South Blue, a certain non-World Government Affiliated Nation, the coastal town of Gray Bream Town.
The salty sea breeze blew through this town year-round, yet it could not disperse the scent of despair and decay permeating the slums.
This was a corner abandoned by the world, an "outlaw land" that had lost its status as an Affiliated Nation and its Marine protection because it could not pay the "tenryubito tribute."
The powerful and wealthy nobles still lived in a dream-like state in their manors, while the town's Order was barely maintained in a fragile balance under the chaotic rule of local gangs and small groups of pirates who occasionally drifted through.
In the town's filthy back alleys, trash piled up, and flies bred.
A figure suddenly burst out from the half-closed back door of a bakery! It was a boy, just over ten years old, with a thin and small frame. His messy black curls were matted with filth and stuck to his temples.
He clutched a steaming object tightly in his arms; even though the heat made him grimace, he refused to let go—it was a loaf of black bread he had just stolen from the bakery.
"Thief! Catch that little brat!!" The fat shopkeeper's exasperated roar and heavy footsteps echoed from inside the shop.
Terrified out of his wits, the boy ran toward the slums with all his might!
His bare feet stepped on the gravel and sewage-filled alleyways, sending a stinging pain through him.
He didn't dare look back; his heart pounded wildly in his thin chest as if it were about to shatter his ribs and jump out.
"There he is! Block him!" A few idlers and passersby who heard the commotion joined the pursuit, perhaps out of boredom or to curry favor with the shopkeeper.
The boy knew the terrain of this area like the back of his hand, weaving through the narrow alleys like a slippery eel.
But hunger and weakness severely slowed him down. Just as he was about to rush into the familiar border of the shantytown built from rotten wooden planks and rusted iron sheets—
"Bang!"
A wooden stick swung out from nowhere and slammed hard against his calf!
"Ah—!" The boy screamed, lost his balance, and fell forward. The bread flew from his grasp, and that loaf of black bread, which barely counted as "food," rolled away, covered in mud and grit.
Several feet wearing tattered shoes immediately surrounded him, kicking his skinny body without mercy.
"I'll teach you to steal! You little wretch!"
"Beat him to death! You stinking rat polluting the streets!"
"Throw him to the Sea Kings!"
Curses rained down like raindrops, accompanied by fists and feet.
The boy could only curl his body tightly, protecting his head and face with his arms as he endured the violence.
The pain had gone numb; the spasms in his stomach from the intense exertion and fear, along with the heartache of seeing the soiled bread, were even harder to bear.
The beating lasted for a while. Perhaps finding it dull or fearing they might actually kill him and cause trouble, the men spat a few times and dispersed while cursing. Before leaving, one didn't forget to kick the muddy bread away, sending it completely out of sight.
The boy lay on the ground, only managing to move with difficulty after a long while. His whole body ached, especially his left leg where he'd been hit, which throbbed with a piercing pain that made it impossible for him to stand normally.
Lowering his head, he endured the occasional cold or disgusted glances from those around him. Like a stray dog with a broken back, he dragged his injured leg one step at a time, struggling toward the ruins on the edge of town where even the sunlight seemed stingy—the slum known as "Rust Nail Nest."
Rust Nail Nest lived up to its name.
It was filled with all sorts of industrial waste discarded from the town, shipwrecks, and shacks cobbled together from this trash that could barely be called "residences."
The air was thick with the stench of rust, rot, and excrement.
The boy moved to a "nest" made of half a rusted iron barrel and a few pieces of rotten wood and collapsed.
Once his heavy panting subsided, the Burning sensation of emptiness in his stomach could no longer be ignored.
"Growl..."
The protest from his stomach sounded exceptionally clear in the silent shantytown.
Hunger was like an invisible hand squeezing his stomach, bringing waves of dizziness and cold sweat.
He hugged his knees and buried his face in them, his body trembling slightly—not just from pain, but from a cold and despair that reached his very marrow.
Just then, a very faint sound of footsteps approached.
The boy snapped his head up, looking warily at the newcomer. On his dirty little face, his dark eyes were unusually bright, filled with the alertness of a wild animal.
The newcomer was an old man, equally skinny, with a severely hunched back. The deep wrinkles on his face were like cracks in parched earth.
His clothes were in tatters, their original style and color almost unrecognizable. But upon closer inspection, one could vaguely see a pattern of black and white circles on the fabric, though it was now mostly obscured by stains and damage.
The old man held something tightly in his hand. Seeing the boy's wary gaze, he stopped, his cloudy eyes showing a gentle sympathy and caution born of sharing the same plight.
He slowly crouched down, an action that seemed difficult for him as well. He slowly reached out his hand toward the boy and then gradually opened his palm.
In his palm was half a piece of dark brown black bread, its surface already growing a bit of greyish-green mold. It was as hard as a stone, even worse than the piece the boy had just stolen.
