The wind at the border was dry.
Not like the wind in the city.
No moisture.
No temperature.
When it blew past, it even carried fine dust.
The wheels rolled slowly over cracked pavement.
In the distance, an abandoned checkpoint could be seen.
Large fractures had spread across the concrete walls.
It was no longer clear which country it once belonged to.
A metal sign had fallen to the side.
The words on it had been worn into a blur by wind and sand.
Lucian sat in the back seat.
The window was not fully closed.
Wind kept pouring in.
The guide beside him lowered his head and lit a cigarette.
The flame briefly flickered in the dim interior.
"Up ahead is the buffer zone," he said.
His voice was hoarse.
Like long-term damage from smoking.
Lucian looked out the window.
Buildings were starting to thin out.
In their place were large numbers of makeshift metal shacks.
Some were nothing more than wooden boards and plastic sheets patched together.
Stones pressed down on the roofs
to keep them from being blown away.
There were quite a few people along the road.
But no one stayed in one place for long.
Everyone moved quickly.
As if ready to leave at any moment.
The guide continued:
"The border between Country A and Country B changes every few years."
"Sometimes A's forces push forward."
"Sometimes B takes it back."
"So no one here dares to build anything permanent."
Lucian said nothing.
He simply observed quietly.
Indeed.
There were no truly stable facilities here.
No large shopping centers.
No hospitals.
Not even proper schools.
Only:
Inns.
Repair shops.
Temporary warehouses.
Grocery stores.
And a mass of low, cramped buildings.
The entire area felt forgotten by the world.
The vehicle slowly entered the district.
More figures appeared along both sides of the road.
Some carried crates.
Some pushed old carts.
Others sat against walls, staring blankly.
The air was mixed with the smell of engine oil.
Sweat.
Smoke.
And a dull staleness from long-term lack of cleanliness.
People here rarely spoke.
They kept their distance from each other.
Lucian watched for a while, then spoke calmly:
"Doesn't any country govern this place?"
The guide let out a short laugh.
"Country?"
"Young master, places like this only belong to a country on maps."
"The ones who actually control it have never been flags."
The vehicle continued forward.
In the distance, an armed checkpoint came into view.
It carried the flag of Country A.
But the guide only glanced at it.
"Last month it was B's men."
"Now it's back to A again."
Lucian's gaze lingered for a few seconds.
The soldiers at the post looked lax.
Some leaned against the wall smoking.
Some weren't even fully dressed in uniform.
They didn't look like a regular garrison.
More like a temporary display of presence.
The vehicle stopped beside a refueling facility.
The guards got out first to check the surroundings.
Only then did Lucian step out.
The air outside was even drier.
Faint arguments could be heard in the distance.
Along with the roar of engines.
The entire area carried a constant sense of instability.
As if something could happen at any moment.
A wind chime hung at the entrance of a nearby shop.
It made soft, fragmented sounds as the wind blew.
A young girl stood by the street holding a basket of flowers.
She wasn't very old.
Her clothes were worn,
but neatly arranged.
When she saw someone step out of the car, she immediately ran over.
"Sir, would you like some flowers?"
Her voice was soft.
But her movements were practiced.
Clearly she had been doing this for a long time.
Lucian looked down at her.
She was about ten years old.
Her face was thin,
but her eyes were bright.
The flowers in her basket were not fresh.
Some had already begun to wilt.
But they were still carefully arranged.
Lucian asked,
"Are you alone here?"
The girl shook her head.
"My mom is over there."
She pointed toward a gray building in the distance.
Several women were there, sorting fabric.
Like a temporary workshop.
Lucian did not ask further.
He simply took money from a guard
and bought the entire basket.
The girl froze for a moment.
She looked down at the money in her hands.
After a few seconds, she quickly bowed.
"Thank you, sir."
Lucian gave no response.
He simply turned and walked away.
The guide watched the scene
and exhaled a stream of smoke.
"Kids here learn how to survive very early."
"Because no one raises them."
Lucian spoke calmly:
"What about the country?"
The guide fell silent for a few seconds.
Then smiled faintly.
"The country feeds the army first."
"What's left comes after."
They continued forward.
The district grew more chaotic.
Armed individuals could be seen everywhere.
But their clothing was inconsistent.
Some wore old military uniforms.
Some wore body armor.
