#010. Sector 49 (Part 2)
The rising sunlight from the distant horizon pricked at Ray's eyelids.
"……"
The chill from last night had seeped into his entire body.
The bonfire outside the window had long been extinguished by the night wind.
His joints ached.
It was where the golem’s blow had cracked him.
Not enough to immobilize him.
This much would heal naturally if left alone.
Ray finished his meal atop a scrap metal pile and flicked the empty can into the distance.
Nothing yet pierced the horizon’s edge.
He boarded his vehicle immediately after eating, starting the engine and departing.
Every second felt precious.
He needed to cover as much ground as possible before the sun grew scorching.
Vroooom—
He drove relentlessly.
The vehicle’s pristine white exterior gradually dulled to a muddy hue beneath windblown dust and gravel.
Rest. Drive again.
Drive. Rest again.
During this time, the sky changed costumes in vivid colors to seize the boy’s attention—
Cloud-streaked gray...
Dusk-soaked crimson...
Star-strangled void...
But the boy never glanced upward, driving only toward his destination.
Two more days passed this way.
The buildings of Sector 49 began etching themselves along the horizon.
When the sky darkened again,
Ray reached Sector 49’s outskirts.
「Sector 46? What’s my birthplace like? A shithole. Same as here.」
Niles had said that.
He claimed Sectors 46 and 50 differed little.
By that logic, every sector between them fell into the same category—
Dark, damp pits where malice flowed like sewage.
It certainly appeared so.
Not far off stood crumbling concrete buildings sweating with moisture.
「The difference? It’s bigger. Buildings slightly taller. Streets numbered higher.」
The rule held even here: prosperity increased with sector numbers.
Buildings sprawled wide across his vision.
Undeniably larger than Sector 50.
More space.
More residents.
...Surely at least one here knew about magic?
Ray parked deep within a scrap heap and killed the engine.
Dudududu—duduk.
He emerged, scattering junk around the vehicle to create noise traps.
Returning inside, he shut the door.
"……"
Only thick darkness surrounded him.
He lowered weary eyelids, sinking into sleep.
Tomorrow’s work would begin at dawn.
Roaming post-sundown slums equated to suicide.
After breakfast, Ray tucked away canned food and a water bottle before heading into the sector.
He wouldn’t use the car for now.
In poor districts, vehicles drew eyes.
A boy owning one risked robbery or worse.
‘Were golems exclusive to Sector 50?’
None patrolled Sector 49’s dump.
Perhaps why scavengers—adults and children alike—lingered only at the garbage pile’s edges.
He crossed a bridge groaning under its own decay, entering the sector’s heart.
The air’s stench shifted—
Metallic tang of scrap to sewage’s foul rot.
Irrelevant.
The boy felt no preference for smells.
The streets mirrored Sector 50:
Sticky morning air.
Drunks littering alleys.
Shopkeepers moving like sleepwalkers.
─How’s the mine? Heard wages rose.
─You die when you die. Fuck.
─Ehehe! I can still drink!
A reeking homeless man lurched toward Ray, arm outstretched.
“H-hey kid. Got cash? Heeheek!”
Ray sidestepped. The man flailed at empty air before faceplanting.
Thud!
Familiar scenes.
Ray advanced without looking back, noting a nearby sign:
‘Street 36.’
The sector’s streets numbered at least double Sector 50’s.
More ground to cover.
More legs worn.
His search might take longer than planned.
Magic clues remained the priority.
Revenge required power, and the magic he’d witnessed outclassed guns or blades.
Since his target wielded magic, understanding it became essential.
‘...And clues about Rainbow City—the Mages’ haven.’
Money came next.
Endless trips up/down the Elton River for revenge would demand supplies:
Food. Water. Fuel. Medicine.
All secondary concerns with enough coin.
Humphrey’s funds wouldn’t last the journey.
Before leaving this sector,
he needed to hoard every possible credit.
"……"
Dozens of eyes tracked him through the streets—
Not one or two,
but at least ten pairs.
Shoeshiners. Gum hawkers. Touts.
Boys of all roles watched warily from corners.
Ray’s lips twisted.
Same as Sector 50.
He understood their necessity.
