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Chapter 7 - Equal

Returning to 1497, The City of Optherra.

Optherra. The name alone was a grimy vibration in the throat—a city snagged on the barren fringe of Cirland. It felt like refuse flung out by the Capital, a universe away from the lavish gleam of Citywon. Here, the air one breathed was heavy and thick, a bitter blend of forge-soot from the rogue factories and the rank, stale scent of mud mixed with old rain.

The rickety wooden buildings stood jammed together, tilting and seeming to slump inward, as if weary of bearing the years and ready to collapse at any moment. The main street was lined with tattered, yellowed, and worn-out advertising banners. Gas lamps sputtered weakly, casting a sickly, yellow light. Optherra was a place where the law of the Valemira Kingdom only reached the ear's edge, and organized crime was the sovereign of the night, whispering commands from behind a veil of smoke and fog.

"Let go, damn you!"

The silver-haired boy's cry was hoarse with panic, his voice nearly swallowed by the night's noise. He was being dragged by a group of men, his small feet stumbling as they took a sharp turn into Optherra's labyrinth of narrow alleys—rat runs riddled with false promises and genuine danger. The moss-covered brick walls felt slick and damp as they passed. Filthy water seeped, carrying with it the stale reek of alcohol, grime, and a caustic rottenness that stung the nostrils. Overhead, electrical wires tangled like a hazardous, giant spiderweb, and only a faint slice of moonlight or a broken gas lamp managed to penetrate, making the puddles shimmer wetly.

The boy was roughly thrown onto a mound of foul-smelling garbage. He lay sprawled, gasping for breath.

"You bastards! Don't you know who I am?!" he yelled, wiping his dirty, snot-streaked face with the back of his hand.

"Shut up!" one of the men snapped, his voice rough and heavy. He pulled out a pocket knife with a dull blade that reflected the faint light.

"W-what do you want to do?!" The boy tried to scramble backward.

They clambered closer, their footsteps scraping harshly over the gravel and broken debris. Their faces were canvases of fear and darkness, sharply etched beneath the shadows.

"Quiet, kid. This won't take long," the man hissed.

The boy instantly scrambled up, trying to run, but his arm was clamped in a vise-like grip. The squeeze made him groan in pain.

"Damn it! Let go! Why are you after me?!" Tears began to flow, carving clean streaks through the layer of dirt on his face. His entire body shuddered violently, like a leaf in a storm.

"We have to kill you, kid. It's either you or us."

"HELP!!!" His wail, his last hope, was snared and swallowed by the high alley walls.

"No one can hear—"

Clap.

Suddenly, a single, calm, and sharp clap of hands cut the sentence short. All eyes instantly turned to the back, into the deeper darkness.

When the figure stepped forward, his silhouette stretched for a moment before the gaslight caught him. He was a young man with black, middle-parted hair, wearing a grey coat that looked far too clean for a place like Optherra. A thin, cold smile was etched on his face.

"Who are you?!" asked one of the men, his tone shifting from rough to wary.

"Did you know," the young man said, his voice melodious yet emotionless, "that the word 'equal' is nothing but a sweetmeat?"

"What do you mean?! What do you want?!"

"But if 'equal' is a sweetmeat, who gets to decide who licks it?"

Growing frustrated, they moved closer to the young man, their steps hesitant.

"You... Don't mess with us!"

The young man remained silent before finally chuckling. "Haha, lighten up, don't be so serious."

The group of adult men stopped moving and exchanged glances.

"Are you a friend of this kid?" one of them asked.

"No, no. Such a foolish boy couldn't possibly be my friend," he replied casually, waving a hand dismissively.

The silver-haired boy was still lying there, panting, his body paralyzed by a mix of fear and confusion.

"Then, what's your business? Who are you?" another man asked, eyes narrowing.

"I'm Iago. I was merely seeking fresh air because I couldn't sleep." The young man's calm smile was unwavering. "It's a beautiful night, wouldn't you say?"

One of the thugs turned to look at the boy.

"If you have no business here, leave! We don't have time for you."

"Huh? You're not going to kill me?" Iago asked, tilting his head slightly.

"No. Just don't show up in front of us again."

The others also turned back, returning to their original objective. They each held one of the boy's arms, while the third man—Richard—stood directly in front of him.

