Communication is Important

It took Karyl nearly an hour and a half to slowly return to the Sanctuary. The exhaustion and pain brought on by overusing that power were one thing, but the greater factor was that he had spent some time gathering information on his prey.

A hunter should always keep a firm grasp on such things, or at least catch a few traces. Otherwise, how could one even speak of a hunt?

Pulling himself up by his hands to the top of the building, he found, just as he expected, that Wraith was crouching on the roof of the Sanctuary, staring at their Rainwater Filter.

He loved the slightly bitter taste of the filtered water, and thus treasured that Rainwater Filter dearly.

A cold wind blew, and the torrential rain poured down violently. His cloak could no longer withstand such ferocity; Karyl's clothes were already soaked through. A rainy night on Nostramo was difficult to endure, even for him.

He was cold, and his rain-soaked skin ached, but that didn't matter.

With a flash of blue light, Karyl, standing on the roof, revealed his form.

"Wraith."

The massive black shadow crouching on the Sanctuary roof whipped his head around, then lunged down, crashing through the curtain of rain: "Karyl! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, thank you for your concern, Wraith. Also, get inside. Didn't I tell you that you should stay indoors when the weather is this bad?"

"But." Wraith stepped aside, moving behind Karyl, and said with some hesitation, "If I'm inside, I can't see you coming back."

Karyl's forward steps faltered, then, as if nothing were the matter, he continued: "You can hear the sound of my footsteps when I return, can't you?"

"The rain is too loud," Wraith said. "And the wind. I didn't hear you coming back just now."

"."

Karyl didn't speak. He simply reached the door of the Sanctuary, then gently lifted the new door to nudge it upward before pushing it open.

Compared to its predecessor, it was slightly more intact. Though the improvement was limited, it was enough.

Choices were always few and far between.

Walking in slowly, Karyl took off his cloak and tossed it into a corner. The downpour had already washed the blood away; it didn't need to be cleaned, and it couldn't be cleaned anymore.

It was falling apart.

Wraith quietly closed the door and returned to his corner out of habit, beginning to poke at his wooden board with his fingernails. Seeing this, Karyl couldn't help but sigh.

"Karyl?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you sighing?"

There was an obvious note of caution in Wraith's tone, which made Karyl, who had his back turned, fall silent for a moment.

".Because my mood is rather complicated right now, Wraith."

"Is it because I didn't do my job well?"

"No, no, you did very well. I checked when I came back; every sentry post was cleared. You did a great job, Wraith."

"But."

"I'm fine, Wraith."

Karyl turned his head and offered Wraith a smile. He sat down on the rickety chair, his gaze falling upon the chipped tin cup nearby.

A cup of bitter filtered water was waiting.

He reached out, took it, and sipped it slowly. His physical state was poor, and he did indeed need a drink or a nutrient paste. Compared to the latter, Karyl preferred the former.

"Thank you for preparing the water for me, Wraith," Karyl said. "Also, our plan was a success, and that is thanks to you."

"Really?"

"Of course it's real."

"But," Wraith said hesitantly, "I feel like clearing the sentry posts didn't really help the overall plan. The focus is on the people of the Skolevok Family, and they are your targets."

Karyl didn't answer immediately; he simply took a second sip of water. Amidst the bitterness spreading from the tip of his tongue, he asked: "How does it feel?"

"Huh?"

"Your first time acting on your own initiative. How does it feel, Wraith?"

Wraith fell silent, as expected. Karyl wasn't surprised by this result—he didn't expect a year-and-a-half-old child to express any profound thoughts. Even if that child was over two meters tall and could tear apart an armored vehicle with a wave of his hand.

Strength and intellect were never linked.

However, communication like this was necessary.

There is no true empathy between people, not even among family. The ability to communicate perfectly is one of the most precious things humanity has evolved, and Karyl would not waste it.

"I"

Wraith stared blankly ahead; at this moment, his gaze was not fixed on Karyl. He was looking into the darkness, and the darkness stared back with equal intensity.

Karyl waited patiently.

"I feel very bad," Wraith said slowly.

"Because you killed them?"

"No, because."

"Why?"

"Because they all cry." Wraith pursed his lips. "Karyl, they aren't human, so why do they cry?"

A good question.

Karyl set down his water glass.

"Because of fear."

"Fear?"

Karyl smiled faintly.

"Yes, because they fear death. Just like anger, fear drives people, compelling them to do things they might not otherwise wish to do. Let me guess, someone begged for mercy tonight?"

"Yes." Wraith whispered. "Barry, his name was Barry."

