Kuro Nelse

Infobox

Property	Value
Aliases	Silent (Old) Silent Claw (Now)
Race	Kilui
Sex	Male
Born	8 Itizar (I Autumn) 3765
Died	—
Status	Alive
Dynasty	—
Titles	—
Roles	Sanguinum Deserter
Origin	Fellesskap Village
Religion	Pagan
Factions	The Sanguinum (👣)
Height/Weight	164cm / 57kg
Family	Siegbert Nelse (Father, 🌫️) Helia Nelse (Mother, 💀) Mizu Nelse (Brother, 💀) Geta Nelse (Sister)

Overview

Kuro is a fugitive from the Sanguinum, living proof of how the Empire of Udenis grinds souls in the millstones of its endless elections and intrigues. This Kilui possesses a rare talent for balancing on the brink: he simultaneously evades the long reach of the continent’s most ruthless spy network and drowns in an abyss of drunkenness.

For years he was part of the “Scarlet Vein”—the elite wing of the Sanguinum, where he earned the right to decide fates in the shadow of the throne. Now, he is an outcast. His strength lies not in bending iron, but in appearing behind your back with a blade at your throat before you can even draw a breath.

Despite a fractured mind and a gaze clouded by cheap swill, the spark of life still smolders within him. Why? I do not know. And if you were to ask him, he would not respond with rudeness nor reach for his weapon. Most likely, he would simply walk past, as if he had not heard you, perhaps with only a slight twitch of an ear. But deep inside, beneath the mask of indifference, the thought would cut him: “Damn it, I truly do not know…”

Appearance

Kuro is a Kilui of a rare breed (resembling the northern mountain cats with thick fur and tufted ears), whose body represents a perfect alloy of natural grace and the brutal training within the dungeons of the Sanguinum. He does not look like a monster; he looks like a perfectly tuned mechanism.

Physiology

The Etched Assassin: His physique is wrought not for holding the line with a shield nor for swinging a two-handed hammer. There is no idle fat, only dry, twisted sinews akin to ship’s ropes. His flesh has been “cured” by years of grueling body-weight drills, turning him into a living spring. He possesses frightening muscular endurance: capable of hanging in uncomfortable postures beneath a ceiling for hours or scaling a sheer wall while awaiting his victim. He is not a giant blotting out the sun; he is the shadow from which death springs to tear out an eye before you can blink.

Bone Structure: Contrary to tales of feline fragility, Kuro’s bones are harder than cobblestones. Years of endless falls and jumps from heights have not broken them, but tempered them. The structure of his legs and forearms has densified, becoming like iron. This makes him incredibly resistant to fractures from falls that would be lethal to a man.

Joints & Flexibility: His “serpentine” flexibility is a result not only of his breed but of the tortures of the “Scarlet Vein”. It is said that initiates there have their ligaments and tendons stretched to the brink of tearing. This allows Kuro to fold into unnaturally compact postures, hiding in tight niches, or slipping through narrow gaps where even a child could not fit.

Head

The head is the only place where his bestial nature is clearly visible.

Ears: Large, crowned with tufts, they live a life of their own. They are capable of swiveling toward a source of noise, catching subtle tremors in the air that are inaccessible to the human ear. This gives him a vast advantage: he hears the footsteps of fate before it knocks on the door.

Eyes:

• Pupil: The predator’s vertical slit allows him to instantly judge the distance for a leap with jeweled precision.

• Mirror of the Night: Behind his pupil lies a natural layer—a “living mirror.” It does not emit light like magic, but reflects the slightest scraps of moonlight or distant torchlight. In the gloom, his eyes glint coldly with green, but in total darkness, they are as black as the abyss itself.

• The Scar: The left half of his visage is disfigured by a ghastly scar from a thermal burn. The skin there is tight, dead, and devoid of life. It does not sweat nor move, frozen in an eternal mask of indifference. This limits his expressions and causes pain in the frost, a reminder of a past he tries to forget.

Posturing & Body Language

His movements are dictated by paranoia and an icy economy of strength.

Silence in Motion: Kuro never makes superfluous gestures. Every movement is calibrated by years of drilling: any unnecessary action wastes strength and creates noise. At rest, he is capable of freezing for hours, turning into a statue, blending with the stone wall so that the gaze slides past him.

Masking the Threat: When he studies a target or scents danger, he does not tense up. On the contrary, he uses a technique of deception. He slowly lowers his chin to his chest, pulling his neck in (instinctively protecting the throat), and averts his gaze to the side or the floor. He looks submissive, drunk, or uninterested. The Essence of Deception: Thanks to his eyes, he retains a sharp focus on the enemy even through peripheral vision. He seeks a gap in the armor while the fool thinks Kuro is looking at the floor.

