Chapter Fifty-Two: The Beggar Boy

After stuffing an extra-large roasted cuckoo chicken into a beast hide pouch, Wang Luo continued on his way, eating a skewer of grilled meat as he walked. He looked just like any other ten-year-old boy, utterly ordinary and inconspicuous.

Munching on his meat and pondering the next leg of his journey, Wang Luo was suddenly seized by a strange, inexplicable sensation. He looked up in confusion, scanning his surroundings, but saw nothing out of place. Closing his eyes, he quietly attuned himself to this sudden feeling, one that seemed to surge from the depths of his own bloodline.

Without hesitation, Wang Luo opened his eyes and followed the pull, moving swiftly toward the source of the sensation. Before long, the bustling market faded behind him, and he found himself entering the poorer quarters of the city.

Soon, Wang Luo arrived at a narrow alley, where raucous laughter and crude jeers echoed from within. He could feel the mysterious sensation emanating from this very alleyway. Listening closely to the laughter and the barely audible groans, Wang Luo frowned, concealed his presence, and slipped quietly into the alley to see what was happening—curious about what might be causing this peculiar feeling.

“Damn it, this worthless wretch is tougher than I thought. Boring. Let’s go!”

The leader of the group, an older boy, glanced at the beggar sprawled on the ground—so tormented he could no longer stand, gasping for breath—and waved his hand for the others to follow him out of the alley. The rest of the boys trailed after him in a noisy gaggle.

The beggar lay on the ground, chest heaving, yet his eyes were defiant as he stared at the departing boys. His hands clawed at the ground so tightly that his palms were raw and bleeding, but still he struggled to rise. Yet, whenever he managed to lift his head even slightly, a wave of unbearable pain coursed through him, draining the last of his strength, and he collapsed again.

Suddenly, a warm current seemed to surge into the beggar’s body, filling him with a soothing heat and a surge of strength. Astonished, he was just beginning to comprehend what was happening when a voice spoke in his ear.

“Go now. Kill them, and I’ll give you whatever you desire!”

Clutching the dagger that had appeared in his hand, the beggar’s eyes gleamed with a savage, canine light. With a bound, he leapt to his feet, not bothering to see who had granted him this power, but instead lunged at the group of boys ahead, still laughing and joking as they walked.

The leader strode along arrogantly, sneering as he thought of the stubborn newcomer—this beggar who, despite his skills, had refused to become his lackey. Let him lie there and wait for the stray dogs to finish him off; soon enough, he’d come begging to be taken in.

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air behind him. Cursing under his breath, the leader turned around, only to nearly be knocked over by his own followers as they stumbled toward him in panic.

“You idiots—!”

He shouted in fury, but the final word stuck in his throat as his eyes fixed on the dagger buried in one of his underlings’ throats, blood spurting out as if it cost nothing.

In that instant, as the leader stood frozen, a dagger flashed toward him. He reacted just in time, but not quickly enough—his arm was sliced open, a deep gash running the length of it.

“Bastard! Get back here, all of you! Kill that beggar, and whoever gets his dagger will get the lion’s share when we sell it!”

Seeing he had missed his chance, the beggar’s chest heaved with exertion. The leader shouted at the boys who had started to flee. At his words, their steps faltered; catching sight of the dagger, their eyes brightened, and they turned back, once again surrounding the beggar.

“Go get him! Whoever finishes him gets the best cut when we sell the dagger!”

With that, the leader charged at the beggar, and his followers, emboldened, did the same. They’d only been startled by the beggar’s sudden violence—death wasn’t unheard of in their world, even if it wasn’t commonplace.

“How interesting,” Wang Luo mused from the rooftop, holding back three battle-hungry companions who were eager to leap in. He watched as the leader feigned an attack but actually edged away from the fray, his interest piqued by this cunning child.

Once again, a chilling scream echoed through the silent alley. Wielding the sharp dagger, the beggar killed another boy, but now he was down on one knee, the warmth that had surged through him gone.

Though the beggar knelt, none of the remaining boys dared approach. At the first sign of one fleeing, the rest scattered in panic, leaving only the leader behind.

“Cowards, the lot of you!” the leader muttered, then strode toward the beggar and stopped a short distance away. He met the beggar’s gaze head-on, eyes unflinching. “Hand over the dagger, and I’ll let you live!”

The beggar said nothing, only gripping the dagger tighter and fixing the leader with a wolfish glare, watching and waiting for a single, fatal opening.

“Don’t look at me like that. You can’t kill someone with your eyes. You’ve only got enough strength left for one more attack. If this drags on, you’ll be the first to fall. If I went to find a rock, I could smash your head in right now—do you know why I haven’t done that?”

The leader’s eyes shone with cunning as he spoke, each word sharp and direct, striking at the beggar’s resolve.

“What’s this kid planning?” Wang Luo wondered from the rooftop, stroking his chin. He glanced at the beggar, who seemed unmoved by the leader’s words and continued to grip the dagger tightly, eyes locked on his adversary.

“You saw those idiots just now—brave as chickens, clever as donkeys. But you’re different. The moment I saw you, I knew you’d killed before. If I wasn’t around, those useless fools wouldn’t have stood a chance against you.”

The leader smiled, recalling stories told by wandering bards. He paused, then continued, trying to persuade the beggar.

“Give me the dagger and follow me. Together, we’ll rule the slums of Barbatu City. We’ll eat and drink our fill, and more importantly, we’ll have enough gold to cultivate our magic and battle energy!”

At the mention of magic and battle energy, the beggar’s eyes flickered, but then darkened again as he recalled his grandfather’s dying plea never to practice battle energy. A trace of sorrow crossed his face, unbidden.

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Otherworld Azure Dragon, Chapter 52: The Beggar Boy—Chapter Complete!