Chapter 3: Hating My Powerless Self and This Cruel World.

The noisy, rundown tavern was filled with the mingled scents of alcohol, food, and sweat.

Laborers, adventurers, mercenaries, and unemployed thugs, done with their day’s work or aimless wandering, drowned their fatigue or sought fleeting joy in cheap ale.

They boasted, complained, or bickered loudly with their companions at the tables.

Suna, cloaked in a hooded cape to conceal her form, drew a few covetous glances despite her plain appearance as she entered the tavern.

One bold thug even tried to grope her as she passed, but after she casually dislocated his wrist, the malicious stares dwindled significantly.

No one bothered to defend the thug, who clutched his wrist and howled in pain; some even laughed at him.

Suna walked straight to the bar and sat on a high stool.

“Two mugs of dark ale.”

As she spoke, she placed a handful of copper coins on the counter.

The server, after rubbing the edges of the coins, pocketed them.

He then filled two large mugs from a small barrel on the shelf and set them before her.

While Suna sipped her ale, two decent-looking adventurers sat nearby and struck up a conversation, using the dark ale as an opener.

Suna, here to spread information, deftly steered the conversation in her desired direction.

“I just arrived in Korez Town recently, after finishing a mercenary contract at the Northern Iron Wall.”

“No wonder you seem new around here. A newcomer like you probably needs a safe place to stay, right? Want us to recommend one?”

“True, I’ve been staying in the ruins district, and it’s not exactly safe. At dusk, I heard cries coming from the temple—seems the saintess there died, and the kids were sobbing terribly.”

Suna spoke at just the right volume, ensuring the patrons at nearby tables overheard.

Among them were a menacing thug leader, a sinister-looking adventurer, and a portly low-ranking town guard.

Suna recognized their faces; as Saintess Suna, she’d clashed with them often, not just verbally but physically too.

Just a week ago, she’d beaten the thug leader, leaving a dark bruise around his right eye.

Their reactions to her words varied, but as they hesitated to approach, Suna, nearly done with her ale, skillfully ended the conversation with the adventurers and left the tavern.

Outside, her magically enhanced hearing caught their discussions as they planned their next moves.

Suna’s lips curled into a slight smile.

From entering the tavern to choosing her seat at the bar, everything was calculated.

She knew several of Saintess Suna’s enemies frequented this place.

As expected, the next day, they sent people to the ruins district’s small temple to investigate.

Their scouts confirmed Saintess Suna’s death and, naturally, clashed with the grieving Skoll and the twins.

Though Skoll managed to drive them off, the encounter jolted him awake.

He realized he couldn’t wallow in grief forever; he had Ace and Frosti to care for.

He needed to handle Suna’s affairs quickly and grow into a capable adult.

But the malice that followed exceeded his expectations.

When Skoll reported Suna’s murder to the town’s guard station, they dismissed him, mocking Suna as a low-ranking saintess abandoned in a wretched place, and shoved him out.

Then, every day, thugs provoked them, some even ambushing Skoll, Ace, and Frosti with clubs.

Skoll sent Ace and Frosti to hide at the town’s school, but after days of harassment, the school expelled them for the disturbances.

Meanwhile, Skoll’s repeated attempts to file a case for Suna’s murder over four days ended with the guards beating him for “obstructing their work” and throwing him out.

Bruised and despairing, Skoll sat in a secluded alley, clutching his head and sobbing in agony.

“Ugh… why? Why… is it like this? So cruel… this place is disgusting, hateful! The empire is so unjust, so corrupt, with villains running rampant! You… you were so kind… why… why did you die, why did you leave us? Suna, what do I do now? We… we miss you so much… I’m so powerless, I couldn’t do anything! It’s infuriating… so infuriating! Myself, this town, this…”

Suna, perched silently on a nearby rooftop, quietly observed Skoll’s broken, sobbing form.

At midday, the bright sunlight never reached him, and the alley’s dim shadows seemed to swallow him into an abyss.

Suna sighed, then slowly wrote a line in her notebook.

[Plan successful. Skoll is beginning to deeply question the empire, even showing signs of hatred.]

Feeling she couldn’t bear to watch further, Suna moved out of sight, relying only on perception magic for indirect observation.

That afternoon, pressed by reality, Skoll, Ace, and Frosti took Suna’s “remains” to the crematorium.

On their way back, carrying the urn with solemn faces, they were ambushed by a gang of thugs wielding clubs and cheap swords, intent on smashing the urn.

Skoll fought like a rabid wolf, taking non-lethal blows and beating down most of the thugs, scaring the rest away.

But Ace and Frosti sustained minor injuries, and the urn they protected was cracked, spilling some ashes onto the ground.

As Ace and Frosti clutched the urn’s crack, sobbing and apologizing, Skoll fought back tears and his own pain.

He knew he couldn’t scold them or cry; they’d done their best.

Silently, he patted their heads, then gently gathered the scattered ashes and, with careful movements, placed them into a spare urn along with those from the damaged one.