Chapter 1

The flag flutters in the wind atop the dome. The dome was green but not painted green—it was just covered in verdigris

The bank was once the most iconic and tallest building in this area. 

The war robbed the bank of its signature bronze dome. However, it did not take away its height. Even now, standing atop the dome, one can gaze down upon this miserable city.

It's an ideal place to hoist a flag, they say. 

A foreign flag fluttered in this foreign land.

"Weather's damn good today." 

The rain had briefly stopped. 

So I crawled out from under the bridge.

A person cannot live on dew alone. That's why my belly was sticking to my back.

"I'm starving."

My stomach thundered with hunger. 

No wonder—the last thing I chewed was two days ago. My bold attempt to survive the past five days on just two loaves of bread and rainwater ended in dismal failure.

Theoretically, a person can survive for a month on water alone, but I'd wager that theorist had never experienced hunger.

It's a living hell.

Luckily, the rain stopped. Merchants opened their shops and unfolded their street stalls. 

This squalid city, too, will regain some life.

I resumed an activity I hadn't done in a while.

At the entrance to the market street – a prime spot when vacant. I plopped down there and placed a can I'd collected nearby in front of me. 

No cross-legged sitting. It looks arrogant. I huddle my knees to emphasize my pitifulness and don't forget to smear dirt on my face.

Now I'm ready. 

All I have to do is sit still, and soon, a passing elderly gentleman will toss me a coin.

This is my job.

Some deride it as begging, but come on now – what business is more egalitarian? 

Unlike trades requiring sales skills, neighborhood connections, an eye for quality goods, and, most importantly, the privilege of startup capital, this one is open to anyone with a few basic props. And with no middlemen, revenue is pure profit.

So call me an entrepreneur. 

"Spare a penny? No bread for me today…"

I begin my soulful street cry.

There are plenty of people around as this is the market's entrance. This business is like fishing – the more fish, the better. 

Not that these people are my customers, mind you.

"..."

That man who glanced this way immediately whipped his head back.

Upper class, clearly. Most either ignore me or pass indifferently. 

"A penny?"

That deliberate averting of eyes each time I speak.

Ah, now I'm getting into the spirit of work.

A novice might resent such callousness, but this is normal. Emotionally detached, you see, their appearances are slightly better than mine.

The little fish are just focused on survival. They have no luxury to be generous.

But my true customers are different.

I'm angling for the well-fed, warm-backed predators.

"Spare a penny?" 

After about forty minutes of chanting, someone took the bait.

Clink! The can cries out crisply.

A pitying gaze turns toward me.

"Oh dear. You must eat."

"Thank you. Thank you…"

"How sad."

A well-to-do woman in an expensive coat lays on the sympathy thick, along with a coin.

I bow deeply, repeatedly thanking her retreating figure as she heads briskly down the market street.

But inwardly, I smirk.

Just as planned.

She tosses cheap pity and an expensive coin, then departs. Based on my market research, she's likely the wife of a Fraubian military officer. 

So many soldiers were deployed to oversee the post-war occupation of the rogue nation. Many officers brought their families, necessitating large temporary housing in this area.

Unlike our hurried evacuation, they came by ship with all belongings in tow. In other words – money to spare. 

So, while the officers themselves don't, their spendthrift wives and children are the economic lifeblood here.

A boom I can't afford to miss.

"Now let's see. Oh…"

Clinkity-clink. Inside the can were two bronze coins. How generous. 

It looks like I can enjoy a whole loaf of bread for dinner tonight.

I suppressed my smile and resumed my street cry. 

"Spare a penny? Three days without food."

Not a lie. Separate from the pocketed coins, it has been three days since I've eaten anything.

A commoner, you see. 

An orphan even before the war.

I'm now bearing my nation's disgrace as well.

But at least an honest man. 

That was the last shred of dignity I, Eugene, had left.

Sadly, in a war-torn society, others' dignity is regarded as casually as roadside pebbles.

"Hey, beggar scum Eugene!"

So I couldn't argue with that address. 

The ash-gray dusk filled the street. My impassioned hawking had netted six more coins. If it's a talent to shatter such elation instantly, it's clear that they have it.

Here they come. Remy's gang.

Just as I call myself an entrepreneur, they style themselves a neighborhood watch. With the same inverse truth, perhaps.

I need to stay sharp from here on out.

A swarm of six burly boys and girls surrounded me in a pack, each wielding a blunt weapon like a metal pipe or wooden club.

Surely not. They wouldn't go that far? 

It's still a bit too early for evening activities. 

Plus, this is the market entrance. There are still plenty of people around. Even the most brazen thugs wouldn't assault someone with dozens of witnesses, would they?

But I know their brashness is no act. They're the crazed ones who rob, assault, and extort right next to the Fraubian military camp.

