Roan checked on his wound just as the woman suddenly tossed a waterskin at him.
He barely managed to catch it, now understanding how that girl had felt the night before. And he couldn't even glare back.
Roan forced a smile and asked, "Can I get my pouch back?"
The woman smiled just as innocently and said, "No."
Roan's smile immediately crumbled. There goes all my wealth... the reason I'm in this shithole in the first place.
He quickly downed some water to hide his frustration.
The woman studied him for a moment, then asked, "Name?"
Roan considered giving a fake one but decided there was no point. "Roan."
She raised her brows like she was expecting more. He said nothing.
No way he was giving a random noble name and risking it coming back to bite him.
She pointed to herself. "Shila." Then gestured at the massive man. "Dove."
Dove nodded at him. Roan nodded back. This one seems more reasonable.
Shila turned to the man. "I'll talk to the boss. You stay here."
He nodded again. This time, they didn't bother asking Roan to close his eyes.
He watched her closely as she crouched in the leftmost corner and removed an expertly hidden wooden panel. Beneath it was a staircase leading—probably—to the sewers. Though it might go somewhere else.
She didn't cover her face. Wait... where was his face cloth? Roan glanced around. Damnit. They took it too.
He scanned the room properly this time. No doors. Just a faint outline of one on the right wall. They must have sealed it after converting this into a room. That's probably the exit.
"You won't be able to get out from here," Dove suddenly said.
Roan replied awkwardly, "I wasn't planning to."
He absolutely was. No reason to admit it.
Silence returned as Shila disappeared down the stairs.
Roan took the opportunity to complain to Naor. I didn't use nearly enough knowledge to get into this mess.
"You didn't," Naor replied without hesitation.
Then you're saying this is all just coincidence? I don't believe that.
"You seem to think of fate as misfortune. It's not," Naor said, faint amusement in its voice.
What's that supposed to mean? Roan asked, frowning.
"Why are you involved in this?"
Because they mistook me for the middleman. And—oh. He froze. The coin. If I hadn't found that corpse, I wouldn't have gone to the physician. None of this would've happened.
"You really thought that was just good fortune? You walked through a massive sewer system and just happened to stumble into a murder? One involving a rich corpse?" Naor mocked.
Roan coughed into his fist, embarrassed. You said fate would be manipulated to test my tenacity.
"I did," Naor replied, surprisingly agreeable. "But I never said that would be the only change."
Roan scowled. This still feels excessive. Even if they didn't change everything, they definitely intended for this outcome.
Naor gave a mental shrug—Roan still couldn't understand how he sensed that.
"They tested your tenacity by putting you in a situation where you had to choose between morality and survival. You chose greed, and passed. The rest? Fortunate coincidences."
What do you mean 'fortunate'? Roan asked sharply. I would've never chosen morality. It doesn't fill your stomach.
"Fortunate for them. For me. Not for you. If they already knew what you'd choose, why would they bother investing in you? Their whole point is to be surprised. They took a gamble."
Roan doubted that. A being powerful enough to give me the knowledge of another world doesn't understand my nature?
And now that the panic had faded, the absurdity started to sink in.
Other worlds? Fate? It all sounded like the stories old Tom used to tell...
Tom used to say the stars were other worlds, and fate was a guide that helped heroes.
But now? All this suffering… all the struggle… just entertainment for some entity out there. I'm just a plaything. A character in some bard's trashy tale that everyone forgets the next day.
Roan let out a bitter laugh. He didn't even try to stop himself.
Then, suddenly, Dove asked, "Was life as a bastard harder?"
Roan gave another bitter laugh. He thought about the life he'd been forced into—how his own family treated him like a slave. It was cruel. Suffocating.
But then he compared it to now.
"…No," Roan admitted weakly. "It was much easier."
He took a breath, gathering his thoughts. "Back then, it felt like freedom. No more insults. No more being treated like dirt. Just freedom. I could do whatever I wanted."
He paused, exhaling a shaky breath.
"It's only after staying a day on the streets that I realized how privileged I was. I had a bed—not filled with filth. I had people who'd at least try to protect me. I had security. I didn't have to constantly stay on alert. I didn't have to worry about angering the wrong person—or dying."
He closed his eyes. "Only after starving did I understand luxury. Hunger takes away everything. Your joy, your logic. It makes your mind stop working. Everyone feels like an enemy—and curse the lady, they are. Hunger makes the world go dark permanently. When I had everything, I thought I was suffering the most. And now... I yearn for what I used to call 'nothing.'"
Roan was grateful for the silence that followed.
He'd never told anyone that before. Why was he doing it now?
Whatever the reason, it felt… good. Like something heavy had been lifted off his chest.
Not wanting the silence to stretch too long, he asked, "Were you a potter before?"
Dove nodded. Roan silently thanked him for going along with it.
"Had a family. Two girls. We were both orphans. Got lucky—trained under a renowned potter. Opened a business. Then she got pregnant by accident."
Roan instinctively shot the man a brief glare before muttering, Not his fault.
Dove didn't seem to notice. He continued.
"We didn't mind. We were getting married anyway. She gave birth to twins. Life was hard. Demand was high, but so were prices. Still, we managed. We were happy."
He clenched his fists. "Then everything went wrong."
"My Navida—my nine-year-old—was abducted. Those sick bastards…"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
Roan felt sick just imagining what happened.
"They offered us a deal. Twenty gold, and they'd return her. We didn't have it. So my wife… she sold herself. In exchange for Navida not being forced into anything—anymore."
Roan's jaw clenched. And to his shame, he understood exactly how the scheme worked.
"She bought me time. I scrambled for money. Went to the Loan Sharks. Turns out they were in on it. Said if I worked for them—ten years as a thug—they'd let my wife and daughter go."
His voice darkened. "I knew it was a scam. But what choice did I have?"
He inhaled sharply. "I ruined hundreds of families. Four years later, I got word—my wife's dead. Exhaustion. They… used her to death."
Roan stayed silent, dread curling in his gut.
"They took Nisha too. Said the deal was over. Wanted compensation."
"I charged into their brothel. Killed three. Got captured. My girls… they brought me back from the grave with their own bodies. Said they'd kill themselves if the sharks killed me."
"I failed," he whispered. "As a father. As a husband."
He wept bitterly.
Roan didn't dare say anything. His guilt clawed at him. This had happened exactly as he'd expected—because it made sense. Because it was profitable. Lady forgive him, but he understood.
If he'd had the power… would he have done the same?
He feared the answer.
Trying to distract both himself and the man, he asked, "How'd you end up with the smugglers?"
Dove wiped his eyes and took a breath.
"I was put on sale as a slave. The boss bought me. Looked at me once and said, 'You'll do.'"
Before Roan could respond, Shila returned. She gave them both a narrow look before scowling at him.
Her voice was sharp. "Boss wants to talk to you."
The man beside Roan suddenly shifted. "Sorry about this."
Roan blinked. "What do y—?"
Pain exploded in his gut. Then nothing.
Darkness took him.