After leaving Little's house, Damon didn't know where he was going, but one thing he was sure of: this country felt like paradise to him. He walked slowly, observing his surroundings—the trees, the insects perched on their branches. He could truly feel everything. Then a soft breeze blew through the air. Damon felt it brush against his pale skin, and suddenly, he began to cry.
"I'm alive... I'm alive," he whispered to himself. "But I have to find my family. I can't break down now. I can't think about anything else."
Gathering himself, Damon continued walking. A hundred meters ahead, he spotted an inn and decided to go there to rest. As he walked through the door, everyone inside turned to look at him. Damon felt uneasy and moved slowly to an empty table. People continued to stare. Then, a man at the next table looked at Damon and said:
"Hey, kid. I haven't seen you around before. You lost or something?"
The man laughed after speaking—an arrogant laugh. Damon looked back at him.
"What's so funny? Did I say something amusing?"
The man grew angry. He stood up forcefully and approached Damon's table, slamming his hand down on it. Damon didn't care. Maybe he wasn't afraid—but maybe he should have been. Still, he met the man's gaze and said:
"Who do you think you are? I've been traveling and I'm tired. I just came here to rest. I have no quarrel with you—mind your business, and let's not ruin the peace."
The man became furious after hearing this. Just as he raised his hand to strike Damon, the door to the inn opened again. Silence fell. It was as if no one dared breathe. A man stepped inside—tall, broad-shouldered. Damon noticed how massive he was as he walked forward without a care and sat down at the bar.
"Hey! Two beers. Now."
As he waited for his drink, he looked at Damon and the man looming over him.
"What's going on here? I haven't been around in a while... and now I come back to see a grown man threatening a kid? Pathetic."
The man who was about to hit Damon backed off and returned to his seat. Damon turned to the newcomer and said sharply:
"I didn't need your help. I could've handled it myself."
Damon was being aggressive—but he shouldn't have been. He realized this himself but didn't want to appear weak. The newcomer quickly stood and sat at Damon's table.
"Hey, kid. What's your name?"
Damon hesitated, recalling what the old man Little had told him. Should he give his real name, or lie? He took a deep breath.
"My name is Vlad. And yours?"
He asked confidently, even to this giant of a man. The man smiled slightly.
"Name's Nine. I like your courage, Vlad. Got heart. So what are you doing here? From the look of your clothes and your face, you're definitely not from around here."
Damon didn't know what to say. He was about to make a mistake—a mistake that would bring him serious trouble in the future.
"I'm a merchant. Came from the capital, Minas. I sell cotton. I'm here in Luthern on business. I've been on the road all day and just stopped to rest."
It was a professional lie—but Damon didn't yet understand who he was talking to. Nine was one of the Nameless. In this world, the Nameless were only identified by numbers—people with no pasts, who lived by killing.
Nine narrowed his eyes.
"A merchant, huh? Wrong place for trade, kid. We don't make a living with needles and thread—we deal in blood. And you dare lie to me?"
Damon began to panic.
"I'm not lying! It's my first time here, and I haven't sold anything. I figured you guys didn't care much for cotton anyway. But... living off blood? That's insane."
Suddenly, the image of his father flashed through his mind. The memory of his father's murder filled him with rage. The mention of blood and killing had triggered something inside him. He stood up, his eyes dark.
"Blood? You people are insane! And you call yourselves human? You're nothing but a pack of wretched beasts."
Nine was furious. He stood and grabbed Damon by the throat with his right hand, squeezing hard. Damon struggled to break free, but Nine was far too strong. He clawed at the man's wrist, gasping, knowing this could be the end.
Just as Damon's consciousness began to fade, a black cloud of dust erupted inside the inn. Panic spread among the patrons. Nine's attention was diverted just long enough for Damon to kick him away with his legs and break free. He grabbed his bag and bolted, though he could barely see through the dust.
Relying purely on instinct, Damon found the exit and burst out the door—only to find five armored riders waiting outside. They were all as massive as Nine, clad in helmets and metal. But Damon didn't care. He just needed to escape.
He stumbled forward to catch his breath, the dust cloud affecting his lungs. Unbeknownst to him, there was something strange in the dust. He whispered to himself:
"Is this the end? No... I can't give up yet. I have to get out of here."
And then—darkness. Damon collapsed.
One of the riders dismounted and approached him. Damon lay still on the ground, his face hidden beneath his hair. The rider reached out to move the hair away—but recoiled in pain as his hand burned.
"This kid is hot—burning hot! It hurts to touch him! What should we do, Commander?"
The "Commander" dismounted and removed her helmet. Her long blonde hair flowed in the wind, and her eyes—deep blue, like Damon's, though not as dark—locked on the boy. The commander was a woman.
She calmly approached Damon and touched him without hesitation—no pain. She looked at his face and then turned to her soldiers.
"We're taking this boy. When he wakes up, we're going to talk."
The soldiers tried to carry Damon to the cart, but none of them could touch him without burning themselves—except the commander.
One soldier protested, "Commander, it's impossible. We can't move him."
She snapped, "Are you disobeying my orders, Ken? Do as I say. Find a way."
"Yes, Commander!"
At that moment, the man who had alerted them to Nine's presence spoke up:
"What about Nine? If he finds out I betrayed him, he'll kill me!"
The commander coldly replied, "Not my problem."
She looked beautiful—but beneath those golden locks and piercing eyes was a monster. She climbed onto her horse and put her helmet back on. Who were these people? City guards? Or something else entirely?
Eventually, they wrapped Damon in a cloth and loaded him into the cart, binding his hands just in case. As they rode away, time passed. Slowly, Damon's eyes began to open. Across from him sat the commander, clad in armor, watching him silently.
"You're finally awake. You've been unconscious for hours. Now that you're up... it's time to talk."