"No matter how many times I enter the central slums... it's always worse than before."
Walking on the streets filled with dirty water, an old man with grey hair, small eyes, and a hunchback looked around.
He sighed at the sight before him.
He had been living in the southern slums near the city. It was still worse than the city but far better than the central and northern slums—especially the northern slums, filled with criminals and even nightmare creatures formed from those who had died in their first nightmare!
Fortunately, those who lived in the southern slums could find jobs at factories and, most importantly, food.
Thanks to that, he'd lived a relatively good life and had even been promoted as a supervisor of the newcomers.
He was content with his long life.
"Now, where can I find good seeds...?" he muttered.
The "seeds" were none other than humans, of course.
He had been sent because the company overseeing the factory had noticed a decline in workers due to "incidents" in the factory.
As the supervisor of these workers, he had already asked the company to upgrade the equipment so such incidents would stop happening, but they always told him the same thing: "It's too costly."
"Costly, my ass—you just don't give a shit about their lives..." the old man cursed.
But what could he do? He too wanted to live, and that job had kept him alive until now. Without it, he would already be dead.
"Hmm... What's this?"
In the distance, he heard the cries of a baby.
The old man moved toward the sound, and what he saw made him want to puke.
There in front of him was a woman in her twenties with blond hair mixed with blood; from her neck, blood gushed out like a lake.
It wasn't the woman's dead body that made him sick—he had seen many gruesome things, from the time the nightmare spell first emerged until now.
What truly made him want to puke was what was on top of the woman.
There, a child was drinking her blood.
It wasn't hard to guess that the child was the woman's son.
And from the shard of glass in the woman's hand, she had clearly killed herself.
The old man quickly ran toward the child and took him away from his mother.
He then pressed gently on the baby's stomach, trying to make him vomit the blood he'd drunk.
After all, drinking large amounts of blood could cause serious infections and diseases that might lead to death, especially in the slums.
Seeing that the child still didn't vomit, the old man put a finger inside the baby's mouth.
He went deeper slowly until the baby finally threw up.
Sighing in relief, he looked at the crying baby.
'What should I do...?'
Even though he had saved the baby, it had been pure instinct.
Most likely, the father was also dead, and now the child had nowhere to go. If left alone, the baby would surely die.
'I'm barely taking care of myself...'
But he still couldn't abandon the child.
In the end, the old man decided to take the child with him. His heart couldn't leave the child to die.
Reaching his rented apartment, the old man opened the door and went in.
The apartment wasn't large; it had only one room, a kitchen in the corner, and was a living room and bedroom at the same time.
"Now, what should I give you for food?"
The baby continued crying, indifferent to the old man's questions.
"I still have some food paste... but is it good for babies?"
The old man didn't know, but what he did know was that the child was hungry.
And so, he gave the food paste to the child, who ate as if there was no tomorrow.
'He ate two whole food pastes...! What a gluttonous child...'
Finally, the child stopped crying and immediately fell asleep.
Sighing, the old man lifted the baby and smiled.
"What a beautiful child... but what's his name?"
Since both parents were dead, there was no one who knew his name.
"Then let me give you a name myself... For a child who survived such brutal circumstances, you must be blessed by fate and the heavens... Then your name will be... Caelan!"
***
Seven years passed, and both Caelan and the old man aged.
Their life wasn't easy, but it wasn't too hard either.
Taking care of a child was never simple, and as the child grew, he started consuming more food and water.
The old man sighed. Today at work, another worker had died.
It wasn't new for the old man to witness someone dying, but what made him sigh was the family of that worker.
It seemed that he had a family of four—himself, his wife, and two children.
The old man knew how hard it was to care for one child alone, let alone two.
'Speaking of that child, where's Caelan?'
The old man moved toward the door, and at the same time, the door opened.
A child who looked like he was seven, though he was nine, stood there. His black hair reached his neck and partially covered his eyes. His face was clearly swollen from a beating, and his hands were covered in blood.
The old man, looking at Caelan, frowned and spoke, "Did you get into another fight again?!"
Caelan sighed and replied, "I didn't get into a 'fight'; they tried to steal from me again."
He walked inside, sat on the floor, and removed his clothes, revealing more bruises.
The old man sighed again and walked toward a box.
Opening it, the old man frowned once more.
He looked back at Caelan and spoke, "I'll go buy some ointments. Stay here."
Saying this, he left the apartment.
Caelan lay down and touched some of his bruises.
"Aghh... those fuckers jumping a kid two years younger than them."
Time passed, and Caelan continued waiting for the old man, but hours passed, and he still didn't return.
'Did he break his leg or something?'
Caelan sensed something was wrong.
He quickly put on his clothes and went out, searching for the old man, praying nothing had happened to him.
***