Chapter 796 Resourceful Rat
The door creaked open slightly. A tall man with lean muscles and a notable goatee peered through the gap, his sharp gaze settling on Hao.
He gave a curt nod before widening the door, allowing them entry. Hao returned the nod and led Northern inside the city hall.
The place was alive with movement. Tables were scattered across the hall, groups huddled together in hushed conversations, their faces marred by a dark, gloomy resolve. Tension pressed against the walls, thick enough to choke.
The city hall itself was a striking contrast to the atmosphere—an expansive, laminated structure bathed in the soft glow of white light from ornate lamps hanging from the ceiling. The walls, though built of brick, were draped in thick blue curtains tapered with gold edges and adorned with the city's insignia, a clear declaration of its role as a center of trade.
It was surprisingly better than Northern had expected. Yet, even with daylight breaking into afternoon, the city beyond its walls remained swallowed in shadow.
This place wasn't too far removed from the outside, but at the very least, it clung to an air of hope. The people here were different. That much was obvious.
In fact, it didn't take much to piece together what had transpired. These people—these Drifters—had received shelter, coverage, and privileges that the civilians outside had been denied.
Northern had seen something like this before. Once, in the Dark Continent. Only there, it had been on a far larger scale.
The city had made its choice—its resources would go to the Drifters, the ones deemed capable of defending whatever was still worth saving.
The civilians—the mundane humans—had been left what little was left.
Whether the Drifters accepted that decision or loathed it was something buried deep in their hearts, unspoken but ever-present in their actions.
But from what Northern was seeing now… they weren't enjoying any of it.
Desperation clung to the air like mist, thick and suffocating. Every face he passed bore the same expression—gloom, horror, and the fading embers of hope.
And yet, despite it all, they refused to crumble.
That determination, that sheer unwillingness to surrender to despair, struck something deep within Northern.
A strange light tore through his soul—not something tangible, but a flicker of emotion so raw it nearly took his breath away.
It wasn't dark amusement this time.
It was awe.
A reflection of the half-dead girl in his arms echoed in every one of these people.
They moved with urgency, their faces worn and weary, their bodies strained beyond reason, yet their eyes... their eyes still carried fire.
And strangely...
He admired it.
Hao lingered for a moment, studying Northern's face before speaking.
"Every soul is burning their last embers to keep this city from crumbling—patching up cracks with sweat and prayers. The walls, our brittle bones, still hold, but the river? That liquid abyss is a gaping mouth, whispering doom we can't yet see. We're clinging to a fraying rope, and every tug weakens the knots. The tide ain't shifting in our favor."
He clicked his tongue in distaste, his gaze flicking back to Northern.
"As for the healer—"
He stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing as he caught the swift shift in Northern's expression. It wasn't anger, but something else—an exhaustion laced with wariness, an unwelcoming stillness settling into his gaze.
"Hao…" Northern's voice was quiet, but there was weight behind it. "The healer you were talking about…"
Hao followed his line of sight, turning his head slowly—straight to the center of the hall.
A young man with green hair was walking toward them.
"...Is that him? Braham?"
Hao gave a slow, somber nod.
"He's a very resourceful rat… and the only person who can heal your missing piece. I suggest you don't—"
He froze.
His breath caught in his throat as he saw Northern's expression smooth over. The weariness, the wariness—it was gone. What remained was a cold, impassive calm, as if none of it had been there to begin with.
Hao muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.
"That's unexpected… I thought he'd be more immature with his emotions."
Even for Hao, seeing Braham's rat-like face again was a test of restraint. The memories were still fresh—of that bastard using people, stealing from him, oppressing him whenever he had the chance.
The resentment never faded.
But reality didn't care for grievances. And accepting that reality… well, it had taken time. A long while.
A while that wasn't immediate.
Hao was past forty, old enough to expect a young boy like Northern to be reckless, to lash out. But surprisingly…
The boy didn't.
Braham reached them, his gait slow, his expression blank and utterly indifferent. His sharp, calculating eyes swept over Northern, but there was no recognition. No curiosity. No interest.
Northern meant nothing to him.
He was here for one reason. Hao.
A twisted smile curled at his lips, practiced and insincere. Then he spoke.
"We'll be needing your boy's help again. There's been a change in the current—we suspect an attack in a few minutes."
A dark grimace settled on Hao's face. He exhaled sharply, his expression hardening as he met Braham's gaze.
"Before that, I need your help… urgently."
Braham arched a brow, his eyes flickering between Hao, the young man beside him, and the pale girl cradled in his arms.
Then, realization dawned.
"Oh… oh. I see, I see. Healing."
For the first time, Braham fully regarded Northern, his gaze scanning him with detached curiosity. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he spoke.
"Follow me."
He took a step before pausing, his gaze shifting back to Hao.
"The payment will be that, won't it?"
Hao sighed, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He gave a single nod.
"Just make sure she lives."
Braham rolled his eyes and turned away, his voice ringing out as he walked.
"Of course, she will. Just send the boy over."
Northern said nothing.
He simply followed, Roma still in his arms.
His eyes drifted across the hall, taking in the shifting energy around him. The moment Braham had spoken, the atmosphere had grown heavier. The air bristled with anticipation, thick with an unspoken tension.
Weapons were being sharpened, the grind of steel against stone punctuating the room. Sparks of light flickered as people summoned various items, their hands moving with practiced urgency.
A storm was coming.
But Northern remained focused, trailing behind Braham as they turned a corner and entered a long, dimly lit room.
The moment he stepped inside, the scent hit him.
A pungent blend of sickness and something… earthy. Damp. Almost like the forest after a heavy rain.
But there was no one in sight.
No patients. No healers.
Only rows of wooden coffins, neatly arranged in the room.
'…Coffins? Why coffins?'