Chapter 46

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*Pwooooon*

"…What was that just now?"

For a moment, a shrill trumpet sound echoed throughout the slums. The sound, which occasionally reverberated through the slums, made people look up to the sky. Everyone poked their heads out of small windows and eaves, and the usually noisy street market fell silent for a brief moment.

However, today's silence was not just because of that. The presence of intruders who should not exist here, the guards who usually patrolled the city of Galuamaria, had taken the voices of the slum dwellers.

"Deputy Captain, I apologize. The thief fled like a bird into the alleys of the slums. However, we have apprehended someone who seems to be an accomplice."

The man called Deputy Captain was slender but his body exuded a sharpness rather than frailty.

The person the guards had apprehended was a child, a young girl. Though she was neatly dressed, her clothing and build clearly marked her as a slum dweller. In one of her hands, a dirty trumpet was trembling.

The man, called Deputy Captain, glanced at the old item, which even antique dealers would no longer handle, and looked down at the girl with an extremely cold voice.

"Is it true that you helped the thief escape?"

The girl did not answer. She could not answer. Her mouth was closed in fear, and her throat spasmed but made no sound.

The man's eyes, which resembled those of a reptile, were far from friendly. The guard holding the girl even broke out in a cold sweat, his heart pounding in fear that he might be accused of some baseless charge.

The man narrowed his eyes and ran his finger along the girl's neck, where she held the trumpet. The girl's shoulder trembled in resistance, but was held back by the guard's arm.

There, a black mark, no, a tattoo, was etched. It was proof of a past crime, a sin that was not to be forgiven, and the punishment received within the city walls.

That settled it. The man's jaw nodded.

"Very well. If you are an accomplice to the thief, we will not spare you, even if you are a girl. According to the law, cut off her right arm."

One of the guards, without hesitation, drew his saber. The blue blade glinted in the sunlight.

The girl's frightened eyes widened, and a cold sweat ran down her spine. Her heels felt as if they were being crawled over by countless insects. The overwhelming fear and anxiety paralyzed her legs.

Her eyes scanned the surroundings, seeking help.

There were many people around, countless. In contrast, the guards, including the Deputy Captain, numbered only five. If they surrounded them, they could easily overwhelm them. No amount of elite soldiers could stand against such a numerical advantage.

But there was no response to her gaze. The people around her said nothing. Like the girl, they could not speak.

If anyone dared to say a word, their arm would be next. Or worse, their head. Who could speak up? The guards were from inside the city walls, not the inferior people like themselves.

So, they could not speak. They could not. It was only natural. It was only right. They could do nothing. They were foolish, deserving to be trampled, and could only live by looking down at the ground.

Everyone had been robbed of their will. They were all desperately trying to play the role of slum dwellers, each one trying to be a stone by the roadside.

Ah, this was inevitable.

The girl bit her lip, cursing her voiceless throat. If only she had a voice, she would curse not only her throat but the entire world.

Even the trumpet, her last wish, had no meaning now. Her brother, who always came running when he heard its sound, would surely not come this time.

Ah, but that was for the best. If she died, perhaps her brave brother would return. Perhaps he could change everything.

So, that man did not need to come either.

The saber, glowing blue, was brought down. It was too late. Her frail right arm would be severed. It was beyond human reach.

The people around them held their breath in unison.

*

"Hey... that, Lougis... um... do you still have the ability to hear people's voices?"

As they hurried through the darkness, Fiarato muttered hesitantly.

Glancing back, Fiarato's hood was pulled down to her eyes, and her appearance was indiscernible, even her hair color.

Her shoulders were slightly heaving, and her breath was labored. Even though he was holding back to match her pace, it was natural given that they had been running non-stop through the slums.

Thinking she was asking for a break, he opened his mouth to respond.

"Sorry, but we can't stop. When that trumpet sounds, it means the demon's arm is around someone's neck. And if you push that arm away, it gets moody, a real unpredictable one."

He slowed his pace slightly but continued to run through the back alleys. The slums were always strangely dark, no matter where you went.

Looking back, Fiarato shook her head, as if denying his words. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, "Then what is it?"

"Um... you look so calm, but... are you actually angry?"

Her words, though broken and labored, were unusually weak. They were very different from what she had said before they set out.

He widened his eyes in surprise and reflexively cleared his throat.

He tried to speak, but her weak words left him at a loss for what to say.

What was going on? He had never seen such weakness, let alone heard of it, during their travels.

And was she really the kind of woman who cared about his feelings? No, she wasn't.

"Y-Yeah... I must have been a bother, huh... I was forced, and I can't really do anything... But if I'm left behind, I feel like I'm not needed..."

While he searched for the right words, Fiarato continued to pour out her feelings, revealing her inner turmoil. He did not look back, could not look back.

He had always thought she was a very strong woman. Seeing her weak side made him feel guilty, as if he shouldn't see it. He didn't want to see it. He wanted to hold her weakness in his hands.

A light appeared ahead. They were about to reach the main street, and the trumpet sound was likely coming from there.

"I know, I know. I'm saying something strange. But... you don't have to leave me behind, you know."

Her words, spoken with a pout, revealed that the fog in her heart had not yet cleared.

"Who said you're not needed? No, Fiarato, you are needed. It seems I can't go on stage alone."

The words he had been carefully crafting in his mind, trying to find the right way to speak to Fiarato, vanished in an instant.

The scene before him made them unnecessary, tearing them to shreds like scraps of paper. The guards drawing their sabers, the slum dwellers who did nothing to stop them, and the girl being held down—Wood's sister, Cereal.

It was too late. Even if he ran with all his might from here, it was impossible to reach her in time. It was beyond human limits. Only those with talent could cross that line.

He was not one of them. So, if he continued like this, everything would proceed as it should, according to the world's logic.

The girl's right arm would fall, the slum dwellers would accept the outcome with resignation, and the guards would continue to trample on them.

It was a distasteful ending. Ah, a very distasteful ending.

But he couldn't reach that stage alone.

"I'm counting on you, Fiarato. I've been abandoned by the goddess of fortune. Without your help, I don't think I can make it there. Do it with speed and precision."

He said this, forcing a smile on his face despite his lack of composure. He knew he was saying something ridiculous.

But he couldn't just stand there, saying nothing, after seeing even a glimpse of her weak side.

He understood the impulse to trample oneself, to believe one could do nothing. He deeply felt the pain of being unnecessary, of drinking mud.

For a moment, Fiarato's black eyes widened, and she froze. But it was only for a moment.

"Yes, leave it to me. I'll handle it with perfect accuracy—after all, I'm the one who forged you."

Her appearance was familiar. It was the confident, unshakable Fiarato La Borgograd he had seen before.