The Traitors: The only thing that might betray his true attention to an experienced eye is his ears. Traitors that they are, they barely noticeably swivel precisely toward the enemy, even if his head is turned away. And his tail, in such moments, freezes, tensing like a bowstring before a shot.

Equipment

His gear works in alliance with his body, not against it.

“Tekko-kagi” (Iron Talons): These are not primitive blades in a fist. This is a complex construction of blued steel with rigid fastenings on the forearm and wrist. The Master’s Logic: Without fixation on the forearm, a strong strike or an attempt to hang by the claws would simply snap his wrist. The design transfers the load to the arm bones, turning his skeleton into a weapon.

Armor: He sacrificed the reliability of plate for the sake of speed. His protection is multi-layered leather, boiled in special wax. It does not ring, does not glint, and protects only against glancing blows. A direct strike of steel will be fatal for him, so his primary armor is evasion.

Psychology

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Friendship

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Hierarchy

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Ambitions & Intent

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Background

8 Itizar 3765 — 30 Merai 3778

Early Years

The boy was born on the 8th of Itizar (I Autumn) in the year 3765, just a few minutes after his brother, into a family of Kilui herders. It would seem but a few minutes’ difference, yet the brothers possessed temperaments that were diametrically opposed. The elder, Mizu, possessed a fiery spirit; he looked eternally upon the world with a bright gaze, as if this boy could transmute even the most terrible fate into useful experience. The younger, Kuro, was quiet, humble, and followed his brother like a shadow. In the village, they were jokingly called “the two extremes.”

What am I getting myself into...

Now I just have to sweep up after you…

Two inseparable particles, boredom, let’s skip to the end

Fellesskap Village, despite the recent Plague, was a rather lively hamlet: many refugees flocked to these distant lands, among whom were unshaven mugs with criminal pasts. To the north of the village rose hills and rocky ascents with dense forests and mountain streams. To the south lay a lazy descent to the river, from where death in the guise of void-like “nothingness” had previously landed upon the Skifular lands.

On the hills and in the rocky forest territories, goats and sheep were grazed and bred. Food was sufficient to provide for themselves and the nearby villages closer to the border of the warring kingdom of giants.

Shouldn't have strayed from the goat path, kid

Should have followed in your father’s footsteps, bred cattle, and lived a peaceful life. Where did you stumble? Who forced you to sin?

During the period of calm—no, I would even say recovery—the village lived by its measured time. There was plenty of work: logging, uprooting, herding. This peace was slightly disturbed by the 3770s, when the boys were already 5 years old. Instability was ensured by resettlement and those scum from the bottom who managed to organize and squeeze the logging sector under themselves. Oh, how deftly they licked the ass of Lord Renaud de Valmont, how deep their greedy ambitions penetrated. Over 4 years, this group erected an entire chain not only for logging but also for wood processing. And all would be well: the residents happy with increasing abundance, the lord with his brilliantly polished “idea” happy with the filling treasury.

Boar Breeder

Yer Grace, they first banned grazin’ my piggies in the woods. And how else am I to do? They feast on acorns and all sorts of roots. How could I sell my piglets later, feedin’ em scraps? I breed ‘em for you, m’lord.

First came the attempt to spite the herders by banning grazing in the forest thicket. Then, literally 5 years later, a decree was issued personally by the lord banning entry into that once-free forest. The forest territory became a craft zone, given over to the guild’s use.

Brawl on the day of the First Gudei 3775

— Enough! Stop tolerating this! — Hey, our loud one, be polite before the Gods and shut your trap for the next three days.

The crowd rages at the statement of the guild member, against whom the disgruntled villagers gathered, forgetting divine right.

— Scum! It was your buddies who seeded the whole hill with saplings! What, gonna claim later that this is part of the forest too? — Yes! We know what you’re aiming for!

Screams, anger all around… — Serves ‘em right! — they yell and… — Get lost to the slums of Crescent! — they send them away.

— What did you say? — The guildsman underestimated the joke. — F-ck o— The explanation is interrupted by a fist-sized stone flying out of nowhere, smashing the shouter’s shiny forehead until he loses his grace in the light of the moon and fierce torches.

A scuffle began, a massive village brawl between guild supporters and local freemen. At first, there was an idea, but then one neighbor reminded another of stolen milk, and it became unclear who supported whom—everyone got punched in the face.