A stranger parading through their turf invited conflict,
especially walking tall rather than cowering.
‘They’ll see it as provocation, not ignorance.’
Ray didn’t hide.
Though hooded, his stride betrayed no hesitation.
Clashes were inevitable here.
Better to confront them immediately.
The street boys’ glares sharpened, but Ray ignored them.
“Heard Sector 45’s recruiting laborers?”
“If only I’d won yesterday’s bets…”
He spent the morning navigating their tensions while eavesdropping on residents.
No magic leads surfaced.
‘Only one street scouted. Direct inquiries are last resort.’
As an outsider seeking mages,
drawing attention proved unwise.
The sun climbed higher.
He lunched under a bridge on canned rations before resuming.
How far had he walked when—
Ray halted.
"……"
A two-story building stood before him—
Shop below, residence above.
“Bookstore… Veronica?”
He sounded out the sign, recalling fragments Niles had taught:
「Hungry. Help. Kill. Gun. Sun. River. Last one’s ‘hyeong.’ Repeat, hyeong.」
「……」
Playful lessons, but Ray remembered everything.
He’d deciphered character combinations,
allowing him to read simple texts.
Comprehension remained another matter.
‘Could this relate to magic?’
What was a bookstore?
Veronica sounded like a name.
Peering inside the dark shop,
he saw shelves crammed with rectangular objects.
Another mystery.
Ray frowned,
but no answers came.
“Hey!”
A girl leaned from the upstairs window—
Wavy red bob, pretty yet sharp-faced.
“You broke the window! Back to steal more books?”
Books? The objects inside?
“Scram! Why target us?!”
Ray studied the mana colors in her vessel—
Red excitement.
Yellow joy.
Navy displeasure.
Dark green irritation.
Conflicting hues.
“Not leaving? Adults are coming down! Still here?!”
What nonsense was this?
“…Weirdo.”
“What?! What’d you say?!”
She leaned dangerously far out.
“What did you say?! Because of you, Grandpa—!”
Ray stared blankly,
then turned and walked away.
Next day, Ray expanded his search radius.
Two more streets yielded no magic clues,
only multiplying hostile gazes.
The bookstore stayed closed,
the girl absent.
At dusk,
he returned to his car buried in scrap,
wrapping himself in a tarp.
‘No leads here yet. Haven’t covered everything.’
A tiny emotion sprouted—
Minuscule but unmistakably anxiety.
He closed his eyes.
Time blurred until—
Tap. Tap.
Footsteps outside.
Ray lifted his head cautiously.
Silhouettes crept through the scrap metal.
Four, maybe.
Their glowing mana revealed numbers and positions—
Owners of those street gazes.
Expected after today’s proximity to their territory.
He looked away,
curling tighter in his seat.
The steps halted by his window.
He glanced up.
Nothing visible—
Attackers pressed against the car’s sides.
Inside and out,
all held their breath.
Night air stretched taut.
Ray withdrew a leather pouch from his coat,
wrapping its strap around his fist.
The stone inside held heft—
A junkyard weapon forged that afternoon.
Whispers slithered through cracks:
─Kill?
─Gag him first.
─Find the trunk key. Food inside.
Territory?
Too feeble a word.
This was robbery.
Slum law:
Take or be taken.
Kill or be killed.
Rules etched in bone since childhood.
No complaints.
He knew this dance.
When a head rose beneath the window—
Crack!
Ray moved like lightning,
smashing his blackjack through the glass.
Shatter!
“Agh!”
A silhouette collapsed,
head bleeding, body convulsing.
“Fuck!”
“What the—?!”
Before others reacted,
Ray burst from the car.
Whoosh!
The blackjack cleaved air,
guided by enemies’ mana glows.
Thud!
A second attacker folded over,
drooling from a solar plexus strike.
“Bastard! Die!”
The remaining two swung clubs.
Ray dodged smoothly,
his counterstrike snapping bone.
Crunch!
Moans replaced threats.
Moonlight revealed boys his age.
Ray crouched before the oldest.
“Hey.”
No need for obvious questions—
Why come?
What planned?
Street kids’ motives required no explanation.
Their labored breaths fogged the night.
Ray’s voice fell cold:
“How many streets do you control?”
