For the most part, only the poor live in the favelas. This is because, to live in the protected areas of Novo Redondo, one must pay certain taxes and fees — funds that the government uses to improve security, sanitation and other essential services.
Many people do not have the luxury of living in these protected areas, as their financial situation does not allow it. That is where the favelas are: a place where no taxes or fees are paid, but where the government practically ignores the residents. No security, no sanitation — there are only problems. Even so, many choose to live it all, ignoring the negative aspects .
But, as in any place with people, even in the favelas there is a classification. At the top are the organized criminals — renegade mercenaries who control much of the local crime. Then come the lesser crimes, followed by some eccentric, mysterious and powerful figures who prefer the shadows of the favelas, avoiding public appearances.
In a tavern in the slums
The tavern was packed that night. Men who were drinking , talking, and laughing were deafeningly loud. To the uninitiated, it looked like chaos—but to them, it was the norm. Attractive-looking women were serving drinks, wearing tight, revealing clothing, showing off their cleavage and legs to attract ogling glances. They didn't mind—in fact, they seemed to enjoy the attention.
In the tavern, some mercenaries were hired to maintain order: no fights, confusion or rudeness, especially with women, who only gave freedom if they wanted to.
Then, in the midst of the festive atmosphere, three men walked in. The cheerful atmosphere dissolved into a deathly silence—so heavy that you could hear a needle drop.
The three walked with natural arrogance to the best table. The patrons, without question, stood up and moved out of the way. Only when the men sat down did the noise and laughter return, as if the tavern had taken a deep breath.
— So, have we found them yet? — Said the man who seemed to be the leader, a gentleman of about 60 years old, with a somber air that seemed to bring shadows. The other two, although a little younger, had the same somber aura — almost like walking corpses.
— Yes, I sent team B to capture them without alarming anyone. The commander can rest assured — replied the man with effeminate features, with a mischievous look that seemed to cut through the air.
The third of the group, a burly, muscular man, but with pale skin as if he had never seen the sun, looked at him with a stern face and said:
—Butcher, this time you are not allowed to fail.
The Butcher spoke hurriedly, with a mixture of arrogance and firmness:
— The vice-commander need not worry. I, Butcher, will not disappoint either the commander or the vice-commander.
The commander, a man of about 60, nodded slowly and said:
— It wasn't easy to locate the werewolves. They usually hide very well. Now that we've managed to find an entire family, we can't let this opportunity slip away.
The vice-commander and the Butcher nodded in agreement, and the commander continued:
— Even though the operation is in the favelas, it has to be clean and quick. Otherwise, we'll be dead before we get out of there.
It became clear that the three were planning to kidnap a family of werewolves—something forbidden by the kingdom's laws. In the past, the slave trade was common, and the different races lived in constant conflict. But after the great race war, this practice was banned. Today, the races coexist in harmony, and forced slavery is seen as taboo, accepting only voluntary slavery—a rule that applies to the kingdom and other territories on the continent.
— How many people did you send? — asked the commander.
— Five men, all mercenaries level silver — replied Butcher.
In the kingdom, mercenaries were classified into three levels: copper, silver, and gold. Beginners were apprentices; to reach copper, a mercenary had to be one of the strongest in his race. To become silver, one had to simultaneously defeat ten copper mercenaries.
— Very well. Five silver-level mercenaries should be enough. Let's drink.
As for the gold rank, it was a nearly unattainable rank. To become a gold rank, a mercenary had to reach the status of a level 1 primary being—beings that ordinary people considered immortal. Even in small towns , becoming a level 1 primary being was a source of lifelong pride.
Meanwhile, on a darker street in the slums, a little girl with silver hair ran desperately, chased by two boys.
— Help! Help! These boys want to do nasty things to me! Someone, please help me! — she screamed , tears streaming down her beautiful blue eyes as she jumped from one rooftop to another.
To outsiders, it looked like a clear case of banditry against a defenseless girl. A scene that would arouse sympathy and the urge to intervene in any sensible person.