The schism on the day of the first Gudei 3775 continued until the beginning of Unillah. It was difficult to determine the winner given the evenly sustained damage, but soon the nobility would determine the fate of all instigators. Nevertheless, the hills where goats and sheep were previously grazed were recognized as part of the logging craft zone.

Well…

They at least tried.

The Nelse family suffered huge losses. Kuro and Mizu’s father began to drink, but still did not abandon hope of restoring his farm.

Situation

No room for livestock. You can’t graze sheep on rocks; goats are simpler, but to provide each head with everything necessary, a part of them must be sacrificed. Sigbert definitely contemplates moving over a cup of mead, cursing the guild, the crown, and everyone who simply intruded into his moderate, calm, hope-filled life for no reason.

As for the kids, Mizu was angry at this whole situation but saw a chance in it that would contribute to the realization of his dream—to go on a journey. Kuro, however, cared nothing for all this; the only thing he might fear was losing the back of his “older” brother. Yes, this little one seemed to have latched onto Mizu since childhood and eternally followed him on his heels. He was quiet, calm, and, one can say with certainty, shy. It is not surprising that already in his early years he was nicknamed, un-wittily and banally, but with the caveat that we are still talking about children, “Silent.”

“Silent"

Ah-ha-ha! What a hoot! So that’s where the nickname came from. The quiet one who became a cold-blooded killer, oh my God, what nonsense, well-well.

A sense of justice or conscience did not play in him personally—all emotions were a forge stoked by the glowing coals of his brother’s feelings.

Yeah, sure-sure

Mizu bad—Kuro bad, I get it. Reading this is quite hilarious, but where is what “they” are looking for and what I must find before “them”?

The father’s will — that alone, it seemed, would provide the impetus for movement. Mizu was full of hope, but years passed, and the world around his naive gaze only became worse. The boys are already 12 or maybe 13… my, how fast they grow. The inner impulse of youthful honor demands something, but what exactly?

Morning summer of 3778

Pleasant weather: the kids are playing “The Hare’s Scut,” everyone around is busy. Mizu, why hasn’t he come yet? — little Kuro drowns in thoughts of worry.

— Hey, Kuro! Okay you, but where did Mizu disappear to? — One of the restless ones asks, but Kuro does not answer him. — Yoo-hoo, quiet one, are you here? — waves hands, attracting attention — I’m talking to you. — I don’t know… at home… probably. — Huh? Probably? So go call him since you’re sitting there doing nothing anyway. — Mhm.

Kuro quietly got up from the bench and with a lazy, yet slightly nervous step set off towards home. The kids played on the flat land south of the settlement, and the Nelse house was by the rising hills in the north—a lazy step up the ascent ensured arrival in 20 minutes. Not yet having entered the house, already in the yard Kuro heard a long verbal skirmish between his father and brother. Kuro got nervous, but did not go in, choosing a convenient place to watch and listen to what was happening and what these two had not agreed upon.

— Silence! I am the head of the family, as I said so it shall be! Do you understand me? — Fiercely asserts the father. — I thought that you and I were thinking about the same thing all this time… how stupid I was… — Mizu utters disappointedly. — About the same thing?! Look at yourself and at me, milksop. You haven’t grown enough to understand. — Understand what? — That! — You can’t even explain yourself, you drink eternally and whine about how bad everything is and that everyone around doesn’t understand you, but as soon as your own son, you understand, I am speaking to you, trying to understand YOU, you can’t string two words together. — Shut up! — No! This time I won’t… A blow.

Long silence from the realization that in this house, withering was foreordained long ago and no one planned or plans to listen to anyone.

— Get out of my house!

Mizu abruptly rushed out of the house, slamming the door loudly behind him. Kuro’s tail trembled; he was not ready for what he had partially witnessed.

— Brother! — flew into the abyss. — Brother, wait!

Kuro ran after Mizu through the hills, streams, and forest roots. Running to the very edge, where the stone breaks off into the void of the lowlands, Mizu stopped. With heavy breathing, heavy and ragged after a long run, he called out:

— Kuro, come here.

Kuro took a cautious step, feeling the fine slate crumbs slipping from under his soles, falling into the silent abyss. The trembling in his knees, born of the long ascent, suddenly subsided, replaced by a strange, prickling numbness. The icy wind of the lowlands struck his face, knocking the remnants of the hot, stale air of the chase from his lungs, and Kuro froze nearby, feeling with his skin the proximity of the vast, indifferent space.

— Look, — Mizu slowly raised his hand, pointing his palm into the distance, to where the jagged peaks of the mountains parted, revealing an endless sea of ancient crowns.

