Lenka's fingers, clenched around the hard bread, were frozen red. The pocket of her apron, which carried a faint scent of soap, held bandages for her father.
Morning mist mingled with coal smoke seeped through the torn sleeves, and she ran quickly through the cobblestone alley. The sewage seeping from the cracks in the stone slabs left deep gray stains on her skirt.
Her father had been injured in the underground mine, and her mother said that as long as she brought him bread and bandages, he could work another day.
"Lenka!" Old Mr. Kirk from the bakery at the corner waved his flour-covered hands, the freshly baked baguettes steaming on the counter.
Lenka hurriedly waved her hands, the old ribbon on her braid swaying slightly: "No, thank you. We'll come buy some when my father earns money."
Last week, while she was crouched under the counter picking up bread crumbs that had fallen to the ground, the shopkeeper's broom had accidentally poked her buttocks. Now, seeing the milk-white wooden counter, she couldn't help but duck into the shadow of the alley.
The污水 seeping out of the cracks in the stone slabs drew a map on her dusty skirt. She counted the rhythm of the night watchman's staff, thud, thud, thud, the prelude to "The Dockers' Song."
Suddenly, a sweet, cloying scent tickled her nose, like the cough syrup her sick brother had stolen.
She stopped abruptly, staring at the closed candy shop at the corner. The wooden shutters were still locked. Where was the mint candy scent coming from? Could it be that last night's rain had washed the scent of the candy wrappers from the shop window?
The sound of a man's leather boots crunching on the gravel was lighter than the fog.
Lenka looked up and saw the shiny bootlegs reflecting her frozen red nose. Above them were the neatly pressed trouser legs, too clean for the coal-dusted alley, like a piece of butter candy that had suddenly fallen into a mud pit.
"Where are you going, little dove?" The man squatted down, holding a gold-foil-wrapped candy in his palm that glinted in the morning mist. The scent of fruit mingled with the rum aroma from the dock tavern. "Take this. It's sweeter than Old Kirk's baguette."
Lenka stepped back, her lower back bumping into a pile of wooden barrels. She stared at the dark pattern embroidered on the man's sleeve, the crooked wine barrel missing a piece, resembling the half-sunken ship at the dock.
Lenka shifted her body slightly and took two steps back. "Thank you for your generosity, sir, but my mother said I shouldn't take things from strangers..."
She finished speaking and sidestepped the wooden barrel, her cloth shoes scraping the gravel-covered ground like a sparrow ready to take flight.
The man's hand suddenly clamped down on her wrist with an iron-like grip, nearly causing her to drop the bread. The young girl reacted quickly, lifting her knee to collide with the man's calf without hesitation while letting out a piercing scream.
The man bent over in pain, but did not let go. Instead, he covered Lenka's mouth. People nearby had heard the noise and came out to check, but the man was skilled. He picked up Lenka and disappeared into the alley.
When Lenka woke up in a pile of rotten straw, the smell of mold and seawater filled her nostrils. She keenly sensed that she was in the port area and could even vaguely hear the sound of seabirds.
The iron bars of the window looked like gnawed bones, and the moonlight filtering through them formed a broken web on the ground, accompanied by the rustling sound of fabric rubbing against stone slabs.
"Don't touch the broken glass on the ground." A hoarse voice sounded like an old bellows. A skinny boy about Lenka's age dragged himself along, propping himself up with his elbows. His right calf was bent at an unnatural angle, and the area below his knee was wrapped in a blood-soaked rag. "They'll cut your feet and throw you off the bridge to be a beggar."
His left eye was covered with a dusty cloth, and his bronze skin glowed a bluish-gray in the shadows, like an ancient statue eroded by rain.
The most striking feature was his large, pointed ears, covered with fine, light brown fur, the edges roughened from years of rubbing against the stone slabs. The tip of his right ear was missing a crescent-shaped notch.
This was a characteristic of the Dornishmen. The ears were densely packed with blood vessels and nerves, helping them cool down quickly in the scorching desert. They could also move freely to close the ear canals during sandstorms, preventing sand from entering.
These ears stood alert on either side of his curly black hair, still stubbornly protruding from the tattered headscarf,they still stood stubbornly like two young shoots breaking through the soil. The ear lobes were covered with straw and dried blood crusts, yet they couldn't hide the distinctive agility of the Dornish, as if they could detect the footsteps of a shadow in the distance at any moment.
Lenka curled her toes to avoid the cold, gleaming shards of glass in the cracks between the stones. These were pieces broken off from a shattered wine bottle, their edges sharp as knives, deliberately scattered under the straw and along the iron bars.
The hem of the boy's robe was worn through, revealing a crescent-shaped scar on his ankle—a wound inflicted by thugs using broken glass.
Seeing the gruesome wound, Lenka sucked in a sharp breath.
The boy had long since grown accustomed to it: "Dorn people are born to read the stars, and the lame ones can beg for copper coins from the masters."
Lenka finally realized that the disability and wounds had been deliberately inflicted by those villains, just so he could beg for more alms!
