Oren saw countless mortals bustle through the vast outskirts streets.
The crowd was filled with mothers, fathers, and children, gathering around vendors who were handing out free supplements.
"What a pleasant place this is."
Oren chuckled as he crossed the road, glancing at a beggar lying on the pavement.
Walking past the event with an empty mind, Oren suddenly froze and turned back, scanning the crowd.
He let out a deep, unsettled breath.
What is that? What event are they preparing for?
And… how had he only just noticed it?
Behind Oren, at the centre of the market street, lay one of the most spacious areas in the outskirt district, a wide, circular clearing.
Outdated and abandoned buildings bordered the circle, their walls cracked and weather-worn.
Along the outside of the event, vendors were setting up banners, stools, and tables.
At the heart of the clearing, metal poles rose in a rough circle, marking out a grand tent.
He noticed several men and women driving stakes into the ground, their movements practised with unnatural precision.
Despite the manual labour, they were dressed in luxurious attire.
That realisation stirred Oren the wrong way, making him ask.
Why waste money in a place where people had nothing? Was doing so truly necessary?
Even so, after a week spent exploring the city, this was the first time Oren had seen the city's men and women gathered like this.
Behind them, a few performers practised acrobatics near the tent's entrance, entertaining those lingering along the outskirts.
Oren eventually dismissed the event.
Is this the Light Festival preparations.
That was what he had gathered from the crowd. He also recalled a handful of candidates talking about it.
There were even rumours of the Light Festival in the academy.
Such an event, was one held in high regard within the Unison Mountains, yet occurring only once a year in these outskirts.
Similar to the winter solstice, or how mortals celebrated birthdays.
If he had heard correctly, it was the greatest event of autumn, a final measure of light before early winter's darkness set in.
It was a day or two after the Trial of Longing.
Despite not having any further lessons, the trial of longing and enlightenment lingered in the back of his mind.
His thoughts drifted as he watched them for a moment longer.
To have missed the crowd and event entirely… I must have been daydreaming.
A low sigh escaped his mouth, merging with the breeze.
Then he heard something strange.
As he walked, the sound only grew louder.
"What is that sound…?" he questioned, feeling as though he could hear the rattle of chains.
When it abruptly stopped, Oren frowned, taking it as a trick of sleeplessness.
Perhaps I do need sleep.
But even if that is so, I will at least find it before I return to the academy.
Despite saying that, no matter how hard Oren searched, he could not find what he was looking for, making him doubt himself.
Is there really one here? A gambling den?There must be, but where.
Obviously, he did not know if such places existed in the outskirts, in this world, even.
But he knew that mortals, rich and poor, fortunate and unfortunate, indulged in many things. Some travelled, while others took up their talents and made them professions.
Oren also knew that in bars like this, many things happened unseen by the public.
He shook his head again.
As Oren stepped out into a new street, he passed a shadowy alleyway and froze at its centre.
A stench of rot filled the air.
A primal instinct rose within Oren.
He grimaced, then held his nose. How distasteful.
But in all seriousness, that smell is not sanitary.
To think there is even a restaurant here.
Oren looked toward the centre of the building from the entrance of the alleyway.
Bins and garbage were piled outside it, layered across the wide backstreet.
But something felt off.
A board of ancient wood was nailed to the brick of the residence.
Painted across it were the large words Wine and Dine, yet Oren suspected this place was exactly what he had been searching for.
Then his gaze drifted past the sign, settling on something in the distance.
His eyes darkened.
The nostalgic smirk on his face faded, and his mind grew quiet.
What is going on here?
In the depths of the alleyway, a frail cry echoed, pitiful enough to weaken his legs, yet the sound he heard was somehow weaker.
"Master… I… I was wrong."
The words barely reached Oren's ears. He should have known not to intrude, but passing by was not intruding.
As he entered the alley, the muffled screams of a young man became clear and unsettling, even for him.
He heard.