Wraith fell silent for a moment, and Karyl simply listened quietly, making no attempt to interrupt or press for more.

He had always been a good listener.

"He cried and begged for mercy, saying he was forced by the Skolevok Family to oppress the workers. Just as you said, I asked him."

Wraith looked up at Karyl. He could see in the deepest darkness of night, and thus, he could see the calm on Karyl's face at this moment.

"I asked him if the Skolevok Family had forced them to engage in cannibalism, run butcher shops, commit murder, traffic people, kill in the streets, or rob at will. He was stunned."

"I then told him that since he had already accepted his role as a servant of the Skolevok Family and had already enjoyed the benefits, he had no right to complain."

"Then, he said he only joined the gang because he wanted to survive."

Wraith pursed his lips: "He wasn't lying, Karyl, he truly thought that. But why? Must people rely on oppression and violence just to survive on Nostramo?"

Another good question, and another one worth spending an entire night discussing to explain.

"That depends on how you define 'surviving,' Wraith." Karyl leaned back in his chair, tilting his head up.

His clothes, thoroughly soaked by the rain, continued to cause a stinging sensation, yet he could not take them off; otherwise, the fabric, heavy with acid rain, might well peel away a layer of his skin along with it.

Karyl had no spare strength to heal himself now, nor was he willing to expend his power on such things.

Besides, in his view, this stinging pain was actually a good thing.

Pain keeps one awake.

"Surviving, isn't it just surviving?" Wraith asked, puzzled.

"No, it isn't. That is a question to which everyone has their own answer. Since you asked, I will share my perspective, Wraith."

"You may listen, and you may remember, but do not take them as your own thoughts. In the future, you will have your own answers to these questions."

Karyl spoke in a gentle tone.

"In my view, there are two definitions of surviving. The first is like the Serrated Beasts outside the city. They only crave food to fill their bellies, a cave for shelter, and a mate for breeding. Beyond that, they have no other thoughts."

"The second kind is different."

"It is the pursuit of delicious food. The pursuit of a home that is not only shelter from the wind and rain but also exquisite and warm. The pursuit of a lover who loves you as you love them, and the continuation of life—children."

"Can you see the difference, Wraith?"

Once again, Wraith answered Karyl with his characteristic blank expression.

Karyl couldn't help but laugh out loud, the sound echoing within the Sanctuary. The wind outside was howling mournfully, and his laughter mingled with it, yet it did not feel frightening.

"I don't see the difference, Karyl." Wraith replied, feeling slightly dejected. He was always so easy to read; all his emotions were written on his face, like an open book.

Karyl continued to smile, shaking his head: "It's normal that you don't understand, and no one would expect a year-and-a-half-old child to grasp these things, but I want you to remember one thing."

"What thing?"

Karyl spoke softly: "That man named Barry, what he was pursuing was the second kind."

Wraith's eyes widened in surprise—Karyl had described the second kind of survival as something quite beautiful, which made him unable to understand how Barry could possibly be associated with it.

"In reality, Wraith, all the gangs and nobles on Nostramo are pursuing the second kind. But this does not mean the second kind is evil; they have simply used the wrong methods, and they have gone wrong in a truly horrific way."

"Methods?"

"Yes, the matter of methods cannot be blamed entirely on them. This world is broken, Wraith."

Karyl tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed with a touch of weariness. His voice grew softer, like a whisper before sleep or the rambling of a dream.

"Everyone wants to live better, everyone wants to live with dignity. No one wants to endure eighteen hours of work in the harsh conditions of a factory, then drag their exhausted body home to cough up blood in a foul-smelling, cramped shack, bringing sickness to their family."

Wraith saw rain streaks running down Karyl's face.

"No one wants to endure those things, and no one should have to. But they are forced to. They only have two choices: join a gang, or die in the middle of some night."

"Those who choose the latter can only swallow everything—swallow the suffering, the sorrow, the anger, the despair. Some have resisted, but their resistance is nothing in the face of automatic guns."

"It shouldn't be this way, Wraith." Karyl said in a low voice. "This world shouldn't be this way."

"Are you sad, Karyl?" Wraith asked cautiously.

"No."

"But, you seem to be—"

"Wake me up in seven hours, would you, Wraith?"

"Huh?"

"I need to rest for a while." Karyl opened his eyes and smiled calmly. "There is one final step to our plan that needs to be carried out, so wake me up in seven hours, alright?"

"Understood, Karyl." Wraith replied in a low voice.

For some reason, Wraith felt a bit sad at this moment.

But it was not because of Barry.