The little boy touched the blindfold, his fingertips brushing against the hard bread Lenka had dropped, then quickly withdrew them. "My name is Idrar. Remember, when you hear the sound of boots, pretend to be dead, especially that one with the wine-stained nose. His boot heels are covered in tar from the dock, and he always holds a broken glass bottle in his hand."
A creaking sound came from the depths of the cellar. Idrar immediately rolled over and pressed his forehead against the straw, startling a few cockroaches. Lenka hurriedly copied his movements, curling up and digging her nails into her palms. As she heard heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs mixed with a man's curses, she heard him say, "The new arrival is awake?Just in time for tonight—we need a crying girl at the bridge."
As the drunken thug pushed open the door, Lenka was a strong child. She held her breath, struggling to control her trembling body, which shook uncontrollably from fear.
The stench of rotten alcohol filled the air, followed by the crisp sound of boots crushing broken glass. Through the gaps in her eyelashes, she saw the thug holding half a beer bottle, its jagged rim dripping with dark red liquid.
"Playing dead?" The thug ground his boot heel over Idrar's broken leg. The boy's body tensed but made no sound. "Watch me slice her face with this broken glass."
The thug was about to act when he heard the sound of a heavy object hitting the ground outside. He stood up, looking suspicious, then heard the sound of a winch turning. He cursed, "Damn weasel! I told you not to use the crane like that! Idiot! Stop! You'll break it!"
When the iron door slammed shut again, Lenka's tears finally fell.
Idrar propped himself up, reached into the torn cloth sack, pulled out half a moldy piece of bread, broke off the hard crust, and handed it to her: "Don't cry; tears will attract rats."
Lenka stared at the hard crust in his palm, suddenly remembering the broken stove at home. Her mother always saved the crusts for her, saying they would help her grow wings to fly.
She shook her head, broke her own hard bread into two pieces, and offered it to Idrar: "You need this. Your leg..."
Idrar's fingers hovered in midair. He quickly took the bread and stuffed it into his mouth, his movements so gentle it was as if he feared waking something. "Last month, a girl was taken away. When she returned, her face was covered in scars, like a broken lantern chewed on by shards of glass. But before she left, she gave me the candy wrapper she had hidden away—"
He pulled out half a faded gold foil sheet and waved it in the moonlight, "See? This is a fragment of a star that fell from the sky. It can illuminate all the dark places."
Lenka touched the rough gold foil, feeling a sting on her fingertips. Idrar stuffed the gold foil into her palm and suddenly heard a soft sound of tiles above his head. This was a sound that only Dorn people could hear, because it was not the sound of human footsteps, but the sound of mysterious four-legged creatures that were lighter than the Ghosts of the Dark Night — cats.
Three cats.
Idrar sensed that these three cats had a clear purpose; they didn't seem like wild cats at all, but rather like scouting sentinels.
His fingers tightened suddenly, and the left eye beneath the blindfold throbbed violently: "Someone's coming!"
Whoever it was, they must be hostile toward these human traffickers; otherwise, there would be no need to sneak around on the roof.
A cold light flashed through the ventilation shaft of the cellar, like a meteor streaking across the foggy sky on a winter night. Lenka clenched the gold foil paper, feeling the warmth of Idrar's palm.
The iron door burst open with a loud crash as the boot heels struck it. A drunken thug bowed and scraped, holding a lantern that illuminated the man behind him, dressed in a double-breasted velvet coat.
His cuffs were adorned with cheap glass beads, but when he bent down, the silver thread embroidery on the lining was exposed.
Lenka huddled in the straw pile, watching the thug tap the lantern three times with his fingertips—the signal among dock smugglers that "the big fish has arrived."
"The goods are here, sir." The man with the red nose kicked aside the broken ceramics blocking the way. The sound of the shards scraping the ground made Idrar's ears perk up. "They're absolutely clean, just stolen from the bakery. We were planning to send them to the beggars, but you arrived just in time..."
His hand reached out to grab Lenka's arm, but the man in the velvet coat suddenly raised his hand, the glass beads on his leather gloves reflecting a cold light: "Things happened suddenly; the previous shipment can't be used. The boss needs a quick replacement..."
"Look at those eyes." The man gripped Lenka's chin, his fingertips brushing away the tears at the corner of her eyes. The rose perfume on his gloves overpowered the musty stench of the cellar. "Like blueberries soaked in moonlight, perfect for the Earl's afternoon tea table."
The man with the red nose looked somewhat troubled: "The high-quality goods you need are indeed hard to find. Right now, this is the only one available. However, if you could give us a little more time..."
"I'll give you seven days. Within seven days, you must find seven people, and after that, I need one of this quality every month!" The man spoke in a tone that brooked no argument. "If Broken Barrel can't do it, then find someone else who can!"
The man with the red nose was startled by the demand and could only grit his teeth and nod. "I'll do it!"
Finding girls of that quality in the slums was extremely difficult. If all else failed, he'd have to venture into the working-class district... or even the wealthy district.
The Broken Barrel gang, made up of small-time thugs, was even lower class than the Blackbeard Gang and the Soot Street Scamps, whose gangs were built on industry. Blackbeard monopolized the docks, and the Scamps monopolized the chimney sweeps, Nightmen, and coal transporters in the Rust District. Even if the people above them wanted to replace them, it would be difficult.
