Chapter 22: New Life

"Real smart people wouldn't trade with you."

Once the Shaman finished speaking and Ian, feeling that enough time had been dragged out, shook his head, he just gripped the pitchfork in his hand tighter, "Only a fool would become a slave under your control."

"Foolish."

The Shaman did not show any anger and shook his head, feeling that Ian might not be as smart, "Your uncle has already sold you to me for Thirty Taler Silver Coins, you are already my slaves, my property."

In response, sensing the faint sounds coming from behind him and knowing that Hiliard had begun to move, Ian tersely commented, "Idiot."

The Shaman snorted. His command of the Empire's language might not be good, but he understood insults when he heard them. Before the Shaman could call his guards over to grab the boy,

he smelled something strange. He sniffed instinctively, and his expression suddenly changed.

"Blood?!"

The Shaman looked around, his voice filled with fear, "Where is this blood coming from?"

While the Shaman was beset by suspicion and alarm, Ian lifted the pitchfork, toppling a nearby fire basin.

The charcoal, covered by ash, burst into red flames upon meeting the air, and sparks scattered.

Boom, the algal oil-soaked long table, along with the flammable hemp cloth and clothes stacked beside it, instantly ignited. The fierce blaze brightened the hall in an instant, illuminating the Shaman's shocked face and Ian's expressionless visage.

--The wood of the old house was already dry, and he had deliberately spread all the household's algal oil in key places.

This was what Ian had originally planned to use as a last resort to burn Ossenna to death, but his uncle was too useless to even employ it.

Now, it conveniently benefited the Native Shaman before him.

The old house was already heated to an intense temperature by the prepared dry rotten wood and grass tufts, the overwhelmingly terrible heatwave and the bright light momentarily dazzled the Shaman's eyes.

The Redwood People are adept at moving at night, clearly seeing in the dark even without moonlight, but conversely, they cannot stand the bright daylight, nor the overly raging flames.

"Madman, we must leave quickly!"

Only this thought was in his mind. With his eyes dazzled by the light and unable to see clearly ahead, the Shaman gripped his staff tightly and swung it wildly in front of him to repel any possible attack.

--Who could have thought that someone had actually prepared to burn down their own home?

With the situation as it was, no matter what the outcome for Ian was, his burning house would capture the attention of the nearby residents. If they didn't leave now, they really wouldn't be able to leave at all!

The Shaman couldn't see what was happening inside the room, and Ian should also have been unable to see, but he didn't need to -- the boy's eyes were tightly closed at this moment, yet with his Spirit Energy activated, he didn't care about the thin eyelids, as he could see right through the flames to where the dense white fog was.

Without any hesitation, Ian took a step forward, using the technique Hiliard taught him that he used for digging pits, powering through his waist, pushing his hands forward, and thrusting the pitchfork in his hands.

Thump! A dull collision sounded, and even though temporarily blinded by the firelight, the Shaman was not so incapacitated that he couldn't block a straightforward thrust; his staff caught in the fork of the pitchfork, stopping the blow.

But still, he couldn't help feeling astonished inside, "How is this possible? This is not the strength of an Ordinary child!"

Without time to ponder, the Shaman intended to step back and release the force, but his right foot suddenly hurt—the injury from stepping into Ian's trap earlier made him lose his footing, and the staff that had been firmly blocking the pitchfork skidded off to the side, also taking the pitchfork with it.

"Hand-to-hand combat, then?"

At that moment, although the Shaman was on guard, he wasn't truly panicked; after all, he was an adult, how could he possibly not beat an eight-year-old child? Weaponless and not by surprise, if prepared...

Clap.

A bag of Sleep Powder smashed onto the Shaman's face.

The delicate fragrance spread in the heat of the flames, becoming rich and lingering.

To be honest, lime in the face is truly unbeatable, and if that lime has poison, it's truly peerless and unmatched.

After that, the Shaman indeed wanted to continue resisting. Having undergone Shamanic Ritual training, his resistance to Sleep Powder was incomparable to that of an ordinary White Folk civilian like Ossenna, but his legs were already incapacitated. Moreover, Ian seemed completely unaffected by the light of the fire, which did not hinder his actions in the slightest.

After tossing the Sleep Powder, Ian lunged forward in a dive, knocking the Shaman to the ground.

He reached out his hand, gripping the other's neck firmly.

"How... is this... possible?!"

With the high temperature and lack of oxygen, the young Shaman's eyes bulged, and his face turned a deep red.

In the fiercely burning flames, he could only see Ian's eyes, which had finally opened, shimmering with a light aqua halo.

It was like a light mist around the boy's pupils, swirling and flickering.

—Could it be, Spirit Energy?!

As his consciousness gradually slipped away, he struggled wildly, using all his strength to knock, clutch, and shake Ian's arms, but no matter how hard he tried, Ian remained silent and enduring, only increasing the strength in his hands as a return for all the pain.

"You are nothing but a sacrifice whose life has already been bought..."

Before completely losing consciousness, the feather-ringed Shaman hissed out his last words with hate, envy, and fear, as if expelling all the air from his lungs.

Soon.

Just like his partner Ossenna, the unfortunate Shaman fell into an eternal slumber he would never awaken from.

"Huff..."

And Ian, releasing his grip, saw the flames were almost at his feet. The scorching fire licked at the hem of his clothes, with sparks flying, burning more holes in his already torn trousers.

Ian gazed at the third person he had killed that day. He let out a tired breath, shook his head, and murmured calmly to himself, "You're just a sacrifice to your tribe and your Totem."

"A sacrifice wanting to make a sacrifice, it's a sorrowful and laughable affair."

Then, he turned to the side, the mist on his body suddenly turning white, no longer bright red, and picked up Elan.

Ian strode toward the corridor and the doorways that the flames had not yet reached. He opened the door and saw Hiliard waiting at the entrance.

The old Knight nodded with a smile, seemingly praising his student's performance.

And Ian, returning the smile, looked back over his shoulder amid the sound of the flames burning.

Under a starless sky, the red glow was like a spark upon this dim continent.

He stared at the fierce flames behind him and subconsciously held Elan, who was still asleep in his arms, tighter. By now, the boy could hear the cries of alarm from the neighbors.

He turned to look in Hiliard's direction.

The other's face and hair color had already changed to Ossenna's appearance.

Ian smiled as well.

"It's over."

He said, "And a new beginning."

—All that was old has been burned away.

So, the boy took a step toward Hiliard, toward the moonlit streets.

—It was time to move toward a new life.