Chapter 35
Chapter 35
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 35
Chapter Title: The Boy Who Guards His Sister
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"Man, that kid. He's really pitiful."
Late evening, after the sun had set.
Those were the first words Saladin tossed out, shaking his head as he returned from tailing Miron.
"No need to dig into this one. Why'd that kid steal the apple? No other reason. He needed it to survive."
According to the intel Saladin brought back, Miron had been pilfering daily necessities from street vendors just to get by.
No matter which merchant on the street you asked, their answers were all pretty much the same.
Miron was infamous around here as a petty thief.
At this point, every merchant knew him by sight, so you'd think stealing would be impossible.
Yet Miron stubbornly held on in this neighborhood.
The reason? His 'sick sister.'
"No parents, and he's caring for his frail sister all alone. They say she was so beautiful at first that she drew a swarm of flies."
In the slums, beauty wasn't a blessing—it was a curse. Especially with only a kid for protection.
"But get this—that little guy's got some grit. He punched holes in the guts of every fly that came buzzing around."
To protect a sister too ill to move, he'd had no choice but to toughen up.
"Anyway, now even the slum rats leave him alone. Nobody messes with the kid anymore."
This story Saladin brought back was probably common knowledge among the street merchants too.
That's why so many had turned a blind eye when Miron swiped necessities.
His personality was prickly, sure, but he never took more than he and his sister needed to survive.
"Lately, though, the mood's shifting a bit."
Not everyone's heart beats the same.
Some probably resented him: living off stolen scraps, yet holding his head so high.
"Word is, the young merchants are leading a push to drive the kid out."
Crunch!
Saladin bit into an apple he'd pulled from who-knows-where.
"The ringleader? That apple vendor whose foot got pierced earlier—Brandon."
"You steal that?"
Saladin didn't answer.
—Jaun is a harsh, unforgiving city. We were just struggling to survive.
Miron's past words were finally starting to make sense.
'He really thrashed around with everything he had just to stay alive.'
—But thanks to that, I got to experience something rare called . In a way, it's all those experiences that let me earn my keep now. Haha.
Awakening. Even among the rare Black Lions on the continent, it was an extremely uncommon phenomenon.
Those who unlocked their Heterogenous Power purely on their own, without guidance from senior Black Lions.
Awakening wasn't something just anyone could pull off.
It only manifested in those with the talent for Heterogenous Power when pushed to the absolute brink, over and over.
Probably for him...
'It was to protect his sister.'
Saladin spat out the apple core after devouring it and picked at his teeth.
"That Brandon guy's rounding up a mob now. With his foot incident today, the opposition's voices are getting louder."
So, what to do?
Miron would likely hit the trigger for Awakening soon enough.
He might even achieve it.
The catalyst was obvious without spying: some scheme from that merchant Brandon.
Even if left alone, the Heterogenous Power 'Frenzy' would end up in Miron's hands anyway.
Letting him gain it independently had its merits, sure.
'But better to have him indebted while we're at it.'
To turn a slave—no, a former comrade—into an ally.
I was already a Black Lion now.
Meaning I was in a position to awaken someone else's Heterogenous Power. Not on the level of the Great Three Sages, of course.
And with a sick sister in the mix to boot.
'He seemed touchy, so I was wondering how to recruit him. This simplifies things.'
I turned to Millia, who was slumped against Jaun's hazy air beside me.
"Millia, sorry, but hang in there a few more days."
She freaked out, of course.
"Eek?! Why?! We found the guy we're after, right? Just kidnap him!"
"...You've gotten pretty radical. Shame, but just dragging him off won't cut it."
"Eeeek..."
As Millia recoiled in horror, Ash, slouched next to her, chimed in.
"Aren't we on the run right now? Makes more sense to bolt ASAP."
Saladin had asked something similar last time.
"Even if pursuers catch wind, they can't storm Jaun outright. It's enemy territory—could spark an international incident. The Empire's not ready for war yet."
I thought of the Third Imperial Princess, Ibarella.
"Besides, an Imperial Princess would've predicted our route by now and stationed forces outside Jaun. We'll fight no matter when we leave."
"Uwaaaah..."
I quietly ignored Millia, now even more despondent at the vanishing escape odds.
"Saladin, keep a close eye on that kid for now. If anyone threatens him, handle it."
"Eh, that's no biggie... But seriously, what's with the kid? Why waste all this time on him?"
"He's got the talent to awaken a Heterogenous Power."
"...What?"
What? He hadn't noticed? Well, only someone like Karma could spot it in me at a glance.
Most Black Lions couldn't even detect latent talent in non-Black Lions.
That was why their numbers stayed so low.
It wasn't weird for Saladin to miss it, but letting it slide felt like a waste.
"Tsk tsk, you're slacking."
"Kyaaak!"