But what are the Broken Barrel? Their market is dictated by others, and they scavenge for any available space. These no-goods in the bootlegging business are easily replaced—it's just a matter of a word from the higher-ups. The man with the wine-stained nose dares not defy them.
A faint rustling sound came from the ventilation shaft, like a rat dragging broken bricks.
Lenka suddenly heard a muffled crack from above, followed by the lantern held by the man with the red nose swaying violently. A blurry shadow flashed in the flickering light, then came the dull thud of a heavy object hitting the tin roof.
"Go check it out!" The velvet-clad man pushed the man with the red nose, who had just reached the door, but suddenly heard the creaking sound of a rope tightening.
Lenka peered through the gaps in her eyelashes and saw the thug's neck being choked by a thick hemp rope, his entire body suspended from the doorframe, his toes three inches off the ground, his hands clawing at his neck, which was turning purple.
From the depths of the cellar came suppressed screams, like someone was scraping a wooden barrel with broken glass, followed by the sound of collisions, cat cries, and tearing.
The velvet-clad man's back collided with the stone wall, and his silver ring struck the brick joints, sparking sparks.
Idrar's ears twitched to the right, and his left eye, hidden beneath the blindfold, twitched violently. He heard at least two footsteps moving across the roof, one of which was sliding down the iron bars of the ventilation shaft.
"Who's out there?" the velvet-clad man's voice trembled as he suddenly saw a black shadow hanging from the ventilation shaft.
Three cats of different colors landed on the ground, drawing the velvet-clad man's attention. Taking advantage of the distraction, Edrick inverted himself and plunged into the cellar, wrapping the hemp rope around the wrist of the nearest thug and pulling him back with all his strength.
As the dagger sliced through the man's Adam's apple,blood spattered onto Lenka's gold-foil paper: "To be honest, there are more of you than I expected, so it took a bit longer than I thought."
The thug with the wine-stained nose tried to call for help, but was caught by the iron chain Edrick had thrown at him, which was a part of the crane dismantled from the roof. The rust mixed with machine oil dripped onto his shoulders, and as it tightened, it made a sound like gears grinding against each other.
With Edrick's original skills, it was still a little difficult to kill these human traffickers silently, but the Faith Essence Points he gained in the basement of the cathedral allowed him to draw many more good items. In addition to sheep kidneys, there were even rare and strange items such as cow stomach and pig ears. Eating these items comprehensively strengthened his body.
After his Divine Force reached 100, he unlocked a new attribute: physique. Increasing his physique value directly improved his physical abilities.
Now his attribute panel was as follows:
Character: Edrick Croft
Race: Human
Occupation: Village Deity (Apprentice)
Age: 100 days
Lifespan: 9 months
Icon: None
Symbol: None
Manifestation: None
Talent 1: Faith's Bounty
Divine Force: 160
Physical Strength: 20
Talent 2: Faith Sense
Faith Essence Points: 700
Total number of candles lit: 3
Character Status: Injured (healing), Angry
Skill 1: Ripper. Skill Level: Expert (very skilled with sharp knives)
Skill 2: Third Set of Low-Level Civil Servant Broadcast Exercises from the Celestial Theodome. Proficiency: Novice (These exercises are required for low-level civil servants in the Celestial Theodome. They strengthen the body and are recommended to be done for 15 minutes every morning and evening.
Skill 3: Cat Control Spell
Skill 4: Mind Cleansing Spell
Items
Secret Silver Holy Spell Sealing Chain (Broken) *3
Aether Core Sealing Needle *1
"Your name is... Idrar, right?" Edrick came to Idrar's side to check his injuries, his face revealing uncontrollable anger. "You're the child of Dawn from Fogport Raven."
Seeing a familiar face he hadn't seen in a long time, even the strong Idrar couldn't hold back his tears.
"You… you can't kill me!" The velvet-voiced man's voice trembled, but as a member of the privileged class, the last remnants of his pride suppressed his fear. "I… I'm from the Church!"
"He's not a monk."
Edrick turned to look, and Lacus emerged from the shadows. A black cat jumped into her soft embrace, and Lacus stroked it gently, her beautiful eyes filled with murderous intent. "He's just someone working for the Church. They're cautious; they wouldn't send a priest. They always hire outsiders for dirty work, leaving no evidence behind."
Edrick was somewhat surprised: "You know a lot about the Vatican's methods. I thought you were just a delicate flower from a greenhouse."
Lacus laughed self-deprecatingly: "That's also why I broke ties with the Vatican... I learned too many things I didn't want to know."
As he listened to their conversation, the velvet-clad man's expression grew increasingly grim. He had recognized their identities—these two were no ordinary individuals: "You... you can't kill me... I am..."
"Who you are doesn't matter anymore." Lacus spoke, raising his hand with a golden energy sword. The velvet-clad man's eyes widened in shock, for he recognized it as the sacred magic only mastered by high-ranking priests of the Church.
"There must be some misunderstanding among us—"
In the dark prison cell, sword light flashed, and blood spattered everywhere.