But, strangely, the favela residents who witnessed that scene simply ignored what had happened.
They had seen this play a million times before, with the same protagonist and different villains — so they didn't bother to weigh in.
In fact, the boys were John and Alex, and the girl being chased was the young wolf who had stolen John's bag.
They had been in pursuit for over two hours.
John, overcome with anger and shame, thought to himself:
"A girl accuses me of stalking her—me, a young lord of a vast territory! What a joke... She'll see what's good for her cough when I finally get my hands on her, you stupid thief."
Alex, for his part, was angry, not for himself, but because his young lord and friend was being slandered.
— You crazy thief, just wait until this young lord catches you. You'll see what's good for your cough! — Alex shouted , trying to keep up with the pace of the chase.
John was already tired of running, and by this time he no longer cared about controlling his words.
He even considered revealing his identity to intimidate the girl, but to his surprise, this only made her mock him even more.
— Young lord my ass ! Come get me, you idiot! This young lady is going to teach you a lesson, young lord of chickens! — she laughed defiantly.
The girl laughed as she ran:
— Young lord my ass ! What kind of young lord has only copper and silver coins in his purse, and a ring that isn't even worth gold? Not to mention he doesn't have any escort! — she thought , concluding that John was lying just to make her stop. If John could hear these thoughts, he would certainly cough up blood.
With the agile grace of a werewolf, she leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Her agility was surprising, but her natural stamina left something to be desired.
After running so much, she stopped on a rooftop and was faced with a dilemma: in front of her were two wooden houses, separated by a distance greater than she could reach with a jump. Without enough balance, she couldn't cross.
He looked back. The pursuers had accelerated and were already dangerously close.
"What now? What do I do? Do I let them catch me or do I risk the jump?" he thought .
He decided to try his luck. He took a few steps back, ran forward and jumped.
But he couldn't.
She was hanging from the edge of the roof of the opposite house, holding on only with her left hand. Her entire body was suspended in the air.
If only she could let go of the bag she was holding tightly in her right hand, she could pull herself up. But the way she was clutching the bag made it clear how important its contents were to her.
His left hand began to slip. His desperation grew, but at no point did he consider letting go of the bag to save himself.
Luckily—or unluckily—John had already reached the roof.
"Why the hell doesn't she drop that bag and save herself?" he thought , crossing paths with her.
— Hey, you idiot! Drop that bag if you don't want to fall! — he shouted .
The girl did not accept the help, mocking:
— Leave me alone, young chicken lord!
As she struggled, her left hand slowly slipped and she began to fall. She closed her eyes in resignation.
But after a moment, he realized he wasn't falling.
He opened his blue eyes and saw a boy holding his hand tightly.
Confused, she didn't understand why he had saved her .
He looked at John with a complicated expression—and, to everyone's surprise, the first thing he said was not a thank you, but a shout:
— Let me go! Let me go, you young chicken lord!
John got angry, he thought:
— Damn , I do a favor and still get yelled at? What a stupid little girl... I think I'll scare this girl a little.
With a sarcastic smile, he said:
—Ah, since you asked so kindly, this young lord will do you a favor.
Smiling like a soap opera villain, he loosened his grip on the girl's hand.
— Hahaha ... Houhahah !
John's laughter grew louder as he slowly let her hand slip away.
The wolf girl's cute little face changed. Realizing that John wasn't joking, she swallowed her pride and demanded:
— Pull me. Pull, you chicken lord, don't you dare let me fall. I am royalty of the wolfman clan. If you let me fall, I will stab you to death.
John was stunned.
—I've never seen such a shameless little girl—he thought.
He then decided to take the scare to the extreme. His laughter increased.
— Why would a royal steal coins? And why would he walk around looking like a dirty little pig, huh? Hmm , hmm ?
John let go of the girl's hand and grabbed it again, with an even more sinister laugh.
Alex, at the side, was perplexed. He didn't understand why his young lord was acting like this. He had been kind and polite until recently, and now he seemed like a real scoundrel.