In that moment, the world narrowed to a single sensation of absolute weightlessness. All the heaviness of fear that had chased Kuro on his heels dissolved in the measured whisper of the waterfall. It seemed to him that he himself became a drop of this icy dust—light, free from earthly shackles and anxieties. The abyss below no longer frightened; it beckoned with its calm, promising eternal rest in the cradle of green forests sleeping under the guard of gray giants.

Kuro forgot how to breathe. The intoxicating air, thick as nectar—every breath burned his lungs with icy delight, washing fear, shame, and the smells of everything worldly from his mind, leaving it somewhere far away from this ocean frozen in an eternal storm of green crowns. And the waterfall, plummeting from the heavens, seemed like molten light that the gods had carelessly spilled onto the earth. It was like an ascension: the body became weightless, as if he had already stepped into this abyss, and did not fall, but flew. His heart pounded not from running, but from unbearable happiness tearing his chest apart—he saw the world as it was conceived before sin. It was a beauty so absolute that it caused pain, but it was the sweet pain of liberation.

He remembered this place—a place where they often climbed with his brother back in distant childhood. A place that seemed mystical. The place where one could see spirits. The place that was taken from the village by a single stinging decree of his majesty.

— You remembered, I see it by your ears, — Mizu said with a smile. — Yes, we hunted spirits here, — Kuro smiled. — Beautiful view here. — Yes, brother.

They stood for so long that the roar of the waterfall became silence to them. The wind dried the moisture on their eyes but could not cool the heat that flared inside. When Mizu finally spoke, his voice sounded quiet but firm, like a stone thrown into a gorge.

— I want to go there. — Where? — Kuro exhaled barely audibly. — Towards these boundless expanses, — Mizu clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, not taking his eyes off the horizon. — I will not stay to rot in this pit, Kuro. I will not become like him—a shadow drowning the remnants of honor in cheap swill and afraid to lift his eyes from the manure. Father gave up, he chose his cage, but look… — he inhaled the icy air deeply. — This world is too vast to live it on one’s knees.

Mizu turned to his brother, and for a moment all his steely determination cracked. Fear flashed in his eyes—sticky, childish fear of loneliness. He opened his mouth to ask the question on which his life depended, but the words stuck in his throat. He was terrified of hearing a refusal.

— I… — he began, his voice betraying him with a tremble. — I’m with you! — Kuro blurted out, interrupting abruptly.

He stepped closer, and in his gaze, there was not a shadow of doubt—only a mirror reflection of the same determination.

— I don’t care where. Where you go, I go, brother.

Death is prepared for each of us, but death in obscurity and silent submission is but a long sunset within four walls that have known no wind. Far nobler and more terrifying is the fate that begins at the edge of the abyss, where the world suddenly reveals itself in all its unbearable brilliance.

Mizu and Kuro made the most important discovery: they saw that creation is not limited to familiar paths and the narrow confines of human existence. Beauty is the great tempter; it blinds, burning out petty anxieties in a person and leaving only pure, undiluted will to move. He who has once breathed the rarefied air of the heights and beheld the endless sea of forests below can never again look at the ground with the same submissiveness.

Herein lies the lesson for anyone who dares to lift their gaze to the horizon. The ascension of the spirit promises no easy road; it only grants the right to step upon it. The grandeur of the world is not a reward, but a demand to match its scale. And though only the unknown awaits them ahead, in this moment they became part of that eternal order where every step matters, and every choice has weight capable of overturning fate itself. For true life begins not with the first breath, but with the first attempt to reach for what seems unreachable.

A-ascension, ha-ha, phooey, you smell like wet dog fur left lying in the corner of a damp barn. Your texts are powdered with the same substance they use to prepare such “travelers” before sending them to the other world. You’ve breathed too much incense, Laurus, come on, breathe deeper, can you feel it? Can you sense this sour armpit sweat and rancid lard? All their delight is a mixture of all this good stuff! Imagining themselves as little birds, but take a sniff, and in the end, they smell like inveterate dung worms crawling out into the light before the r-rain. Soon, very soon, their “freedom” will smell of the metallic taste of a rusty knife in the mouth

The Journey Begins

Having descended, these two tailed ones immediately set off to find their acquaintance—a fisherman’s son living four hours away by the Tornega River—with a request to ferry them to the other bank late at night the following day.

Neighbor Narva

I’m busying meself, just doing my chores, see? And suddenly I spots two shadows—whoosh! Left, whoosh! Right! Runnin’ hither and thither, scurrying like mad. I thinks to meself, “Thieves got in”, but nah, I looks closer—it’s them Nelsens (the Nelse kids). I thinks, “They’re building a shack”, so I goes to ask me daughter.