In the middle of the pack, Remy, in his crisp raincoat, eyed me with a sneer.

"Well, well. Long time no see."

Remy greeted me with a twisted smile. 

"Not long enough."

"Cheeky mutt. That shameless mug and parasite lifestyle hasn't changed…Who said you could just roll out your mat here?"

"I did."

"Your wish ain't worth shit, Eugene. Any idea how many months you're behind on the location fee?"

"I told you from the start I wouldn't pay—"

Whack!

"Gah!"

The blow snapped my jaw shut mid-sentence. 

Not hard enough to severely injure, but more than enough to shatter a man's dignity. Remy snickered.

"Nah, didn't come all this way to hear a beggar's excuses. Did we, guys?"

At Remy's snap of the fingers, the other five goons leered.

For a gang member, he was surprisingly wise – he knew full well that talking was unnecessary when dealing with an orphaned beggar like me. Dammit.

His fist comes flying.

"Search him!"

Wham!

"Guh—"

A sucker punch straight to the solar plexus. Cowards. 

The searing pain washed over me in a cold sweat. I couldn't breathe.

"Kuhh!"

As I doubled over, clutching my chest, they went to work beating me like a mangy mutt.

Whump. Thwack…

An unprovoked scene of violence unfolding on the street.

I curled up tight, trying to minimize the impacts, while cracking my eyes to scan the street through their legs.

I felt the stares.

Over a dozen people were watching this happen. 

Yes, just watching.

They must have noticed me noticing them, too.

The next moment.

They averted their gazes and went on their way.

Just as I thought – they're also fish. They may travel in schools, but it's just instinct. Throw a pebble, and they scatter in a frenzy.

Not that I blame them for it. That's just how the world was back then.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." 

Whack! A blow to the back of my head.

"Ughh—" 

Ah, using metal pipes is playing dirty.

My brain rattles around. 

I crumple limply to the ground, but the beating doesn't stop.

To their credit, the males know to pull their blunt strikes lest they kill, but the rough girls have no such restraint, kicking me with full force. In my book, they're the more depraved.

"Enough."

They do listen well to their leader, at least. 

Remy waves off his underlings and squats by my half-dead form. 

I consider spitting in that grotesque mug of his, and he speaks as I'm about to act on the impulse.

"Feels nice and warm getting the club massage, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, a little heated relief on a cold day. Thanks." 

Ptoo!

Oops, couldn't hold that one back.

My bloody spit defiles Remy's face. 

Now it's my turn to snicker. 

"Fitting, really. That greasy mug looks better with dribbles of saliva. Speaking of, who'd you rob for that coat?"

"…..You little—"

Phew. Remy exhales heavily after wiping his face on his sleeve.

"You're lucky I'm feeling merciful today."

"Ah, is that so?"

"Keeping up that prideful front till the bitter end, huh? For someone with nothing. Our esteemed entrepreneur. Can't pay the location fee 'cause you're broke, right?" 

"….."

"So you should've taken my offer last time. I get what I want; you avoid a beating. Win-win deal."

"Shut your trap. Get to the point before I knock your teeth out."

"Hand over the magic book."

My eyes widen. His gaze is serious. 

"I saw you cradling it so preciously last time. Come on, be a good boy and fork it over. Do that, and this spot is yours exclusively going forward. You can 'do business' all you want."

Hahaha, his goons guffaw loudly. It sounds like layers of echoes with my head still ringing…

In any case, Remy's reasons for this demand are obvious. 

A bounty. 

A bounty that the Federation has placed on magical artifacts.

Our nation, the former Bayel Empire, was in terminal decline. 

While the overseas Fraubian Federation prospered brilliantly, the Empire paid the price for neglecting sorcery. What was once a glory that ruled the entire continent devolved into a bankruptcy-level fiscal crisis. 

Even in that dire state, the Empire refused to submit to the Federation, digging up dusty armaments to provoke war instead.

And got utterly crushed for it. 

Five years ago.

The Empire was ruthless, waging war without regard for humanitarian laws or international conventions.

The Federation vowed to mirror the Empire's ways. We will retaliate in kind, they said.

The regime's collapse was a given. Moreover, the Federation imposed a blanket ban on sorcery across all former imperial lands. A declaration effectively snuffing out the flames of the Empire's future, burning what few magic books remained.

After this massive sorcery purge, the Federation outsourced the rest to civilians. 

That is, by offering bounties. 

Turn in any magic-related items or tomes to the occupying forces and earn a hefty reward. Fifty pounds, to be precise.

That is precisely what Remy wants, of course. 

But what to do about it? 

Does anyone not know about those bounties? 

In this world stripped of dignity, sorcery is my very soul. To those demanding I sell my soul for money, I have just one response:

"Go suck on that." 

Remy's face instantly contorts in rage.