Chapter Ten: Rules (Fighting for Votes!)

Chapter Ten: "Rules"

The wretch was completely stunned.

Previously, in the wretch's eyes, this bumpkin seemed nothing more than a bit uncouth—hardly a villain. Indeed, Shaya Thunder's appearance was quite deceptive; his smile exuded a rustic sincerity, and his gaze, unless angered, was always harmless and gentle. Unrefined as he was, he seemed an honest soul. Moreover, this bumpkin had saved the wretch twice.

Yet the wretch had likely never heard the saying: "Wicked folk come from wild lands." Don’t assume country folk are all innocent; in truth, most possess a peasant's shrewdness. Shaya hailed from Wildfire Plain, growing up in Wildfire Town—a den of thieves and harlots.

Just look at the denizens of Wildfire Town: bandits, thieves, crooked merchants, fugitives, prostitutes, pimps, smugglers...

Fifty gold coins—a fortune even in Wildfire Town! A coarse rye cake cost a copper, while regular bread was three coppers. Three coppers' worth of bread could sustain a person for two days. Empire currency traded as such: one hundred coppers to a silver, ten silvers to a gold. A single silver could feed an ordinary person for two months. Fifty golds—enough bread for Shaya to eat for twenty years!

Such a sum could tempt any man to risk it all. Shaya Thunder knew well that, in Wildfire Town, hiring a killer in the black market cost but a single gold. If you wanted to hire mercenaries as bodyguards, fifty golds could employ a fully-armed, skilled squad for a year!

And moreover...

Shaya Thunder grinned wickedly at the wretch's pale face. "Besides, your pouch seems to hold more than fifty coins, doesn't it?"

Indeed, it held over eighty.

Shaya Thunder calmly bent and squatted, scooping handfuls of coins back into the pouch, weighing it in his hand—it was heavy. He laughed, "No wonder you felt so heavy yesterday. Turns out you were carrying all this money."

He stuffed the pouch into his own tunic without ceremony, utterly unapologetic.

He truly felt no need for apology. In Shaya Thunder's world, he was not at fault.

Anyone traversing Wildfire Plain—be they merchant, adventurer, or demon hunter—lived by a single rule:

If you face mortal danger in the wild, and someone saves your life, your rescuer has the right to take any possessions you carry. If they hadn’t saved you, you’d simply be dead. This wasn’t robbery—if they killed you, that would be robbery. Wildfire Plain knew no tenderness; only the naked law of the jungle prevailed.

For those accustomed to peril, finding a hapless soul still carrying valuables was a windfall. Not killing you was already mercy; if they bothered to save you, taking all your goods was a rare act of kindness. Some were ruthless enough to finish you off anyway—nothing unusual.

Often, even among adventurers, robbery was not uncommon.

Seeing the wretch nearly petrified with fright, Shaya Thunder finally laughed. He would certainly take the money, but his earlier threat—"Dig a pit and bury you"—was merely to scare this fool. The wretch had broken all rules; carrying so much money and having been saved twice, yet never offering thanks to his savior? Absolutely disgraceful.

"Relax, just teasing you." Shaya Thunder patted the wretch's face twice. The wretch, stunned, forgot to dodge, letting the bumpkin's rough palm slap his delicate cheek, while Shaya’s tone was full of mockery: "Scaring you. The money’s mine, but I won’t kill you."

"You..." The wretch, recovering slightly, looked at Shaya in fear, wanting to protest, but then recalled how this man had just slain a fierce bloodthirsty wolf—such ferocity and prowess—and hesitated. "You, are you going to..."

"What you?!" Shaya looked at him disdainfully. "I don’t understand how someone like you ended up on Wildfire Plain, knowing nothing of the rules! Your money’s mine now!"

He quickly explained the rules, then added, "Not killing you is already merciful. Some ruthless types would take your money and sell you to the dwarves as a slave."

The wretch blinked, tears welling up in his eyes, looking so aggrieved he might burst into sobs at any moment.

Shaya looked at him with annoyance—how could a man, ugly as he was, be so prone to tears? Were all rich men like this? Thankfully, he had never heard the phrase "sissy," for in Shaya’s mind, even women were far tougher than this wretch.

"You... how can you... I thought you were a good person..." The wretch pouted in grievance.

Shaya ignored him, sitting down to rest, letting the wretch cry on his own.

After a while, the wretch sobbed quietly, finally realizing this man had not a shred of pity. Then it struck him: the bumpkin still believed he was a man—and an ugly one at that.

"Hey!"

After crying for some time, the wretch called out.

Shaya paid no heed, already standing by the giant wolf’s corpse, axe in hand, sizing it up before getting to work.

He easily sliced open the wolf’s belly with the axe, cutting along the midline, then carefully split at the haunches...

His movements were swift. The tough wolf corpse seemed as fragile as tofu beneath his blade. Shaya quickly disassembled it, peeling off a whole wolfskin, meat and hide together.

Then he chopped up the remains. The wolf’s bones were hard, but Shaya’s axe always found the weakest joints, dismantling the skeleton with most bones left intact.

Despite the blood and gore, Shaya’s swift axe strokes carried a strange, cruel beauty. Every swing wasted no effort, each stroke fell with flawless precision, the axe in his hand more like an artist’s chisel.

His every movement seemed the result of endless practice, now executed with effortless mastery.

It was a gruesome sight, yet even the wretch was mesmerized by the end. As he disassembled the wolf, Shaya looked less a butcher, more an artistic sculptor.

With his pack unable to hold everything, Shaya reluctantly discarded most of the wolf’s remains. He rolled up the wolfskin, packed it, took several intact leg bones, pulled out all the wolf’s teeth, and stowed them away. He cut off some meat from the haunches. He hesitated briefly before chopping off the wolf’s, well, manhood—it was a male, after all. He’d heard merchants in Wildfire Town bought such things to steep in liquor.

Injured as he was, Shaya Thunder paused to catch his breath, then glanced at the wretch. "Alright, if you’re done crying, get ready. We’re moving out."

The wretch looked at Shaya Thunder with a mix of grievance and fear. "Where are you taking me?"

"Where?" Shaya snorted, then smiled. "Back to Wildfire Town."

"...Eh?" The wretch stared in disbelief.

"Don’t look at me like that. I’m not being charitable." Shaya disdainfully stowed the axe. "Before, I really didn’t want to go back. But now, things have changed." He patted the bulging pouch at his chest. "With this much money, I’d be a fool not to make a trip back. Now I can buy better gear. As a demon hunter, I need superior weapons and armor. Before, I had no choice but to risk it. Now, with money, I’ll arm myself properly—if I run into powerful monsters, I’ll have a fighting chance. My life isn’t worthless; it’s worth preserving."

"But you..." The wretch was suddenly hopeful. "Does that mean you’ll take me back?"

Shaya Thunder smiled, about to respond, when his ears twitched. Through the wind, he caught faint, strange sounds.

His face grew serious. With his wilderness experience, he recognized the distant crunch of footsteps breaking branches. More than one person.

His expression changed instantly! He dashed over, scooped up the wretch, clamped a hand over his mouth, and slipped into the woods nearby.

"If you don’t want to die, keep quiet! Don’t make a sound! Someone’s coming!"

The wretch, mortified at being carried by the bumpkin, felt a surge of shame and anger. Hearing people approach, he wanted to protest, but Shaya pressed his voice low and sneered, "Don’t do anything foolish. On Wildfire Plain, encountering people is often far more dangerous than meeting monsters."

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[Next chapter will update before eight tonight.]