Interrogation of One's Own Child

— Tanya?! Whatcha cookin’ up over there? — Narva shouted with a note of curiosity and teasing, but received only silence. — Tanya? — realizing Tanya wasn’t home, she took a deep breath and… — TA-A-A-N-Y-A!!! — thundered across the village.

Tails tucked even on those who didn’t have them—the call reached its recipient. Not a minute passed before the little girl stood still under her mother’s squinting gaze.

— I call and call, and you’re nowhere to be found, — unclear if she’s joking or truly scolding. — Yes, Mother, I am here, — the daughter answered submissively. — Were you with the Nelsens? — Yes… — A-ha! — the girl flinched. — Come on, spill it, who are ya plannin’ to rob? — No one… — Don’t lie to yer mother! I saw ‘em draggin’ ropes, sticks, barrels. What’s all that for? — We’re just making a shack, Mom, nothing like that… — I already got that part! — Narva cut off all of Tanya’s attempts at evasive behavior. — Now tell me like it is… — leaning closer and lowering her tone, she winked with a sly smile. — What, did ya decide to spite that guild scum? If so, I wouldn’t mind joining in. — Ooh, no, Mother, I’m just helping Mizu and Kuro gather the necessary things so they can leave and swim acro… — You are not my daughter! — Narva was offended and disappointed in her daughter simultaneously. — What? — Tanya stood in complete bewilderment, not understanding how to behave.

Auntie Narva turned to return to her chores, but before closing the door, she muttered: — Well, run along then, wherever your eyes look. No hope in you young ones—we’ll deal with ‘em ourselves.

All day the brothers prepared for their unrestrained journey, full of hopes and beautiful landscapes. Inspired by the coming future, they gathered everything they deemed necessary for the hike.

The Capital

Cross the river and through the lands of Paden Village to reach the capital of the Wenns. …Nidsang—the Capital of Hopes!

As agreed, at night—albeit with a slight adjustment of a couple of days late—Kuro and Mizu came out to the Tornega River. There, surprisingly, their friend Tolin was waiting for them. His mood obviously did not reflect tranquility—he was angry, very angry at the brothers for their tardiness. But despite this, he did his job: under the cover of night, having “borrowed” the boat from his father, he ferried them across and kicked them out on the lands of Paden.

Farewell Warning

— That’s it, you bastards, get lost, — Tolin uttered furiously, but with a friendly undertone. — Thank you, Tolin, I never doubted you, — Mizu thanked him. — Yeah, than… — Oh, shut it, stop squeezing out a maggot of kindness, — the fisherman’s son brazenly interrupted the shy Kuro. — You better be careful there. — Hm? Have you been here? — Mizu asked. — No. But you aren’t the first ones I’ve ferried across the river… though usually, it’s in the opposite direction, — Tolin clarified. — I’ve often heard from refugees that the Paden lands are dangerous. — I don’t know, so far I see only a flat plain: look, the last tree ends in… I don’t know, Kuro, in how many? — yes, yes, Mizu cannot count. — 60 paces. — See! Exactly! It was hard to tell exactly by eye: I wavered between 58 and 60, let’s take the average. — 59? — Kuro asked. — Yes, 59! Good boy, Kuro!

Mizu grinned broadly and ruffled the fur on his younger brother’s head, scratching behind the ear just the way he liked. Kuro, forgetting his seriousness for a moment, closed his eyes and gave a faint, barely perceptible smile in return.

— Yeah… anyway, I warned you, watch out, little ones. — Yes, we got it, thank you again, Tolin. — G-e-t l-o-s-t.

Kuro grabbed his grinning brother by both shoulders and abruptly turned him toward their path ahead.

Well, that’s it, finally, it has ended… the boring part.

1 Itizar 3778 — 7 Diakan 3779

The Deceptive Straight Path

To the “Key to the Capital”—Barre le Rei Castle—it is an 8-day march without rest or fatigue, but with stops in major settlements the kids will take a wrong turn on day one . Taking into account all needs and expenses, it potentially takes 14-18 days.

An Impossible Task for Two Yokels

They won’t make it; something is bound to happen. Even knowing the fact that they somehow pass the customs castle and reach Nidsang—they won’t make it even in 20 days.

The lands of Paden… oh, they are so flat, like the consciousness of a cousin—the victim of the unbridled love of a brother and sister , that sometimes it seems that God Ellah, in a fit of divine perfectionism, swept through here with a colossal scythe, shearing off not just ancient forests but the mountains themselves right down to the root: sheer boring plain. Not a single obstacle was met, not a single bush. Mizu initially rejoiced at this “nudity,” but after a couple of hours of irrevocable travel, this monotony turned into torture.

