Tuka watched the old man.
The distant crackle of the bonfire accompanied their grim atmosphere. Several minutes later, he opened his mouth to ask about the nature of sura, but the silence broke before he could speak.
"What do you think of them, Tuka?"
Tuka flinched. The question was too sudden, cutting through the humid air of the campsite. But he caught the drift immediately—
"I can't say much," Tuka said, his voice cautious. "But at least they helped us out, right?"
"You really are naive. Did you learn nothing from the scavengers before" The old man sighed, the sound heavy with a weary sort of pity. "Do you remember what they said? About where they came from?"
Tuka winced.
The old man really had changed, the grandfatherly vibe was still there, but it had a sharp edge now. But there was no point dwelling on it—he wouldn't be here forever, anyway. Tuka shook the thought loose and gave him a curt answer.
"Qasratar?"
The old man stared at Tuka, waiting for a deeper realization that wasn't coming. He felt the stare prickle at his skin. He spat a curse under his breath, keeping his eyes away from the old man's.
I'm not naive, I'm just ignorant. There's a difference.
The old man rubbed his face with a calloused palm. "What would you do without me? Tell me, Tuka—do you know why it's called a Free City?"
"Because they legalized every kind of trade?"
"Half right."
"What's the other half?" Tuka asked, genuinely curious.
The old man shifted his weight, fully turning his body to face Tuka.
"Sit tight, I have no choice but to start from the scratch."
Seeing his usual playfulness gone, Tuka unconsciously straightened his lazy posture.
"Years ago, when the monster's invasion almost annihilated the King's armies at Qasratar," he began, his voice dropping into a low narrative. "The King made a decree: any Asura Guild who could stop the slaughter would be granted autonomy. Authority second only to the Crown."
He leaned in, his eyes gleaming like cold flint.
"Several Guilds banded together and won. The King kept his word. He gave them the right to manage themselves as long as they didn't 'harm humanity' too overtly. Now, imagine what kind of city a power-hungry superhuman creates when there are no laws."
Tuka stayed silent. The old man continued.
"They built a fortress, managing their army of Asuras," The old man finished. "Create their own laws, legalized every trade and even created their own bloody entertainment. It is a 'Free City,' Tuka. But only for those with the power to take it."
A hint of sadness lingered in the old man's eyes before he turned away.
Tuka's perspective shifted.
For a mortal like him whose daily life was just centered around how to find a good job and settle somewhere nice with a beautiful wife, the Asura's world was... hectic. It was basically a city where the strong devoured the weak—a meat grinder with a fancy name.
Tuka thanked the old man and said:
"That was completely different from what I thought, I will be careful around them now."
The old man's smile vanished. "Tuka, are you—"
CLANK. CLANK.
The boss emerged from his tent, gesturing toward a long, makeshift table. "Eat! We move soon."
The large table was filled with several dishes. The boss sat at the edge of the table.
"These four will join the next exploration," he announced, gesturing to Tuka's group.
"Take care of them."
A chorus of flat "Yes" responses followed. Some didn't even look up. Tuka looked at the boss, who offered a thumbs-up from the head of the table.
Weird guy, Tuka thought, offering a strained smile in return.
The meal was a blur. Tuka hesitated at first but after seeing the old man eat in silence, he shoved whatever was placed in front of him into his mouth, eating with a desperate vigor. Across the table, the scouts chatted easily with the camp members, adapting like chameleons.
Don't trust them, Tuka reminded himself. And don't fully trust the old man either.
After the meal, the boss slammed a sand-timer onto the wood.
"One hour," he announced. "Then we descend."
The camp became a blur of motion. Tents were dismantled. wagons were loaded. The scouts bandaged their wounds with ointment they received from the group. Beside Tuka, The old man was already leaning against a battered wall, snoring lightly.
"I can't relax at all," Tuka muttered to himself.
"Why don't you check your Sura then?"
Tuka's jumped. "I thought you were sleeping!"
"I was. You woke me up." The old man straightened his back with a yawn. He looked at Tuka, his eyes sharp hinting at something.
He knew. He knew Tuka was newly awakened.
"How... how do you check it?" Tuka whispered.
The old man stood up. "Come."
Tuka followed him without question, he had inadvertently let the cat out of the bag. They walked past the group members who were busily loading things into the cart. The old man stopped behind a shattered house and asked Tuka to move closer.
"From now on, whatever happens, never say to anyone that you are newly awakened. You are a perfect prey for any Asura willing to bet a chance of obtaining your sura."
The old man glanced over his shoulder, putting on a serious face.
"Y-yeah, of course."