"Alright, let's get this over with."

"P-please... Don't kill me…" The boy's voice cracked.

Iago still stood there, adjusting the collar of his coat.

"That's very kind of you, Richard. Your wife and child would be pleased." Iago said.

The blond adult man, Richard, turned to Iago. His eyes widened, his mouth hung open. His expression transformed into deep shock. "You... Who are you?!"

"You're giving someone else a chance to speak and letting him leave alive." Iago paused briefly. "Your wife and child would be pleased. Wouldn't they?"

Richard's hands clenched tightly. His eyes narrowed, the veins on his forehead bulging and throbbing slowly.

"What do you mean, huh?!"

"My meaning? It's obvious, your wife and child would be happy to see you turn slightly better, even if it's useless now. However, they might be able to live happily if you weren't around."

"You... Watch your mouth, you arrogant brat!"

"What's the matter? You seem to disagree. Am I wrong? Point out the mistake."

"Shut up."

"They were kind people who always looked out for you. But why?"

"Shut up…"

"Why couldn't you return their kindness? Why couldn't you ever control your temper? Couldn't you master yourself? Ah, that's so shameful."

Richard's clenched hands were now trembling violently. His head was bowed, his gaze fixed on the ground. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. His companions were confused. They exchanged looks.

"A murder case due to loss of control, is it? How tedious. Was that just a lie to avoid the death penalty? Tell me, Richard: how does it feel to have killed the people who truly loved you?"

"I said shut up." Richard's body trembled harder. His hands were now gripping his own hair, pulling it in frustration.

"Richard? Is that true? You didn't tell us that," one of his companions said.

"You killed your family?"

"N-no! It's not like that, Hanz!" Richard lifted his face, his eyes desperate.

Iago extended his right hand toward Richard, a gesture that could be an invitation or a taunt. Richard stared at the hand, confused.

"Isn't your friend quite cruel?" Iago asked, grinning.

"We're disappointed in you, Richard. Your wife was a kind and beautiful woman. I failed to get her, and you threw her away?" Hanz said, his voice thick with anger and jealousy. He pulled out a hidden knife. The blade gleamed, reflecting the faint light in the alley.

Richard was startled to see it and immediately backed away, readying his own knife. The other man, Edmund, tried to stop Hanz.

"Stop it, Hanz! That's not what we're here for!"

"Get out of the way, Edmund!" Hanz yelled.

As Hanz let go of Richard's arm, the knife flashed out and deeply sliced Edmund's stomach.

"ARGHH…" Edmund screamed, clutching his gut. His face quickly went pale.

"Take that! I told you to get out of the way."

"Damn it…" Edmund collapsed to the ground, holding his stomach which was now gushing thick blood that soaked his clothes.

Hanz now targeted Richard, who was momentarily stunned, but Richard quickly snapped out of it and avoided the attack.

"What are you doing, Hanz?" Richard asked, his voice strained.

"I should be asking! Why? Why did you kill such a good person? Why did you hide that?! You're truly an asshole!"

Amidst the commotion that devolved into an internal fight, Iago calmly walked past them toward the silver-haired boy. The fighting men were now oblivious to everything but their rage. The boy's expression was a mixture of confusion, fear, and barely digested relief.

"Come on," Iago said, gently pulling the boy's hand. Iago's fingers felt warm and strangely reassuring.

The boy nodded. As they walked away, the child looked back at the chaotic scene, but Iago quickly covered his view with his palm.

"Do you want ice cream?" Iago asked, smiling as if they were simply out for a stroll. "What's your name?"

The child was silent for a moment. "Otto," he finally replied, hesitantly.

***

The Year 1500, Citywon.

The day began to brighten. The cold night air felt fresh and sharp as he inhaled it.

The sky faded from deep blue to liquid gold and pink as dawn crept in, revealing details that the night had concealed. The puddles in the road, which were dark before, now glistened like jewels under the returning light.

The birds began to sing softly. With every step away from the city limits, with every ray of sunlight warming the skin, the feeling of being trapped also vanished.

Iago awoke on Yuki's lap. He paused for a moment, simply observing her sleeping face.

What happened? Are we at Yuki's house? he muttered.

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