It began to dawn—at least something changed. An hour later, the boys beheld fields unseen in their vastness. Fields sown with various types of crops, extending beyond the young sharp focus. With the sunrise, the world transformed: the gray of night retreated, and emerald greenery gave way to an endless ocean of gold. Taut ears of wheat bowed to the ground under the weight of grain, and a little further, like green towers, rose endless rows of hops, whose vines climbed high poles into the very sky.

To reach Paden takes on average about 7 hours, but Kuro and Mizu are special—they got lost Ha! I told you! in the golden field.

It Was Predictable for Any Idiot

They starWho are you calling an idiot? Do you want me to hand you over to them?ted their journey to the north of the tract. There isn’t a single settlement there, and it is unlikely anyone would cross their path to ask for directions. They must have walked stupidly straight and eventually came out onto the arable lands, but not onto the road.

At first, they merrily waded through the wheat that whipped at their shoulders, but soon the golden sea was replaced by the towering trellises of hops and the prickly, “unshaven” rye. The hop vines wove into green walls, blocking the horizon and turning the field into a maze with no exit. After an hour of wandering, when every bush began to look frighteningly familiar, Mizu decided that the war with geography could wait and declared a strategic halt right in these fragrant thickets.

Although their plans only included a snack and then back on the road—it is a sin not to lie down for a sleep after a hearty meal.

Waking up when it was already dark, Mizu was slightly puzzled by the situation: “grass” higher than the sky (hops are indeed tall), darkness, and a good portion of the food had been eaten just at the first meal.

Nevertheless

— Ate well and had a nap! Our mother cooks the best food in the whole world, doesn’t she, Kuro? — Mizu uttered contentedly. — Get up, Kuro, time to hit the road.

Wandering through the wilds of the earth’s gifts, by some miracle, they came out onto a trodden wide road, which could not fail to please. Distant pale lights in the distance suggested which of the straight directions to go.

Kuro!

— We go there! See, the lights are burning? — But something is flickering on the other side too, — Kuro quietly objected, pointing into the opposite darkness. — But there are more on the left, look closely. — grabs Kuro’s head and aims his green eyes like a sight in the right direction. — Count how many. — One… two… three… — While Kuro counted, Mizu memorized, for he was actually very ashamed that the younger one was ahead of him in literacy not by a few minutes of development. — 16! Yes, 3 more! It’s like you see right through everything, brother! — Kuro blossomed at these words, his ears twitching contentedly, and his tail involuntarily traced a loop of pride in the air. — You bet! Excellent, well then, we go left—to the lights!

Though the lights were everywhere, the younger brother guided their true path simply by choosing the direction where, by his calculations, more lights were shining.

The Amazing Magic of Village

Literacy I still cannot understand, where did he learn to count? Who taught him this? The ability to distinguish where there is more and where there is less, and by exactly what quantity—for their class, this is magic.

» He is a Nelse! His father is a hereditary cattle breeder, and counting heads is in their blood. The older one must have simply skipped his father’s lessons. This is obvious to any idiot, got it? »

After walking a few more kilometers, they finally found themselves in one of the large and well-known settlements—Paden. It was rather late, and the town guard was already extinguishing street torches, ready to announce the curfew—a time when honest folk should be sleeping, not wandering the streets. “No time to think long,” said Mizu, grabbed his brother by the hand, and they rushed into the tavern before the gates closed for good.

The landlady of the tavern turned out to be quite fond of small, fluffy Kilui, but even the tufts on their feline ears did not eclipse her mercantile grasp—there would be no discount. Mizu didn’t even try to discuss the price or haggle a bit, which genuinely offended the landlady. To her, bargaining is a conversation, and this lad just laid out the coins. She saw, she felt that before her stood merely inexperienced youngsters » well, what did that hhag expect—a cat-dwarf? ».

One bed for two cost them a robbery of 8 coppers, plus 3 coppers for meager food. Having paid, they immediately went to their quarters.

Upon entering, they accepted the heavy fact that they would have to sleep in a musty, stinking room, horribly overcrowded with drunken mugs of humanity. Yes, they were not alone. It was rather sad, especially for Kuro, who hadn’t let go of his brother’s elbow since stepping across the threshold. But Mizu did not lose his head; he found in this contingent an opportunity to learn more about the local lands and the path ahead.

[!note] Useful Information Here they learned that the path from Paden to Innso Village would be hard to call simple. They were persuaded to move as cautiously as possible, especially reaching the river. It is reasonable, for various bandit camps have taken a fancy to convenient forest and mountain spots there to quickly “whistle” if trouble comes.