"Forgive me. Please… forgive my insignificant self. I beg you. I was wrong."
There was a brief pause, as though exhaustion stripped them of speech.
He heard the familiar rustle of chains under the next words, the sounds he had dismissed as illusions only minutes ago.
"I promise. I swear this on the name of the mountains and sky. I put my words on the Lord."
"I will fetch the benefits you are owed. I will do anything, anything at all. Please, just spare my existence. I will not fail you again."
Watching from afar, Oren finally saw two shadowy figures.
One was grovelling at the knees of the other who wore a mask. The masked silhouette seemed to stand as though they were above the world.
He did not need a clearer image to understand what this was.
A slave and their slaver.
A solemn expression found its way onto Oren's face as he descended the cramped alleyway.
He wondered to himself.
If push comes to shove, would I ever find myself a slave? Would I ever take the freedom of one's life?
He sighed inwardly, dismissing the thoughts with a simple answer.
Only if it was necessary.
The slave was seemingly a youth in his late teens, he could even see dirt in the young mans dishevelled black hair.
If Oren had to give the boy a specific age, he would say he was seventeen.
The boy's ashen forehead continued to scrape the dirty floor as he begged for forgiveness.
Looking at the slave, he could not help but feel guilty about feeling tired.
The boy was critically exhausted.
It looked as though he would pass out entirely.
The distance between the dirtied young man kneeling and the masked figure grew smaller, as he raised his voice.
"Silence. You will only draw attention to your pitiful self."
The boy on the ground cried out regardless, even as Oren observed.
He walked closer, watched carefully, and maintained composure.
Not because he did not care about the slave, nor because he cared too much.
He was not benevolent like C04, nor ignorant like his former self. He would choose when to help and when not to.
I have no ties to this slave, therefore I have no reason to put my own life in danger.
Oren did not know whether the slaver before him was Enlightened.
The mask the man wore could easily be a sign of enlightenment, but that too he did not know.
Looking past the slave on the ground into the dark reaches of the alleyway, he saw an old establishment.
His eyes darkened as he walked past the slave and the man, descending deeper into the shadow-filled alleyway.
The slave cried out again.
"Please. I selfishly ask for your forgiveness again."
His whisper was loud enough for passersby to hear, yet the strangers remained indifferent and continued shopping, unwilling to stir trouble with a slave owner.
The slaver gradually closed the distance between himself and the boy. When he was close enough, he seized the child by the hair and wrenched his head upward.
Behind the mask, the slaver grinned before shouting.
"I seek two hundred Yie and three Bitter Brussel wines."
"Disgusting…" Oren murmured as he heard the slave squeal.
"But senior, please. How do you expect me to obtain that amount of Yie and three Bitter Brussel wines? The wines alone are costly. The total would reach three hundred Mountain Yie."
All of this over a drink and yie? Oren thought as he glanced at the slaver, who returned the look with open disgust.
"Do I need to explain myself? If you cannot afford it, steal. If you cannot steal, kill. If you cannot kill to keep your own meaningless life, then that is a life you do not deserve."
"If you do not acquire these within one week, hopefully nothing unfortunate happens to the other slaves."
The slaver knew the man before him did not value his own life. Thus, he threatened what the slave cherished most.
Oren had reached a distance where the words were reduced to muffled whispers.
Turning to the door, he finally dismissed the cruel scene of the grovelling slave.
He still heard a faint clatter as severed chains scraped against the concrete floor.
Then came the distant rumble of a cart rolling past, heading toward the Light Festival preparations.
Looking at the worn-down establishment, Oren smiled.
For a place in an abandoned alleyway, how was it still in business?
He pondered for a while.
The lights were on, but Wine and Dine was hidden away, uninviting, yet it drew Oren closer.
If I am right, this place is a gambling den.
He reached for the doorknob, twisted, then pushed.
The light inside the conservatory flickered on.
Stepping inside, the scent of wine, curry, and stew filled the air.