Tuka caught off guard by the sudden side of him.
"It's better to see it yourself."
The old man asked Tuka to focus his mind on his sigil, imagining it as if he was calling it. Tuka followed what as he instructed and—
"What the!!"
Tuka stumbled back, nearly falling. Floating in the air before him were words made of light. He rubbed his eyes, touched the words but he felt nothing.
What the hell is this?
Name: Tuka Matinroe
Classification: Swordsman [1st Class]
Myth: Shepherd of the Dead Gods [Neutral]
Myth Description: The Gods are Dead. Yet their corpses still answer prayers. May the Shepherd guide their remnants to the Promised Land.
Penance: Can't retreat even one step once sword is drawn [0 / 3] ★
Divinity:
— Locked —
Sura: 0 / 1000
"Haha! Always a treat to see a first-timer's face," the old man laughed. "Anyway, see the word 'Locked' there?"
Tuka was annoyed with his antics but he endured it; he needed the old man. He focused on searching the 'Locked.' He found it and scratched his head.
"I see it, but what's that mean?"
"It means you're useless," the old man said bluntly and laughed lightly. "All you have now is just a stronger body and senses."
"How do I unlock it—Divinity, was it? And for that matter, what exactly is a 'Myth'?"
"First, clear your penance. As long as it is locked you are just a mortal with stronger body carrying a sura for anyone to steal." He sighed and continued. "And–Myth is your core power, something that is dormant within you. The sura just woke it up; now you have to earn it by proving your worth."
Tuka was about to ask more, but the old man cut him off. "The rest is for the next session," he said. "If you survive it, that is."
The old man finished his explanation with a yawn. He walked past Tuka, and glanced over his shoulder before leaving.
"Don't tell anyone what's written there," The old man warned, walking away. "Not even me."
He vanished back toward the fire, leaving Tuka alone with the glowing words. Tuka pauses momentarily, this truly changed everything. Now he understands why he was a perfect prey for anyone in here. The old man basically just saved him again.
Tuka turned to his penance. He looked at the [0/3].
"Not even one step. Hmm, that sounds easy enough. If the way back is blocked, I'll just circle around"
Tuka nodded to himself, staring at the empty air where the words had been.
Think, he thought, falling back into his habit.
He was a Swordsman. 1st Class. The "Myth" part—Shepherd of the Dead Gods—was an absurd, flowery riddle that told him nothing. What the heck was the Promise Land in the first place?
Chuckled.
Still, the irony wasn't lost on him. He'd gone from herding sheep to being the 'Shepherd of Dead Gods.' From livestock to the divine—and dead ones, to top it off. But first, the basics.
"How do I erase these floating words?"
He scratched his head. He tried whispering "vanish." He tried a firm "begone." The glowing script hung there, indifferent. Finally, he focused on the golden sword in his hand, imagining a door slamming shut.
Pop.
The words vanished.
Tuka breathed a silent, jagged sigh of relief. The light of the status screen had vanished, but the weight of it remained. He wasn't even a true Asura yet—just a vessel with a locked Divinity and a heart that beat too fast. Maybe the description would change once he cleared his Penance.
He stepped out from the shattered house and walked back to the center of the camp. The landscape had transformed. The bonfire still crackled, but the comfort was gone. The tents, the chairs, and the mundane traces of humanity had been packed into the wagons, leaving only the packed cart.
Tuka scanned the clearing.
A swordsman sat on a crate, the rhythmic shriek of a whetstone against steel cutting through the air. An archer, her face a mask of cold focus, methodically slotted arrows into a quiver. Nearby, an Acolyte knelt in the dirt, her hands clasped in a silent prayer to gods that had likely forgotten this place. The sight made Tuka grimace, they were all preparing for a battle while he just learnt how to open his [Sura Status].
This is a bit depressing. Tuka shook his head, trying to disperse the negativity.
He decided to approach his own party instead. The scouts looked up; their faces were mapped with fresh bandages and bruises, but their eyes were clear. They gave him a short, sharp nod.
The old man raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as if he could still see the "Newbie" label burned into Tuka's forehead. He glared at him, earning a chuckle from the old man.
"The group is moving," one of the scouts whispered. "Deeper into the Third Layer. We're the support."
Tuka looked at the jagged tunnel ahead. He wasn't alone anymore, but the wariness remained—a cold stone in his gut. He had no one to trust, no weapon but his hands, and a Myth that forbade him from retreating.
Between the darkness of the pit, the monsters waiting in the deep, and the Asuras standing right beside him...
Tuka wondered which one would try to eat him first.