Conversation with the Traveler in Bed #2

— I would bypass that place entirely and go through the fields, — opines the bed neighbor in a drunken slur. — I get it, going uphill isn’t like descending to the lowlands, but damn, right now it is simply, absolutely unsafe there. — Agreed, if they see runts like you, at the very least they’ll mock you, — added another figure emerging from a quick sleep interrupted by the talk. — You tell us such things, yet it is quite calm in Paden and there are many guards, — Mizu utters thoughtfully. — Hah, and why do you think there are so many guards here? From a quiet life? — the man laughed hoarsely, baring rotten teeth. — Guards flock to where it smells of gold, boy. Paden sits on the gullet of the trade route, and while goods are here, they are safe. But once a cart leaves the gates—it belongs to no one. Paden’s lands are a tasty morsel for all sorts of scum. Exit onto the main highway tract—and all around are nothing but arable lands. — Yes, and places with nowhere to hide, — adds the second one. — You haul goods across a bare field, and a squad of bandits armed to the teeth comes at you—and where will you run? Into the hop planting? They don’t catch anyone there, but in the open field, you are exposed… — Oh, you speak the truth. You better listen to him closely, kids, and stay away from such places, — the neighbor strongly recommends. — Um… that… — Kuro trembled but still attracted attention. — Which places exactly, in the end?

Bewilderment spiraled through the room in lightning loops. Drunken eyes stared at the trembling Kilui.

— What, were ya not listenin’ at all? Who do you think we’ve been tellin’ all this to for the past hour, eh, kid? — the voice changes, acquiring an aggressive, growling timbre. — S-sorry… — No, no, sir, you misunderstood my brother! — Mizu interrupts quickly, stepping in. — He is a bit shy… shy to directly express his appreciation and treat you to a mug of ale at our expense as a token of gratitude for your valuable information!

Mizu’s behavior seemed strange to Kuro, but this move was the right one. Thanks to this, the drunken heat from the cheap swill consumed did not grow into a knifing. Moreover, Mizu eventually found out exactly which zones to bypass.

The tavern in Paden, despite the settlement not being on the imperial highway, is exhaustingly oversaturated: red noses, the smell of wine and sweat are everywhere. Up to five bodies can sleep on one bunk by the hearth. And such a “sleeping place” by the fire will cost you 8 coppers—it is mind-boggling!

The next day, from the very early morning, the brothers continued their journey, replaying in their heads everything they had learned during that restless night.

The Wealth of Poor Lawlessness

Which path did they take? From Paden towards Innso, there are only two ways. The first is northern, with direct access to the already known Tornega River: the road there is flat, convenient, without any ascents or descents… well, except perhaps in the middle of the way. And the second is the southeastern road, the shortest route leading to the main Stalburg–Nidsang highway. Its unevenness adds complexity: now a winding descent, now a dreary and long uphill climb. Considering all the warnings from their former bunkmate, Mizu decided to bypass Tornega and head for the main highway, but cutting across the fields.

» They are done forrr… »

During the first day of travel, they covered a considerable distance. Their legs buzzed as if filled with lead, and their tails hung limply, collecting the dust of the road. Fatigue rolled in waves, and finally, it was decided to make camp. Following the teachings of their red-nosed “mentor,” Mizu found an ideal place for a fire: a small depression-cliff under the roots of a massive, gnarled tree—one of the few surviving in this naked steppe.

While unpacking, Mizu suddenly froze. His hands paused over the backpack. Among the ropes, pot, and spare clothes, something was missing. But worse than that—he found what shouldn’t be there: emptiness. The realization hit him in the gut. How? When? In that overcrowded room? While they slept, huddled together?

The Sensation of Reality's First Blow

— Brother, did something happen? — Kuro asks worriedly, seeing his brother’s frozen back. — … — Brother? — Kuro gently touches Mizu on the shoulder. — Ah, oh nothing, just… — he doesn’t know how to say it. His tongue refuses to admit his own stupidity. — You understand, Kuro, there are kind creatures in this world. They will share food with you and support you in a difficult moment… creatures like you. — he started from afar, trying to soften the blow, and it worked on Kuro: his ears twitched, and his little tail even wagged slightly. — And like you, — Kuro added quietly. — Yes. And there are those who, by vivid example, grant you a most valuable lesson… a lesson that rot can hide beneath the friendliest smile. — B-brother…? — the tail froze. — We’ve been robbed. — Mizu exhaled, staring into the empty pocket of the backpack. — All the money. And even that bun we filched from Mother’s kitchen… it’s gone too.