Some simply draped themselves in long cloth.
It was hard to identify who they were.
The guide lowered his voice.
"Don't stare at them."
"A lot of people here don't like being watched."
Lucian shifted his gaze away
and kept moving.
Not long after—
Suddenly, rapid hoofbeats approached from ahead.
The crowd on the street instantly scattered.
Some quickly shut their doors.
Some fled straight into buildings.
The street, which had some noise just moments ago,
fell quiet in an instant.
The guide's expression changed slightly.
"Trouble."
In the distance—
More than a dozen horses charged into the street at high speed.
Every rider had their face covered.
Old firearms hung from their bodies.
Gray-black cloth draped over them.
They looked like bandits.
But after watching for a few seconds,
Lucian frowned slightly.
Their movements were too uniform.
Their riding habits were clearly trained.
They were not ordinary bandits.
As the horses stormed in,
the man in front fired directly.
Bang.
The gunshot exploded through the street.
Chaos erupted instantly.
Screams rang out everywhere.
Some people were dragged straight out of shops.
Others tried to run—
only to have their legs shot out from under them.
The guide cursed under his breath.
"Again…"
Lucian turned his head.
"Does this happen often?"
The guide's face darkened.
"People at the border are valuable."
"No one checks."
"No one records the dead."
"Most of the time, you can't even tell who did it."
Lucian continued observing.
Their movements were extremely efficient.
Clearly not their first time.
Some sealed off the street.
Some captured people.
Others specifically targeted young women and children.
This wasn't looting.
It looked like a fixed operation.
People were already being tied up along the street.
The cries grew more chaotic.
The guide spoke quickly:
"Don't get involved."
"Get inside."
He moved immediately, leading the way.
The door of a nearby building was already open.
The people inside clearly recognized the guide.
They let them in at once.
"Whose territory is this?" Lucian asked.
"A local armed merchant group," the guide replied.
"As long as you don't cause trouble, no one attacks here."
Several guards had already taken positions by the windows.
Outside, the street grew more chaotic.
Hoofbeats echoed continuously.
People were dragged along the ground.
Some tried to resist—
only to be smashed down by rifle butts.
Lucian's gaze slowly stopped.
Across the street—
The flower-selling girl was being dragged by her hair.
Her basket had fallen to the ground.
The flowers were crushed underfoot.
She struggled desperately.
But a hard slap sent her reeling.
A woman rushed forward—
probably her mother.
The next second—
A rifle butt smashed into her face.
She collapsed to the ground.
She did not get back up.
The guide lowered his voice:
"Don't look."
"This happens every day."
"You can't save everyone."
Lucian did not respond.
He simply watched quietly through the window.
The street grew more chaotic.
Crying.
Gunshots.
The shrill cries of horses.
All mixed together—
like the truest sound of this border.
The guide continued:
"Young master."
"Only strength matters here."
"Don't throw yourself in over a moment of emotion."
"There are definitely people behind them."
"With this scale, it can't just be bandits."
Lucian knew that.
These people were nothing like ordinary raiders.
Too precise.
Their formation carried clear military traces.
Most importantly—
The nearby official checkpoint showed no reaction.
As if it saw nothing.
The air grew heavier.
Outside the window—
The girl was dragged further down the street.
One of her shoes had already fallen off.
A long trail marked the ground where she was dragged.
She was still crying.
But her voice was growing weaker.
The guide spoke in a low voice:
"Don't interfere."
"That's the rule here."
"Staying alive matters more than anything."
The room fell silent.
None of the guards spoke.
Because they all understood—
this was not a simple conflict.
Once they intervened,
they could be dragged directly into border power struggles.
And at that moment—
Lucian slowly raised his gaze.
Toward the center of the street.
Wind blew in through the broken window.
The papers on the table shifted slightly.
Another scream echoed in the distance.
Lucian finally spoke.
His voice was calm.
"Rule?"
The guide froze for a moment.
Lucian slowly stood up.
There was no fluctuation in his eyes.
"If something like this can even be called a rule."
He reached out—
and took a gun from one of the guards.
Cold metal settled into his palm.
For a brief instant,
the air seemed to go still.
The guide's expression changed drastically.
"Young master!"
But Lucian had already walked toward the door.
His steps did not pause.
Outside the street—
hoofbeats still echoed.
And the wind—
began to turn cold.