Never look upon a god, never speak its name. This was the cardinal rule of survival! (Volume One: Gate of the Abyss)
Sun Qing dug hard in the mire, wielding a rust-covered pickaxe. The black earth and gray-white sky spoke unmistakably of this world's ruin.
He dug up a grotesquely shaped tuber-a mutant potato that gave off a nauseating, pungent stench. It was his only source of food.
Looking up at the sky, Sun Qing finished his day's work. He had been in this world for six months, yet he still couldn't adjust to life without the sun. His single thin layer of clothing couldn't keep out the night's cold. He had to get home before then.
His home was a small wooden shack that swayed whenever the wind blew. There was no telling when it might collapse.
"Tony, I'm back!"
The shack was piled with old odds and ends, many of them scavenged outside. Its only light came from an old Magic Lamp. The only clean spot was a bed, where a gaunt middle-aged man lay.
"Oh! Joey Clive, my boy. Looks like you had a good haul today."
"Yes, sir. We can eat our fill tonight."
Six months ago, Sun Qing had inexplicably crossed over into this world. Not only did it have no sun, but it also had man-eating monsters. Tony Crevi, who happened to be passing by, had saved him. Back then, Tony had been a strong, valiant soldier of the Empire.
From him, Sun Qing had finally learned the basics of this world. It was a strange place, with gods, religions, rituals, and monsters.
He was in a remote town under the rule of the Senegal Empire, a town so small it didn't even have a name.
He only dared to gather information through cautious, indirect questions. He couldn't let anyone notice anything unusual about him, or he would be branded a heretic. He had already had the dubious privilege of seeing a heretic burned alive.
Ever since then, Sun Qing had done everything with extreme caution, fully adopting his new identity as Joey Clive.
Last month, Tony had been injured in a Farmers' Uprising, leaving one leg crippled. Not only had his compensation been withheld, but he had also lost his job. That had forced Joey to go out in search of food.
The poorest people in the Outer City had no human rights. They were also called blood banks, their sole purpose being to supply fresh blood to Senegal's nobles.
Because there was no sun, everyone living on this land suffered from a blood disease. Only by replacing their blood with fresh blood could they stave off its ravages.
Normal crops couldn't grow in the black soil. Those in power had enclosed the only remaining fertile land and turned it into residential grounds for the nobility. The people outside the city had to endure hunger while guarding against monster attacks.
In the kitchen, Joey cut the mutant potatoes into chunks and put them in a pot to boil. Soon, the water boiled, sending up black, murky bubbles. The smell was as pungent and foul as ever.
A tiny paper figure flew over beside him, its facial features drawn by hand. It pressed its palms together and murmured as though praying. The thick, black substance gave off a flash of light, then became fragrant and beautifully colored.
"Dear old Dad, when will I be able to use magic like yours?"
This was a minor purification spell, a gift from the Creator. Joey had always wanted to learn it, but every time he made an offering, he received no response.
Of course, every gift came with a price. That was also why Tony Crevi had ended up in his current state.
In this world filled with gods, people could obtain gifts through rituals and offerings. Magic was one such gift.
Perhaps he received no response because, deep down, he couldn't accept the existence of gods. Gods seemed to be manifestations of collective consciousness; only genuine faith could make them appear.
After dinner, he checked around the shack for potential dangers. Night meant not only cold, but danger. In the lawless slums of the Outer City, monsters were frightening enough, but human hearts were harder to fathom. Monsters weren't the only things he had to guard against. There were people, too.
The shack was crude, but at least it offered decent shelter. Joey couldn't use magic, so he could only rely on the traps hunters used back on Earth. They weren't particularly effective, but if danger came, they could at least buy him a little time to escape.
There was also a basement beneath the shack, pitch-black and utterly lightless. Only after he felt his way around a bend did a faint glow appear.
In that weak light, he could see that the dark, damp basement had been turned into a patch of farmland, planted with all kinds of oddly shaped plants. Their seeds had all been obtained through trades with farmers.