Lesson learned: do not trust drunk scum trying so zealously to “help.” Kuro and Mizu were left without a single penny in their pockets, and without the last tasty reminder of home. However, this did not shake their determination. Hungry but angry, the next morning they continued their journey.

Climbing up to the plain, they saw nothing but endless, long-mown fields of The Lord’s Gift. There was nothing for the eye to catch: only the endless, dreary nakedness of the earth—brown stubble stretching beyond the horizon like a scar on the world’s body.

Another whole day on the road. Legs burned with fire, and there was nowhere to sit—not a bush, not a tree. And this “event” with the theft would not let Mizu go. He did not understand whether to continue believing the instructions of those thieves or not—perhaps that was the “unspoken fee” for their information…? It was decided to walk a little further in hopes of finding a suitable place or coming across someone’s land.

Another two kilometers behind: the landscape does not change. Earth to the left, earth to the right, in the distance only solid dark emptiness, but no, oh… Look, something black is walking along the path. Coming straight towards them.

An Unforgettable Encounter

— Kuro, do you see them? — Mizu asks. — Mhm. — Damn… — Mizu goes cold inside. A vexing feeling squeezes his chest: he suspected that the stolen purse was just the beginning. He feared exactly this—an ambush.

Mizu stops, and his brother follows suit. These two silhouettes are still somewhere there, more than a hundred steps ahead. Is there a chance to run back quickly? But Mizu already understood the essence of this “game”—the way back is barred. The open field—that’s what that second asshole in the tavern was talking about. There is nowhere to hide here.

“But why do they want us?” — Mizu thinks feverishly. — “We have nothing, they already took everything valuable.”

Mizu was sinking deeper into thought… and Kuro noticed it. For the first time in a long while, to drag his brother out of the state of resignation to fate, he shouted in a loud voice:

— MIZU! — And he abruptly came to his senses. — Run! — Where? — I don’t know, here! — they ran to the right—to the southern lands, off the road.

Noticing the movement, the two also moved and rushed to cut off the boys. They were faster, but by no means more agile. Running, Mizu, glancing back briefly, noticed a cart which, as it turned out, was moving behind those two at a safe distance.

— Damn it! — Mizu utters through clenched teeth with vexation and clenched knuckles, in a hurry.

They run, no longer understanding where; here there is no organization, only function—running. The pursuers can already be heard, heard maliciously shouting something at the victims’ backs. A little more and they would have been caught, but…

Salvation rose like a wall. A field appeared before them, sown with an incomprehensible, giant crop—stalks two human heights tall, thick and tough.

They dived into this two-meter jungle of sorghum, and this allowed them to buy time. Through wandering, Mizu realized that if there are crops here, then there is land—a house, and most importantly—an owner. Within the crops, they heard the bandits shouting and intimidating them, pressuring their minds, beating the stalks with sticks, but the brothers did not yield. They managed to break away and run into the fence of some barn.

— Shh! — Mizu put a finger to his lips, calling for absolute silence, and Kuro became quieter than a shadow.

The sounds from the bandits are no longer audible even to a cat’s ear. “I hope they got scared and let us go,” — thinks Mizu.

Having run away from the pursuers, they stumbled upon someone’s land. Climbing over the fence, the boys tried to find a secluded spot to wait out the scourge. A failed attempt to move quietly woke the grumpiest animal in the world. Not understanding the humor, the pig raised such a howl that the brothers, forgetting about “stealth,” rushed away towards some small house.

Running up to the door and pulling the hook, they successfully opened it, ran inside, and hid. They tried to dissolve into this darkness and listen to the environment. The howl of the livestock and the hum did not subside, but through it, they heard something else. Footsteps. The boys panicked as the steps became louder and louder. Someone was approaching.

They Are Coming

— Damn! — Mizu tries to gather himself and looks around for anything that would allow him to lock the door. — Brother, look… — Kuro opens the door slightly to show Mizu that it opens outwards (away from self). — No, stop! — Mizu pulls the door back shut, making a weak but still treacherous sound.

Panic leads to no good—it is merely fuel for making mistakes. The steps outside ceased… and then abruptly gained momentum. Someone ran towards them.

— Damn-damn-damn! — Mizu tries to find at least some weapon to defend himself and finds some kind of knife.

The darkness thickens. Mizu stands in front, clutching the rusty handle with trembling fingers. Behind him is Kuro, clinging to his brother’s back like a last hope. They wait. Waiting to meet their fate. And fate, step by step, with the heavy crunch of boots, approaches the thin board of the door louder and louder. The handle begins to turn.

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