Chapter 2 Spirit Energy

Sacrifice, blood sacrifice.

Even the most evil and twisted among the Imperial Nobility wouldn't want to have anything to do with a blood sacrifice, at least not openly.

Ian lived in Harrison Port, located at the very edge of the Empire's Southern Ridge Province, next to the vast Bison Mountain Range and the Redwood Forest. Aside from the immigrants, there were many native villages settled within the Redwood Forest and along the coast.

These natives mostly worshiped primitive totems and Spirit Energy Souls, or certain natural phenomena.

Beyond that, there were tribes that believed in Wise Magical Beasts, and even more bizarrely, tribes that revered Alien Forms.

Regardless of who these native tribes worshiped, they were accustomed to blood and human sacrifice, and in special cases, they didn't mind cannibalism.

Although rumors described them as being very hospitable, because most of them settled deep within the Bison Mountains, no one knew why they were hospitable, and few immigrants were willing to venture into the dense forests to interact with them.

— Who knew if they were guests, or the enthusiastically hosted?

And yet, Ian's uncle had somehow gotten involved with these people, or rather, he had been ensnared by a substance extracted from black mushrooms they provided, and had become their informant at the docks.

Even though his uncle thought he was being secretive, Ian, even before the awakening of his memories, was smart enough to remember those strange behaviors and the peculiarly dressed strangers.

In the images that surfaced in his mind, the natives interacting with his uncle were short in stature, childlike, and the skin they bared was covered with intricate Totemic Magic Patterns.

Just recalling it made Ian feel dizzy and nauseous because of the bizarre power contained within those patterns, and the Obsidian Dagger at their waists was even more fierce, covered with the scent of blood.

With a little deduction, threading together the key words from his memories, Ian came very close to guessing the nature of the dangerous deals his uncle had with those natives.

"It's a pure sacrifice," he asserted.

The White Folks weren't particularly rare or exotic, but their Bloodline did have unique aspects, belonging to a race closely aligned with Spirit Energy.

And the youthful innocence of children naturally made them the best offerings; apparently, a native tribe planning to worship their God couldn't find a suitable offering and had turned to his uncle to strike a deal.

"Huff... Scum, pure scum," Ian muttered as he exhaled a long breath and pushed down his anger, returning from his memories.

He began to think rationally: "From that scumbag's point of view, I'm already eight years old, I can do some housework and odd jobs, and if I grow a little more, I can help carry goods and divide fish at the docks, making me a working asset."

"That means there's more to exploit from me."

"But my brother, a two-year-old child, is nothing but a liability. He can't work and he cries all day. To someone who's already hallucinating from the mushrooms, even throwing him away could be considered a gain, let alone selling him to someone else?"

The conclusion was easy to grasp.

As for the fate of a blood sacrifice victim...

Apparently, that scumbag didn't care.

"He deserves to die."

Ian's threshold for understanding had always been low; he could even empathize with the thought processes of many serious criminals, which had nearly caused him to fail the pre-boarding political screening in his previous life, branding him an 'Aberrant Thinker.'

But this matter was too much, and it had indeed stirred his anger.

However, more than rage, the thought of his younger brother sunk Ian's heart—everyone knows how noisy a child under two can be, and the silence in the room was evidently abnormal.

Putting aside that in this life, the boy was his brother, for whom he had sung lullabies to sleep,

the mere thought of any two-year-old child facing such a situation was enough to enrage anyone.

"If my brother has indeed been taken away... it can only prove that that scumbag has become completely deranged, and my situation is extremely dangerous—he could turn against me at any moment, and all my previous speculations would be moot."

Ian looked serious as he murmured, frowning, "Even if I were a fool, I would definitely notice my brother suddenly disappearing; it's impossible to hide for long."

"And with him being so deep into the mushrooms, one cannot use logic to predict his actions."

—That's the most terrifying thing about madmen; they could do anything, completely unpredictable!

Brutality wasn't the issue, but the unpredictable madness and cruelty that truly instilled fear.

Initially, Ian had intended to tolerate his cheap uncle's abuse for a few more days, to get a clear picture of the surroundings before making any plans.

But if that mushroom-addicted scum really had ties to the native blood sacrifices, then Ian had to start thinking of ways to escape immediately!

"Goodbye, I can't stay in this house for another second!"

After a brief quip, Ian immediately got up and headed to the kitchen corner—where he had stashed the spare change for his escape.

Although he might be a bit of a procrastinator at times, when it came to life-or-death situations, he had to act without delay.

But when Ian moved the pile of sawdust and kindling from the corner, covering his face in dust, only to find his saved silver coins missing, his expression subtly shifted.

"Damn..."

Scanning the corner's dust and moss, Ian murmured to himself, "He found out."

Misremembering the spot? Impossible.

The current Ian, re-reading his past memories, had clarity akin to flipping through a book; he was absolutely certain that was where he had hidden the money.

And the disappearance of the hidden silver coins could only have one explanation.

His cheap uncle had realized Ian's intent to stash money for running away, and it had happened recently!