Sancaka kept walking until a small village appeared before him. The village stood between forests and misty hills. A wooden signboard stood upright near the entrance, scratched with sharp markings that showed the village named Kertarimba Village.
The village was far from the kingdom's main routes. The roads were covered with cart wheel tracks and the smell of mud lingered in the air. As the sun began to set, Sancaka walked into the village.
His black cloak swayed slowly in the wind, while the dragon skin jacket he had taken from the ruins of Wanasura Village still clung to his body. The gunblade was nowhere to be seen the weapon would only appear whenever Sancaka summoned it.
The villagers of Kertarimba glanced at him briefly, assuming he was only a wandering traveler from another region. Suddenly, Sancaka stomach growled. He had lost count of how many days it had been since he last ate proper food. When an opportunity appeared, Sancaka stole a piece of hard bread from a small market and ate it while hiding.
But there was no taste at all in his mouth. No saltiness, sweetness, sourness, or spice. The bread felt like wind inside his mouth. Sancaka stared at the remaining piece in his hand.
"Have I cannot to taste food?" Sancaka muttered.
Then he remembered the time he slaughtered the kurawa in the forest. When the kurawa blood touched his dark hand, it felt as though he had consumed the blood itself and he could actually taste it. That was also the first time the hunger inside his body disappeared after drinking blood.
Sancaka slowly clenched his dark left hand.
"It seems I'm no longer a normal human."
His gaze turned empty for a few seconds before he continued walking.
Sancaka wandered around Kertarimba Village, searching for any sign of a dharma if one or more happened to be staying there. But Kertarimba looked far too poor to be protected by special forces.
Suddenly, Sancaka heard shouting coming from a house at the end of the road, followed by the sound of loud blow. He stopped walking and looked toward a slightly open window.
Inside, Sancaka saw a large man pulling the hair of a little girl.
"You useless brat!" the man shouted.
The little girl fell onto the wooden floor, trembling. Nearby, two other men laughed while carrying debt records.
"If your parents can't pay, then you'll pay instead!"
The man raised his hand again.
'SREET.'
Suddenly, the man's body froze.
The other debt collectors widened their eyes in shock. Sancaka gunblade had already sliced through the man's neck without a sound. Blood splattered across the wall, and the body collapsed. The other two debt collectors panicked.
"Huh?!"
"Who are you."
'BLASH!'
The second slash cut through one mana on the chest.
Meanwhile, Sancaka dark left hand grabbed the face of the last person.
"AAAAAH!"
The man screamed as his life energy was drained away. His skin slowly dried out. Then, 'KRAK.' Sancaka snapped the man neck, and silence filled the house. Now the only sound left was the quiet trembling of fear from the corner of the room.
Sancaka turned and toward it. A little girl sat there with bruises all over her body, her hair messy and disheveled. She was shaking.
Sancaka slowly approached her.
"Where are your parents?" he asked.
The girl did not answer. Her lips trembled awkwardly.
"Wa… wa…"
She seemed unable to speak properly. Then she picked up a small stone and scratched words onto the wooden floor. Rough letters appeared: "DAIVA."
"That's your name?"
The little girl slowly nodded.
Seeing the child before him reminded Sancaka of Nana. Back then, his little sister used to invite him to draw on the ground together when they were children.
Sancaka gaze become softened.
"Where are your parents?" he asked once more.
Daiva wrote again with trembling hands, but this time the writing was unclear. That made Sancaka let out a sigh.
"I'll help you find your parents."
Slowly, Daiva showed a small smile.