They were his only source of healthy food, but they hadn't ripened yet. Eating mutated food for too long caused not only physical deformities, but changes to a person's mental state as well.
Tony had secretly stashed all these things away by taking advantage of his position as a soldier.
With Joey's careful tending, plenty of food would be ready to harvest before long. It was what he and Tony were counting on to survive the winter. Nothing could be allowed to happen to it.
Suddenly!
A series of cracks and clatters sounded overhead. Joey's face filled with alarm. Those were his traps being triggered. He had no time to think, but judging by the noise, there were quite a few intruders.
He carefully climbed out of the basement and looked outside. More than a dozen people carrying torches were destroying the traps he had set.
Before he could even move elsewhere, the door was smashed open. More than a dozen people rushed in, and Joey was pinned to the floor. They began looting. Food, water-everything of any use was taken.
In this wasteland world, losing those things meant a slow death.
He had thought they would leave once they had stolen everything, but one of them recognized Old Tony.
"Clive! Who would've thought our outstanding Imperial soldier would end up like this?"
Old Tony had only been a low-ranking soldier, but in the slums, where people had no rights, that still put him a cut above the rest.
This man had a grudge against Old Tony. He had only come to shake someone down because he was short of money, never expecting to run into an old enemy.
As he spoke, he stabbed Old Tony's crippled leg with a small knife.
"You bandits! You robbers! Let him go!"
Joey roared, but before he could charge over, two men pinned him down again. A revolver pressed against his head, leaving him no choice but to watch Old Tony being beaten and tortured.
This was the first person who had treated him kindly since he came to this world, and the only family he had. Joey's eyes blazed with fury. If they kept beating him, Old Tony would die.
"I have seeds!"
At this point, he could only offer the one bargaining chip he had left in exchange for Old Tony's safety.
Sure enough, as soon as he spoke, the man who appeared to be their leader stopped the assault. Wearing a strange grin, he approached Joey, grabbed his hair with a rough hand, and hauled him up. His other hand lightly patted Joey's face.
"Not a bad-looking face. If you dare lie to me, you know what'll happen!"
Joey shuddered. Rumors he had heard about male playthings suddenly surfaced in his mind. Those noble lords...
My last life and this one-two lives, and I've kept my virtue intact. I can't lose it here.
Joey hurriedly shook his head.
"I wouldn't dare. I wouldn't dare! Just let Dad go, and I'll give you the seeds."
Afraid they wouldn't believe him, he offered convincing evidence.
"Dad used to be a soldier in the Empire Guard."
That was indeed persuasive. The apparent leader waved a hand, and the two men holding Joey released him. Joey raised his head, straightened his disheveled hair, and hurried to Old Tony's side to check his injuries.
Old Tony had already had one crippled leg. Now his other leg was a bloody mess, and it clearly couldn't be saved. Joey was furious, and he made a demand that would leave no room for regret.
"I want him dead. Otherwise, even if you kill me, you won't get the seeds."
They had depended on each other for survival for half a year and had long since become each other's closest family. He couldn't swallow his anger after seeing Old Tony tortured like this. Besides, if he missed this opportunity, he might never have another chance at revenge.
Joey knew exactly how important seeds were to people outside the city. He had to take a gamble now and force them to choose. Only one of them held a grudge against Old Tony; the others were simply after valuables. If he didn't eliminate this threat, there would be no end to the trouble ahead.
"Kill him!"
He had expected at least a little deliberation, but the man gave the order without the slightest hesitation. Before the stunned attacker could react, a dark-red line of blood appeared across his neck, and he crumpled to the ground.
"Satisfied now?"
Joey was still in shock. By the time he came to his senses, a distinct handprint had already appeared on his face.
He led them over, moved aside the pile of junk, and opened the basement entrance. Every seed inside was taken. It hurt, but he had no choice. This was the only way to keep himself and Old Tony safe.
The two huddled tightly together. Perhaps this was the only way to feel a trace of warmth in this cold wasteland world.
