusual auras—Ability users. Some were strong, some weak, but all carried an air of high vigilance.
Luc Thuy Post: Gray metal badges in the shape of a circular shield with a horizontal stripe. Worn very neatly, not flashy. Those wearing them spoke little, traveled in small groups, had steady footsteps, and their eyes always scanned according to protocol.
Thuong Sinh frowned slightly. "There's one more type," he said.
Lam Thanh Moc nodded: "No fixed color."
They saw a few people wearing only a single black thread; some had it sewn straight into their sleeve, some tied it at the neck, and some even had a faint ink stroke drawn on their skin.
No one carried weapons overtly, but their gazes were... entirely different.
"Not like the other three sides," she said. "And not like free people either."
Thuong Sinh didn't answer immediately.
At that exact moment, the scent of hot food wafted from a small alley. A temporary eatery with a low corrugated iron roof was crowded inside, but not noisy. It was past noon.
"Let's eat first," he said. "Listen more than you look."
They stepped into the eatery.
The owner was a middle-aged man with a sturdy build and sleeves rolled high. On his arms, there were no bands or tags, only a black thread tied neatly around his wrist, very discreet.
He flicked a look at the two and knew instantly. "Newcomers."
It wasn't a question.
Lam Thanh Moc faltered slightly, then nodded: "Yes."
The owner set down two bowls of noodles, his voice calm: "Eat up. No need to lower your voices when talking; everyone here is used to listening."
As he turned away, Lam Thanh Moc asked in a low voice: "There are three organizations in the city, but why are there four types of marks?"
The owner chuckled without turning back. "Because not everyone wants to be called an organization."
He set down a pitcher of water, only then looking straight at Thuong Sinh.
"Those other three sides are on the table." "But the fourth... is under the table."
"Who are they?" Thuong Sinh asked.
"People who belong nowhere," the owner said. He tapped his finger lightly on the black thread around his wrist.
"Former soldiers, scouts, deserters, those whose names were erased."
"Not clean enough for the military."
"Not free enough to be commoners."
"But not stupid enough to follow those other two groups."
Lam Thanh Moc understood. "They are the buffer layer."
"No," the owner shook his head. "They are the thing that keeps the three sides from crossing the line."
He looked out the door of the eatery where people were still passing by steadily.
"Luc Thuy is peaceful not because the zombies are few."
"But because people here know who can kill them if they take one wrong step."
The atmosphere settled.
Lam Thanh Moc bowed her head to eat, her voice worried: "So people without marks like us…"
The owner gave a thin smile. "Sooner or later, you'll have to choose."
"Or…" He paused for a second.
"…become the fifth mark."
The two left the eatery when the bowls were empty.
On the street, the midday sun shone straight down onto the concrete. People were still passing by, but the pace of their steps was slower than before, as if the whole street were unconsciously holding its breath.
Thuong Sinh had only walked a few dozen meters when he stopped.
It wasn't because of a loud noise, but because the noise had been abruptly cut off.
A small truck blocked the middle of the road, its rear bed swung open. On the bed were several sealed metal crates with transport symbols. Beside the vehicle, three people wore dark brown armbands with the cracked square logo—the Ding Stone Society.
Opposite them, four others stood fanned out, green sleeves with the faint glow of Ability on their wrists—the Azure Line Alliance.
No one drew weapons, and no one laughed. Only the distance between the two sides was gradually closing.
"Wrong road," a Ding Stone member said, his voice dry. "This cargo goes to Warehouse Three, not the southern residential zone."
The person opposite curled his lip: "Warehouse Three is overloaded. We reported it this morning."
"Reporting doesn't mean changing."
"The law is the law."
A faint green aura flickered at the fingertips of the man standing in the middle of the Alliance group. Not an eruption, just enough to threaten.
Pedestrians began to veer to either side, but they didn't flee. They stood at a distance, watching like spectators at a familiar play, knowing there would be tension but not yet to the point of bloodshed.
Lam Thanh Moc halted her steps. "We should avoid this," she whispered.
Thuong Sinh didn't answer immediately. Not out of curiosity, but because he realized both sides had already seen them.
Two people without armbands, without badges, without marks.
A Ding Stone member glanced over, his eyes scanning them. "Newcomers?" he asked, not aiming at anyone specifically.
A member of the Alliance chuckled softly: "Or perhaps people of the fourth side?"
The tension ratcheted up.
Thuong Sinh, his voice calm, only said: "We are only passing through."
"If you're passing through, then move aside," the Ding Stone member replied instantly.
"This road is a public route," Thuong Sinh looked him straight in the eye. "You are the ones blocking it."
A moment of silence followed—not because of a lie, but because he was citing the rules correctly.
The Alliance member narrowed his eyes, evaluating Thuong Sinh from head to toe, then flicked his gaze to Lam Thanh Moc. The vines beneath her wrist moved just enough for an observant person to see.
"Ability users," he said. "Yet wearing no mark."
"Haven't chosen yet," Thuong Sinh replied.
The Ding Stone member let out a dry laugh: "Haven't chosen yet you dare to stand in the middle?"
Thuong Sinh did not respond. He simply stood still.
Silence reigned for three seconds.
Someone behind the truck coughed lightly: "Boys, if this drags on, the military will arrive."
The leader of the Ding Stone Society cursed under his breath, then waved his hand.
"Note it as a late delivery. Move it to the auxiliary warehouse."
The Azure Line Alliance said nothing more, backing away half a step. The Abilities were retracted.
The truck engine roared and rolled away slowly. The crowd dispersed as if nothing had happened.
Only before leaving, one Alliance member turned back to look at Thuong Sinh, his gaze carrying an unreadable meaning.
"Wearing no mark…" he said slowly. "Yet daring to stand in the middle."
The Ding Stone member also watched them, his gaze colder.
"In Luc Thuy."
"That type doesn't live long."
The two sides split, and the street returned to peace.
Lam Thanh Moc let out a soft breath, turning to Thuong Sinh: "We've just been remembered."
"Yeah," he replied.
In Luc Thuy, being nameless was not a state of safety. It was merely a question, and many people were waiting to see what their answer would be.