Chapter Nine: The Divine Artifact

In a shadowy corner, a filthy little urchin absentmindedly scratched his back, yet his eyes were as sharp and piercing as a hawk’s, sweeping ceaselessly through the bustling crowd in search of his “prey.” It did not take long for him to settle on a target: a young man and woman, the former no older than sixteen, the latter barely thirteen or fourteen. Their extravagant attire and unique bearing made them stand out, even on the capital’s grand avenue where nobles were a common sight.

A glint of cunning flashed in his eyes. The urchin licked his parched lips, eagerly wiped his palms, and sprang up from the ground, weaving his way toward the pair. At that moment, however, neither of his targets—Weir and his companion—were aware that they had already attracted unwanted attention.

The urchin’s small, wiry body slipped through the dense crowd like an eel, drawing shrieks from those he brushed past.

“Hey! Get away from me, you filthy brat!”

“Oh, how disgusting! That kid’s filthy!”

“I’d wager he hasn’t bathed in three years!”

“Heavens, I’ve been robbed!”

“Damn it! So have I!”

Ignoring the uproar, the urchin let out a disdainful snort and casually weighed a few gold coins in his hand—freshly pilfered—his lips curling in a satisfied grin.

The commotion snapped Weir from his reverie. He glanced around, only to spot—some distance away—a filthy little urchin forcing his way toward them. The instant their eyes met, the boy quickly turned his head aside as if nothing had happened.

“Hm?” Sensing something amiss, Weir let his gaze linger over the chaotic throng. Understanding dawned. He smiled faintly.

――――――

When the urchin turned back around, his prey had all but vanished.

“Where did they go!?” He cast about in confusion, but there was no sign of Weir or his companion. Just then, a group of burly men rounded a nearby corner. One crooked his finger at the urchin, then pointed meaningfully back the way they’d come, leaving no doubt they wanted him to follow.

“Damn it! Not them!” he muttered under his breath. Without hesitation, he spun and bolted in the opposite direction, but he’d barely taken a few steps before slamming into someone.

“Damn it! Which blind fool can’t even watch where he’s going?” The scrawny boy staggered, cursing, and scrambled to his feet, intending to kick the person who’d blocked his way. But the moment he saw who it was, his face went deathly pale and his whole body began to tremble.

“H-Hansen!”

“It’s been a while, Bill,” the hulking man named Hansen sneered, baring two rows of yellowed teeth. He reached down, hoisting Bill easily off the ground, and turned to drag him back toward the alleyway.

Where there is light, darkness follows. For all the prosperity and harmony of the imperial capital, its shadows hid many dark corners. Take Hansen, for instance—a man of the Babir Merchant Guild. The Babir Guild’s dealings extended not just throughout the Vira Empire, but to the other four great empires as well. Those who knew the guild’s true nature understood that their so-called “business” was nothing more than slave trading for obscene profit.

Hansen flung Bill to the ground, letting out a cold laugh. “Well, Bill, looks like this time you won’t be getting away.”

He cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing like snapping twigs, and Bill, terrified, burst into tears. “No, please! Don’t hit me! I promise I won’t run again—really!”

“Oh, spare us the act, Bill. That pitiful look might work on noble ladies, but not on us…” Behind him, more burly men moved in. One seized Bill by the collar and, without a word, slapped him hard across the face.

A sharp crack rang out. Half of Bill’s face swelled, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His head spun from the blow; if the thug hadn’t been holding him upright, he’d have collapsed to the ground.

“Easy, Bobby!” Hansen said, though he made no move to intervene. His lips curled in a malicious grin. “This kid’s got a delicate face—if you ruin it, those picky noble ladies won’t be so eager to pay for him.”

“Ha! Good point!” Bobby laughed, nodding as he tossed Bill aside.

Not far away, Weir watched the scene with a cold snort. At his side, Wei Ling edged closer, whispering, “What should we do? That child looks so pitiful… Shouldn’t we help him?”

“Pitiful? Perhaps. But noble life is infamous for its decadence. According to rumor, that boy is in high demand among the ladies. For money, they won’t harm him, but they’ll sell him like any other commodity. Once a lady buys him, he’ll have a life of luxury—but he’ll lose the most precious thing of all: his freedom.”

Wei Ling nodded, half-understanding. The depravity of the nobility was no secret; their women’s fondness for handsome boys was well known. Just as Weir had said, the child might exchange his freedom for a life of comfort and abundance.

Having grown up in a great family, Wei Ling had never truly understood the value of personal liberty; she felt only a faint sympathy for the boy’s fate. Pouting, she murmured, “Let’s just go. I don’t like seeing things like this…”

Weir nodded, and the two were about to leave when the urchin suddenly cried out in panic, “Don’t take me back! I can tell you something valuable—something the Babir Guild will want to know!”

“Don’t listen to him—this brat's as sly as they come!” Bobby sneered, reaching out for Bill. The boy, more frightened than ever, shouted at the top of his lungs, “It’s true! I know something about a relic!”