"Ch-child..." The old man's voice was dry and raspy, as if he hadn't spoken for a long time. "E-eat some... I... I saved it..."
The boy froze. He looked at the half-piece of moldy bread, then at the old man's face, which was etched with suffering yet forced a kind smile.
An indescribable stinging sensation rushed into the boy's nose and eyes. He suddenly lowered his head, his shoulders shaking violently—not from crying, but from a convulsion of overwhelming emotion.
After a few seconds, he looked up again, his eyes red, but he didn't let any tears fall. He reached out a hand so dirty his skin tone was unidentifiable and took the half-piece of moldy bread with great solemnity, as if receiving a treasure.
There were no words of thanks; hunger made him see only the bread. He opened his mouth and bit down with all his strength.
The bread was so hard it hurt his teeth, and the taste of mold mixed with bitterness spread through his mouth, but he chewed with absolute focus and swallowed with all his might.
After a few bites, the Burning hunger seemed temporarily suppressed. The boy finally looked up at the old man, who was still crouching before him and watching expectantly, and said in a raspy voice:
"Old Grandfather... thank you. I... my name is Kuzan."
He paused, a faint but stubborn spark of fire began Burning in his eyes:
"When I... when I grow up, I will definitely join the Marines! I'll become a powerful Marine officer! When that time comes, I will... I will definitely come back to repay you! I'll make sure you can eat fresh white bread every day and live in a clean house!"
Listening to this childish vow, something seemed to flicker in the old man's cloudy eyes. The wrinkles on his face smoothed out as he gave a gentle smile, his withered lips moving:
"Heh... heh... good, good boy... you have ambition... Marine... protect people..."
As he spoke, he unconsciously swallowed. Clearly, that half-piece of moldy bread might have been his only food for today, or even for the next few days.
Kuzan keenly noticed this detail, and the stinging sensation in his heart grew heavier.
He lowered his head and forcefully broke off a small piece of the bread's center, where there was less mold, and quickly pressed it into the old man's hand. "You eat too!"
The old man froze, looking at the tiny piece of bread in his hand and then at the boy's obstinate gaze. Finally, he didn't refuse; he carefully placed it in his mouth and ground it extremely slowly with the few teeth he had left.
The two of them crouched there in front of the shack that smelled of rust and mold, sharing half a piece of moldy black bread. They were silent, yet there was a warmth of two souls depending on each other for survival.
"Old Grandfather," Kuzan said after finishing his portion, feeling a bit of his strength return. He couldn't help but ask, "You... you're not from Gray Bream Town, are you? I don't think I've seen you before. Why... are you here?"
The old man's chewing slowed, and his gaze drifted toward the grey sky in the distance, where Seagulls flew past with shrill cries.
His voice became even lower, carrying a bone-deep exhaustion and resignation:
"Me... I don't have a 'household registration'... child. People without an identity, like us... can only stay in places like this."
"household registration?"
"Yes... it's proof that the state recognizes you as a resident. We... we escaped from a very, very far place. We used to be... 'Slaves'." When the old man spoke that word, his voice was barely audible, filled with deep fear.
Although Kuzan was young, growing up in such an environment, he vaguely understood what "Slaves" meant.
"Escaped... Slaves?" he repeated.
"Yes... many... old folks like me, and even younger children. With the help of a child... that we could make it here alive is already luck."
The old man sighed and tugged at the tattered remains of his target uniform, as if trying to hide that unpleasant pattern.
"Without an identity, without money, without strength... the noble lords won't take us in, and respectable places won't hire us... Go out to sea as pirates? That's a road of no return, and for us old, weak, and sick, even pirates don't want us..."
He looked toward Rust Nail Nest, where shadows flickered, and several other skinny figures could be seen huddled in the darkness—some elderly, some ignorant children.
"Most of the young and strong... those with some spirit who couldn't stand this life, eventually gritted their teeth and went out to sea... Whether they became pirates or something else, it's better than waiting to die here."
The old man's voice was full of helplessness and sorrow. "All that's left are us who really can't move... here... just enduring."
"Enduring one day at a time."
The sea breeze blew, bringing the faint clamor from the direction of the town, brightly lit—that was the world belonging to people "with an identity."
But in this forgotten Rust Nail Nest, there was only silence, stench, and endless despair, silently devouring these souls abandoned by the world.
Kuzan clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms. Looking at the kind but helpless old man and this hellish shelter, his desire to "become a Marine" had never been as clear or as Burning as it was at this moment.
The sunlight of the South Blue seemed as though it would never shine into this rusted corner. And hope, like the half-piece of moldy bread given by the old man, was minuscule, yet it was the only light sustaining some people as they continued to "endure."
------------------------
I've posted 70+ chapters in advance on Patreon.
Webnovel updates will still be daily, as usual.
It might not seem tempting right now but who knows what the future holds?
[email protected]/SolyuraMT
"And If you're enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!"