Everything useful had been taken. Joey couldn't understand why these people weren't leaving. A dreadful suspicion crept into his mind.
Are they going to kill us to silence us? Surely not. Here in the slums, human life is the cheapest thing there is. It isn't even worth a piece of oat bread.
One man walked over to Old Tony's bedside. There lay a stone glowing green-a Foundation Stone used for rituals. Every devout believer could receive one.
A Foundation Stone had two functions. First, it could form a small protective barrier that kept the monsters of the night from approaching. Second, it allowed communication with the god receiving an offering. Whether a response came depended on the quantity and value of the offering.
Crack!
With a sharp explosive sound, the Foundation Stone shattered!
Without the protective barrier, Joey's face turned ashen. He could already picture himself and Old Tony being torn apart and devoured alive by monsters.
A cold, mocking voice sounded beside his ear.
"I hate being threatened! You're not worthy of bargaining with me."
"Ha ha ha!"
"Serves you right! Heh heh heh!"
"..."
Rather than killing people outright, they seemed to prefer watching them die in despair.
The lingering aura of the Foundation Stone could last one night at most. At least they would be safe tonight.
After giving Old Tony's wounds some basic treatment, Joey began tidying the shack, keeping his head lowered and saying nothing.
A piece of information he had once overheard kept echoing in his mind. Worshipping an evil god could grant power.
The weak were beaten. Without strength, he would always be a fish on someone else's chopping board. Because of Old Tony, he had never entertained that thought before. Old Tony had always earnestly warned him.
"Senegal is the Sun God's most faithful follower. It's only through the protection of the Omnipotent Sun God that we can survive on this wasteland. Evil gods are heretics who have forsaken the Sun God. They'll go to hell."
On the surface, he acted as though nothing was wrong, not wanting Old Tony to worry.
"Dad, don't worry. I'm fine. Tomorrow I'll go see Udil Beckett. I'm sure he'll be happy to lend me a Foundation Stone."
Having lost too much blood, Old Tony had to rest. After giving Joey a few reminders, he slowly closed his eyes.
Joey put the smashed door back in place, then went down into the basement. It was a mess, but fortunately, they had only taken the seeds and hadn't damaged the tools or equipment.
He found a syringe and plunged it into his arm without hesitation. He drew out a tube of bright-red blood and sealed it. By then, Joey's face had turned deathly pale.
"Who's there?"
He abruptly turned around. Seeing that it was Old Tony's Magic Paper Figure, he let out a long breath of relief.
The paper figure's features, drawn with watercolor markers, shifted. Then Old Tony's hoarse voice came from it.
"Joey, my boy. You've suffered so much."
That simple sentence captured all the heartache Joey had endured.
In Senegal, blood quality was divided into grades: poor, good, excellent, and top-grade.
The lowest grade was dark red, the color of contaminated blood. The brighter the color, the greater its quality and purity.
Joey's blood was undoubtedly of the finest grade. Someone like him would be a noble if born inside the city. Outside it, he was a walking blood bank. If caught, he would meet only one fate: being penned up like livestock.
Old Tony finally understood why Joey, who looked so young, was always wary of everyone. They had lived together for so long, yet he wouldn't even mention his past.
Old Tony was deeply moved. Joey's actions today could only mean that he intended to trade his own blood to a farmer for a Foundation Stone.
"Joey, this won't do. Your Blood Grades are still too high. You need to draw half a tube of mine and mix it in."
"No!"
How could I? He's already lost too much blood. Taking more could kill him.
Joey refused no matter what.
"Dad, don't worry. Everything will be fine. I'll dilute the blood before I trade it."
Blood of top-grade purity couldn't possibly turn up in the slums. If it suddenly appeared, it would only draw an investigation from those above. He wasn't that foolish.
Early the next morning, Joey left home with the diluted blood.
Tony Crevi's Magic Paper Figure watched Joey leave. No change of expression could be discerned in its watercolor-marker features.