Ah, just like in my past life.
Why was teasing Saladin always so damn fun?
A group of people gathered in a dim space.
The man at the center sat with a splint on one leg, apparently lame.
"Damn it! That Miron bastard. I won't let him get away with this."
The man was Brandon, the apple merchant whose foot Miron had pierced.
He gnashed his teeth, rubbing his leg injured days ago in Miron's attack.
Not content with constant thefts, the trash had gone and holed his foot.
Attacking an honest merchant like him? Unthinkable.
'He's a lump of filth that could never benefit Jaun.'
Shouldn't decent citizens sweep away such trash when it festers?
That was the duty of upright folk like himself.
The soft-hearted—or spineless—elders had coddled the rat pup just because he was young.
But this time was different.
He, a fellow merchant and the neighborhood's young blood, had been directly harmed.
This time, he and the young merchants could push their agenda through.
'Stupid brat. Your idiotic defiance will be your undoing.'
The people around Brandon were all merchants like him, united against the filthy trash.
"Everyone! We can't take this anymore. How long do we watch this parasite run rampant in Jaun?! Let's deal with that Miron bastard now!"
"Right!"
"Miron, you damn punk! The elders might overlook it, but do you know how much we've lost to the crap he's stolen from our shops?!"
"Now he's attacking us too?!"
"Next time, it might not be Brandon—it could be one of us!"
Until now, they'd swallowed their gripes out of deference to the veteran merchants' faces and their own youth.
But Brandon's wound had crossed the line.
He could've been crippled for life.
Of course, there was another reason Miron had stomped his foot without mercy.
But that was Brandon's secret alone.
'Filthy rat dares gouge my foot? All for trying a quick feel on that cripple sister of his.'
Brandon felt zero remorse for his deeds.
Not for roughing Miron up in the alley, nor for his designs on the sister.
What crime was it for a progressive citizen like him to toy with slum trash?
"Everyone, look at my foot!"
Brandon thrust out his splinted foot for all to see.
"Miron shows us no gratitude! Even if I was a bit rough, considering everything we've overlooked, this is unforgivable!"
He raised his hand high.
"Let's deliver divine judgment in God's stead!"
"Waaaah! Let's go!"
At Brandon's incitement, the merchants and their hired thugs stormed into the slums.
Inside a rickety shack that looked ready to collapse at a touch.
Miron peered out through gaps in the planks, his face hardened.
His fists were clenched so tight, blood had long since seeped from his nails.
'Brandon, you son of a bitch not even dogs would bite.'
Miron had stolen from countless market folk over the years.
But he'd never once hurt anyone.
Except in one case.
When punishing lechers who eyed his sister.
When they first arrived in the slums.
He'd fought daily against mad beasts preying on his still-childlike sister.
Bigger guys, stronger brutes, sadistic monsters.
Yet Miron had beaten them all.
The fiercer the fight, the hotter his head burned, and a mysterious strength surged through him.
That's how he'd repelled every beast.
For one reason only. He had to protect her—his sole family in this world.
Years of battles in the slums had finally scared off all threats to his sister.
He'd wanted to go legit, work honestly instead of stealing. But circumstances blocked him.
His sister's condition worsened rapidly, doubling his caregiving time.
Miron resolved himself. Once she improved, he'd repay his street benefactors and find work.
Then one day, on a clear day when she'd dozed off and he'd stepped out briefly...
That damned beast Brandon seized the chance to assault her.
Thankfully, he'd finished early and intervened in time.
But after that thrashing, Brandon kept picking fights at the market.
Accusing him of thefts he hadn't committed, beating and humiliating him.
Even turning his merchant friends against him one by one.
Miron endured. He was stealing, after all.
He took Brandon's beatings too. He had stolen the apple.
But insulting his sister? Unbearable.
"Damn pervert. You're the one I'll kill for sure."
As Miron ground his teeth, watching...
A faint voice came from behind.
"On, is something happening outside...?"
Miron instantly softened into a gentle smile, as if the rage had never been.
"Nothing, sis. It's late—go back to sleep. That's how you'll get better."
"You're always saying that. If sleeping early cured it, I'd be fine by now."
Miron chuckled, tucking his grumbling sister Misha in.
"Haha, sorry, sorry. Sis, I've got something quick to handle. Be right back, okay? Don't worry."
"Ugh, but Mr. Brandon scares me when I'm alone at night."
Because of that bastard's stunt, she still feared nights alone.
Grind.
Miron rose slowly, grinding his teeth where she couldn't see.
"Don't worry, sis. I'll be super quick. Promise?"
Before Misha could reply, Miron slipped out of the shack.
Brandon's crew had already surrounded it.
Miron emerged, face stern, gripping a small dagger in his right hand.
From the crowd, Brandon limped forward slowly.