But John was amused:
— Give to God what is God's, and to chance what is Caesar's. If you want to play, then let's play — he thought.
With a defeated look, a mosquito-like thin voice sounded:
— Please pull me up.
John stopped laughing and replied:
— What? I didn't hear you right. You want me to drop you, right ?
The girl bit her lips and spoke louder:
— Young lord , can you please pull me up?
When she said this, a blush appeared on her rosy cheeks.
John felt an arrow sticking into his heart. He couldn't resist a girl blushing with embarrassment.
It's not that he was some kind of pedophile—far from it—but his body still had some influences from his Earth mind.
And most importantly: on Earth, it was rare, if not impossible, to see a girl blush with embarrassment.
Even her younger sister only cried when she had a fever.
He was enchanted by seeing girls blush in the animes he watched on Earth.
After a while, John pulled the wolf girl up. He didn't want her to cry because of him. Seeing the blush on her cheeks, his anger dissipated completely. To John, his emotional math was simple—a girl who blushes is automatically a good girl. This idea, as twisted as it was, came from years of watching anime. In his defense, he told himself that he had never seen a villain blush, no matter the gender.
Now the two of them, along with Alex, were standing, looking at each other in silence, each measuring the other. The silence stretched on for minutes until John, impatient, broke it:
— Hey, wolf girl .
Nothing.
— Wolf girl , give me back my belongings.
She remained silent.
John sighed, adopting a softer tone:
— Just give back what you stole, and you can go. I'll pretend nothing happened between us.
He was already fed up with standing on the roof of someone else's house. He just wanted to grab his bag, buy something to eat — after all, it was late, and he didn't like eating out of hours — and stop by the castle.
But the girl seemed determined not to speak.
On the dark side of the slums, in a wooden hut, a woman of about 30 years old lay in bed. Her pale face betrayed the illness that consumed her, and her silver hair, already tinged with gray, belied her age. Every minute, she coughed, while her blue eyes expressed concern.
— Izabela hasn't come back yet? Where is she? — said the woman in bed, in a weak voice.
The teenager who was taking care of her responded, worried, wiping her forehead with a damp cloth:
— I don't know... She should be here by now.
— It's dangerous for us to be wandering around like this. We have to be careful, and Izabela knows that. Because ...
Cough.
Throw. Throw.
The woman coughed more intensely, the emotional stress worsening her condition. A teenager, trying to remain calm, spoke in a trembling but firm voice:
— Don't worry, auntie, Izabela should be back soon. Stay calm, I'll go look for her, okay?
She forced a smile, she didn't want her aunt, her greatest treasure, to get even worse. Since she was taken refuge in the slums of the Venhorst territory , in Novo Redondo, the woman's illness only got worse.
— Okay. You go look for Izabela . I'll be fine — the woman replied, trying to sound stronger than she was.
A teenager straightened the old blanket covering his aunt's frail body and turned to the door. Suddenly, without warning, a loud crash echoed. The door was thrown open and flew towards the girl, who was knocked to the ground. Blood gushed from the wound in her head, her vision blurred, and she fell unconscious.
Five figures armed with swords and spears entered the cabin. The woman in the bed tried to get up to help a teenager, but it was useless. She fell back to the floor.
The invaders swept the comfort with their eyes until one of them spoke:
— One missing.
Pointing to two men on his left, he gave orders:
— You two , search the surroundings. She has to be nearby.
Turning to the other two, I tried:
— You guys , tie these two up and cover their eyes and mouths.
The four followed orders: two went out to look for the girl, while the other two took ropes and tied up the sick woman and the teenager, blindfolding them and covering their mouths, as ordered by the muscular man.
Twenty minutes later, the two men who had left returned.
— Boss, there's no sign of the girl — one of them reported.
The muscular man nodded, scratched his thick beard and said:
— Very well. Fix the door and organize everything here. Searching is useless. The little girl will come home sooner or later.
The chief's sinister laughter made even the men themselves shiver. After that, they returned to the door and hid inside the hut, waiting for the wolf girl to return. A heavy silence took over the place.